My guest is Nat Segaloff, author of The Exorcist Legacy: 50 Years of Fear. Nat is uniquely qualified to write about this controversial classic. As a publicist working for the film, he was standing guard outside the auditorium doors for the first press screening. He also knew director William Friedkin, and wrote his authorized biography and he knew novelist/screenwriter and director William Peter Blatty. We talked about the many versions and sequels of the Exorcist, the women who were integral to the creation and execution of the story, and how while nothing can match the original film, the movies it inspired have a lot to offer.
While there are many commonly known characteristics of vampires, from blood and crucifixes to sunlight and garlic, there has always been a lot of variety in the way these blood drinkers are portrayed in movies across time, genre, style, and world culture. This collection shows the similarities and differences across a century of cinema. I thought it was the perfect way to celebrate the start of Spooky Season!
I had a blast watching a pair of spooky season favorites on new Blu-rays from Warner Archive. It was great to see two films I love looking and sounding as good as new.
Director Tod Browning’s (Dracula, Freaks) Mark of the Vampire (1935) is most famous for an outrageous twist, one that alters the film so dramatically that I thought I’d never be able to watch it again after my first viewing. Instead it has become a favorite spooky season watch, because it has a lot more going for it than plot.
The cast of spooks is top notch, with the moody Carroll Borland an especially striking presence as the ultimate 1930s Goth girl, years before Vampira and Elvira. There’s also Bela Lugosi, still giving everything to his Dracula-style character after finding worldwide fame as the character in the 1930 Universal adaptation of the Bram Stoker novel.
I also appreciate the creativity behind the set and sound design. The whistling, moaning, ambience of the film’s soundtrack remains chillingly eerie to this day. By using a multi-layered soundscape instead of music, the movie evokes a more timeless feel. There’s also a great juxtaposition between the luxurious estate at the center of the daylight action and the cobweb and animal-filled castle down the road that comes to life at dusk.
The central plot, about murder, an inheritance, and its beneficiary is essentially something to endure until you can get to the ghouls, though Lionel Barrymore and Leila Bennett contribute a great sense of camp. Mark of the Vampire is at its best when it is dialogue-free, with that creepy soundtrack casting its spell. Even though the meaning of everything is altered in the end, the sight of a moody, ghoulish Carol glowering at passerby and wandering in the dark, Lugosi grimacing, and spiders slithering up the wall are all great fun. I appreciated how well the sound and image were engineered for the Blu-ray, because those elements are especially important in a film like this one.
Special features on the disc included commentary from Kim Newman and Stephen Jones, a theatrical trailer, the short A Thrill for Thelma, and the cartoon The Calico Dragon.
The 1931 version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is one of the most beautifully-crafted films of the pre-Code era thanks to the deliberate work of director Rouben Mamoulian (Queen Christina, Silk Stockings).
It’s a shame that actors are so rarely rewarded for their work in horror. In the title role(s) Fredric March more than earned his Academy Award for Best Actor in a Leading Role. Though he was at the beginning of a stunning career, it remains one of his most masterful performances, because he shows a deep understanding of the complex duality of his role.
Maumoulian begins his film by showing the way Dr. Jekyll is perceived by the world. He uses a first person perspective to show him interacting with his deferential servants. Then he dramatically switches the camera to March, capturing his own appreciative self-regard before the look is mirrored in his audience at a lecture. In a few minutes you understand how important his reputation is to him and how much is at stake in this society that reveres him.
One of Mamoulian’s most effective visual techniques is in the use of superimposition of images to mirror the passions in Jekyll/Hyde. He creates a sort of dreamlike mood as the doctor’s obsessions intertwine with his transformation into Hyde. It effectively puts the viewer both a little on edge and into Hyde/Jekyll’s thoughts.
March’s acting in the transformation scenes is equally unsettling. In some respects he keeps it low-key, but his quiet, animalistic groans of pain have visceral power. It’s a stunning contrast to the elegance of his public persona; though you can see elements of that pain growing in him no matter how refined he aspires to appear. When the dam bursts and he is fully in Hyde mode, he embraces his newfound freedom with a mixture of joy and relief.
As the unfortunate showgirl Ivy who is the victim of Hyde’s lustful abuse, Miriam Hopkins balances playful sensuality with tightly-wound terror. She immediately shrinks from Hyde as if from a wild animal, aware of the danger because it is an intensification of the peril in her daily life. It is heartrending to witness her horror of him. While this is an over-the-top performance, it captures pure fear; Hopkins was as deserving of an Oscar as her costar.
This adaptation of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde remains one of the best horror films ever made. Its terror is timelessly potent.
Special features on the disc include a commentary by Dr. Steve Haberman and Constantine Nasr, a second commentary by Greg Monk, the cartoon Hyde and Hare, and a Theatre Guild on the Air radio broadcast of the story.
Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing copies of the films for review.
The career of actor, writer, and director Bill Gunn is a bittersweet story. While the things he accomplished were impressive, he could have done much more. In a new book, Pleading The Blood: Bill Gunn's Ganja & Hess, Christopher Sieving tells the story of this uniquely talented filmmaker and his greatest film, the vampire/addiction horror drama Ganja & Hess (1973).
As a longtime fan of Gunn, and Ganja & Hess in particular, I was grateful for this thoughtful and thorough approach to his work. While effective as a monograph of the film, the book also serves well as a biography of Gunn. It was fascinating to learn about his childhood as a prodigy and social outsider, which foreshadows the many ways in which this filmmaker would struggle to find his place in the world. I also found it helpful to get an overview of his career, which enabled me to properly place Ganja & Hess as both Gunn’s greatest success and most profound disappointment.
Aside from the clear road blocks Gunn encountered due to his race (and his resistance to restricting his output to supposed “black issues”), he had an unusual sensibility that alone would have made it difficult for him to find a place in popular culture. His first and frustratingly unavailable film Stop! (1970) is a good example of this. Mysterious and unconventional, but with a strong voice; it is a valuable piece of work, but not easily accessible (both physically and intellectually, it has never seen release in theaters or on video).
If this kind of film were to find even moderate success with a major such as Warner Bros. (which hired Gunn to make Stop!, but then buried the film), perhaps it could have heralded an acceptance in the United States of the kind of unconventional European-style art film that Gunn found inspirational. In essence, it is a film for grown-ups, one that doesn’t giggle at sex, thoughtful conversation, or challenging ideas. Gunn would go on in the same mode while filming Ganja & Hess, capturing characters that don’t hesitate to embrace their desires or ask hard questions.
Sieving explores the many ways Gunn struggled to find funding and acceptance of his work. He spotlights his frustration and anger, which are in contrast to his generosity as a filmmaker to cast and crew. A brilliant collaborator and mentor, Gunn couldn’t find that same spirit of trust and support when it came to investors and studios, not to mention the mainstream press.
It’s a revealing book, full of triumph and disappointment, with a strong message that we could have and still need to do much better as a society in supporting a diverse array of adventurous artists if we are to get the best our culture has to offer.
Many thanks to Indiana University Press for providing a copy of the book for review.
This episode I went into a classic horror deep dive with my guest Miguel Rodriguez, founder and director of the Horrible Imaginings Film Festival. While talking about some great films, we discussed when the style of horror as we know it emerged, when it transitioned from the classic era to the modern age, how what scares us is so personal and how what makes a monster has changed with the times. We had a quick visit from Miguel’s daughter Scarlett, a budding film festival director, I hope you enjoy the way she also enhanced the background of our conversation with happy three-year-old sounds as much as I did.
I wrapped up spooky season with a marathon watch of new Blu-ray releases from Warner Archive. They're a mixed bag, but overall I had a good time with this varied bunch of thrills:
Mad Love (1935)
A bonkers Grand Guignol thrill ride, this MGM flick takes the eerie body part transplant horror of The Hands of Orlac (1924) and transforms it into an unhinged, ghoulish tale of obsession. Pop-eyed Peter Lorre stars as the brilliant Dr. Gogol, who has an unhealthy fixation on horror theater actress Yvonne Orlac (Frances Drake). She finds him creepy and is deeply in love with her husband, the famous pianist Stephen Orlac (Colin Clive). When Stephen’s hands are damaged in a train accident, Gogol attaches the hands of a recently hanged knife murderer, bringing out murderous impulses in the hapless musician. The film is much weirder than this basic plot though, with a wax figurine, a drunken housemaid, and one of the most bizarre and horrific costumes of classic Hollywood all in the mix as this wild tale roars to a close in just over an hour. Special features on the disc include a trailer and commentary by Steve Haberman.
Eye of the Devil (1966)
The story of this UK chiller is like a less colorful version of The Wicker Man, with a similarly enclosed country society looking for a solution to its crop problems. David Niven is the wealthy marquis whose family has long held responsibility for the local agriculture. Deborah Kerr is his confused and distressed wife; she knows something isn’t right when her husband gloomily leaves their London home for the ancestral Chateau in France. The film looks gorgeous on Blu-ray and it has its striking moments, but for the most part it drags and there’s not much mystery to the plot. It is best remembered today as the official screen debut of Sharon Tate (it took so long to be released that Don’t Make Waves [1967] was the first time audiences saw her onscreen). While her performance can be stilted, possibly because as a novice she was relying heavily on instruction from her director, Tate’s presence is electrifying beyond her stunning beauty. In a scene where she is whipped by Niven, she also shows willingness to embrace the perversity of the material. She would have really made something of the increased cinematic freedom of the seventies. Also at the beginning of his career, David Hemmings is equally stunning as her screen brother.
Children of the Damned (1964)
This thematic sequel to Village of the Damned (1960) doesn’t have the iconic chills or sturdy plot of its predecessor, but it is not without interest. Here the action moves to the city, where another batch of oddly expressionless kids has arisen out of seemingly immaculate birth. With glacial pace it is revealed that six children, each of them of different nationalities have the same mental abilities of their blond country cousins. This mini United Nations of supposed psychopathic space children isn’t nearly as amusing though, partly because they refuse to talk for most of the film’s running time. Instead they use the aunt of the head child Paul (Clive Powell) to speak for them via their telepathic instruction, though it is never revealed why they would do this if they are capable of speech and occasionally inclined to speak for themselves. The story doesn’t add up to much and it never picks up momentum, but there are a few striking sequences that make it just worth watching, especially for Village fans. Special features on the disc include a trailer and commentary by the film’s screenwriter John Briley
The Ghost Ship (1943)/Bedlam (1946)
Director Mark Robson was one of the best interpreters of producer Val Lewton’s horror vision and this pair of films demonstrates the diversity of his talents. He was adept at creating a mood of dread with economy and simplicity, which was perfect given the limitations of his budgets.
Richard Dix had been a heroic screen figure since the silent age when he was cast against type in The Ghost Ship as an unhinged sea captain who has an unhealthy obsession with authority. He was somebody audiences trusted, just like the men on his crew who don’t want to believe that their leader is capable of doing wrong. This reflection on the fallibility of leaders and those who follow them is especially effective because it has no score but the occasional sea shanty from Lewton regular Sir Lancelot (his voice is so mellifluous that even when he speaks he sounds like he is singing). The soundtrack is instead filled with creaking masts, rushing wind, and the clattering of chains; evoking the crew’s isolation at sea. The cast is full of interesting characters, including an early career Lawrence Tierney in a goofy cap, the expressive Skelton Knaggs who plays a mute (though his thoughts serve as narration), and the sole female character, Edith Barrett as the soothing voice of reason in a tense, atmospheric tale.
Bedlam presents two worlds: that of the powdered and perfumed rich and the straw-lined despair of an insane asylum. Boris Karloff is the slippery overseer Master Sims and Anna Lee is Nell Bowen, a lady of society who protests the treatment of the residents. She finds herself behind bars with those she aims to protect thanks to the machinations of Sims, but finds hope with the support of a morally solid Quaker. Bowen is subject to a pair of horrors: losing her freedom and realizing that society does not support her or true justice. Her vulnerability to the system is chilling.
Special features on the disc include theatrical trailers and commentary on Bedlam by Tom Weaver.
Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copies of the films for review.
The spooky season is my favorite time of year, but I watch horror films of all kinds throughout the year. For that reason, there aren't many classic feature films in the genre that I haven't seen. However, I have found that there are plenty of great shorts that I've yet to see. Some of them are scary, some are a little funny, a few are even a little of both. Here are some of my favorites (and if you are in the mood for a full-length horror flick, check my streaming selections at the bottom of the post):
The Tell-tale Heart (1953)
This creepy take on the classic Edgar Allan Poe tale is my favorite horror short. I watch it every year around this time. The combination of the stark, surreal animation, discordant music, and James Mason's hushed, but intense narration are chilling in a harshly modern way. Now on the National Film Registry, it was a film ahead of its time.
Cross Roads (1955)
I love the cool vibe of this low-key British short starring Christopher Lee as a man who seeks revenge on the cad responsible for his sister's death.
They Caught the Ferry (1948)
A couple racing through the countryside on a motorcycle to catch a ferry encounters a terrifying supernatural force in this short directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer (Vampyr [1932]). For most of the brief running time the film plays like a high-speed thriller, which makes its switch to horror all the more frightening. This version doesn't have English subtitles, though they are not necessary to understand the film. If you want subtitles, this version has them; it also has an added soundtrack, which is good, but I prefer the tension of the music-free original.
How a Mosquito Operates (1912)
While the IMDb classifies this Windsor McCay short as a thriller, it's obviously a horror film. It demonstrates how mosquitos are actually just little vampires flying around to terrify and annoy us. The repetition of movement and jerky style of early animation makes it extra creepy.
The Merry Skeleton/Le squelette joyeux (1897)
This early short from French film pioneers the Lumière Brothers is interesting because with the music the image of bones flying off and on a skeleton is amusing, but in silence, the one minute film is a bit unsettling.
It's under a minute, but this short about a couple who appear to become skeletons when an X-ray machine is pointed at them is another amusing look at the early use of special effects. At the time it was made, X-rays had only been in existence for a couple of years, so the concept and the way the technology worked were likely still mysterious to most audiences.
For the avant-garde fan, this self-proclaimed "film-ballet" is an abstract version of the Danse Macabre featuring the music of Saint-Saëns. Canadian animator Norman McLaren got this effect by drawing directly on 35mm film.
Saint-Saëns: Danse Macabre Halloween Film Strip
This last short is actually a collection of images with musical accompaniment. Once again using Danse Macabre by Saint-Saëns, it is a series of spooky scenes meant to evoke the Halloween season. The YouTube comments on this one are a must-read. It seems a lot of people got the pants scared off of them watching this presentation at school as kids when it rattled through the film projector each year.
There's also a lot of great classic horror flicks streaming this month! My recommendations:
The Criterion Channel is featuring an eight film collection of Universal horror classics that is essential spooky season viewing.
Shudder is now offering a trio of 1970s horror classics featuring black stars: One of my favorite movies in any season: Sugar Hill (1974), in addition to Blacula (1972) and Scream, Blacula, Scream (1973).
HBO Max has so many great horror classics streaming right now that I'm only sharing a small portion of what they have to offer. This is definitely the channel to browse for spooky season delight. The collection includes: Eyes Without a Face (1960), Freaks (1932), Hausu (1977), Onibaba (1964), Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933), Equinox (1970), and The Blob (1958).
Netflix doesn't typically offer a lot of classic titles (as many film fans well know), but they are streaming the bonkers Exorcist III (1990) and Guillermo del Toro's Crimson Peak (2015), which has lots of lush period details which should appeal to film fans who can handle the (quite brutal) violence.
If you have access to Kanopy, the service always has lots of classic horror. My favorites: The Vampire Bat (1933), George Romero's underappreciated Season of the Witch (1972), When a Stranger Calls (1979), The House on Haunted Hill (1959), and The Old Dark House (1932).
I recently enjoyed a trio of horror/fantasy films new to Blu-ray from Warner Archive. While they are dramatically different stories, they each evoke suspense and mystery in intriguingly quirky ways.
Bermuda Depths (1978)
Watching and then re-watching this Rankin/Bass television production (yes, the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Rankin/Bass) was an interesting experience in the power of outside influence in changing perspective. I went into it expecting a monster movie, and was a bit disappointed to find a more dreamy fantasy with hints of romance and horror. While I enjoyed the beauty of the cinematography and the appealing cast led by Burl Ives, Carl Weathers and Connie Sellecca, it left me a little cold. Then I read a few fan reviews and I was stunned to find that many viewers had first seen the film as children and had been haunted and mesmerized by it ever since. Their experience watching the movie was so dramatically different from mine that I decided to give it another chance. Watching it again with a more childlike sense of wonder, I caught a bit of its magic, not as strong as those who saw it when they were young, but enough to appreciate its mysterious appeal.
Special features on the disc include an international theatrical version of the film, and an audio commentary by Amanda Reyes and Lance Vaughan that effectively captures the wonder of this film that captivated so many young viewers.
Isle of the Dead (1945)
A lesser known entry among the horror films produced by Val Lewton, this one is a slow burn. It doesn’t offer thrills until its last moments, but this chiller about an island isolated by quarantine and haunted by fear of dark spirits keeps you on edge. Elements of Greek folklore give the story of a peasant who suspects a young woman of possessing evil powers added texture. Ellen Drew is appealingly grounded as the suspected malevolent presence and Boris Karloff, Katherine Emery, and Skelton Knaggs are charismatic stand-outs in a uniformly fascinating cast.
Special features on the disc include commentary by Dr. Steve Haberman and a theatrical trailer.
Doctor X (1932)
It always astounds me how dramatically a great restoration can change the experience of watching a movie. The new 4k restoration of this two-strip Technicolor chiller is a perfect example of the way it elevates the experience. I’d always looked upon this horror flick directed by Michael Curtiz as an amusing enough comedy-tinged time killer, but a sharper image and better color composition brought out the horrific elements, making it a much moodier and ghoulish experience. I was mesmerized by moments I’d never noticed before, like a blue-green shot of the moon or the rosy hue of Fay Wray’s complexion in contrast to the monster that menaces her.
An especially robust selection of special features includes a separately filmed black and white version of the film which has been unavailable for thirty years, the featurette The Horror Films of Michael Curtiz, a before/after restoration reel from UCLA, commentaries by Scott MacQueen and Alan K. Rode, and a theatrical trailer.
Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copies of the films for review.
Happy Spooky Season! Since the list of spooky streaming picks that I compiled in 2019 is so comprehensive, I have decided to simply add to that selection this year with a few more titles that I have enjoyed recently. I’ve also linked to several more films below, so this is the post to bookmark for lots of creepy flicks!
A college student (Venetia Stevenson) is convinced by her professor to travel to the tiny town of Whitewood, Massachusetts town to study witchcraft. Since that teacher is played by Christopher Lee, you know right away that she is doomed. This flick from the lesser-known Vulcan Productions (the team behind it would go on to form the more renowned Amicus Productions) combines modern settings and ancient horrors in a fascinating way. [available on Tubi, Vudu free, Kanopy]
Hilton Edwards was taking a hiatus from directing Orson Welles in Othello (1952) when he made this eerie, atmospheric short with his star. It’s a dreamingly drifting ghost story, as nostalgic as it is creepy, and gorgeous to look at. [available on The Criterion Channel]
In a story written especially for him, Boris Karloff stars as a social reformer who tries to prove the innocence of a man hung for a string of strangulation killings. The film can get a bit silly; Karloff contorts his face in a hilariously bizarre way for a few scenes, but it is fun to see the actor late in his career. [available on The Criterion Channel, Kanopy]
My introduction to the pre-code horror flick Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933) came from the book that provided most of my early film education, 500 Great Films, by Daniel and Susan Cohen. The brief passage dedicated to the movie revealed that it was lost for twenty-five years and over that time, “developed the reputation of being a masterpiece.” This was apparently was not found to be true upon its rediscovery, though it still had a lot to offer, enough to be included among “500 Great Films.” I can see why audiences could have been underwhelmed the newly unearthed film: it’s a horror movie with half of its running time devoted to a high-spirited, wisecracking reporter trying to unravel the titular mystery. Picture a movie with the pep of a Gold Diggers flick without the musical numbers and with a healthy helping of Grand Guignol folded in. It’s an important film though: highly influential in both the horror genre and in the development of the lady reporter archetype, and as can be seen in a beautifully restored version of the film now available on Blu-ray from Warner Archive, a striking example of the short-lived two-strip Technicolor process. Lionel Atwell stars as Ivan Igor, the talented sculptor who creates a collection of stunningly realistic wax figures. When the museum that houses his figures is set ablaze and his masterpieces melt away, the artist resorts to desperate measures to rebuild his life’s work. Fast-talking newspaper reporter Florence (Glenda Farrell) becomes suspicious of the mysterious Igor’s methods and begins to investigate, while he develops an obsession with her roommate Charlotte (Fay Wray), also the girlfriend of one of his sculptors (Allen Vincent). The reason? She is a dead ringer for his most lamented loss, a masterful rendering of Marie Antoinette. While Florence snoops around Igor’s basement and banters with her editor (Frank McHugh), Charlotte falls more deeply into danger. Two-strip Technicolor is a great process for horror, its wash of seawater green and petal pink lends an eerie, otherworldly appearance to a film. Here it is most effective in the gallery scenes, where several live models were enlisted to stand in for wax figures that melted too quickly under the hot lights required for color filming. They briefly blink, purse their lips, or sway, adding to a sense of unease and the feeling that you can’t believe what you see. I don’t think I would have enjoyed the film’s combination of horror and comedy if the journalists had been anyone but Glenda Farrell and Frank McHugh. Aside from being irresistible in any setting, they appear worn enough around the edges to make you believe that they’ve seen plenty of horrors and would be able to crack wise in the face of a situation as startling as this one. While Fay Wray was clearly hired to scream and look pretty, she’s too charismatic to be a passive horror doll; she plays her character with intelligence and gravity, despite having to go over-the-top with her screams, clearly a directive of director Michael Curtiz. For all the death and destruction he causes, Atwell is not entirely creepy in his role; you consistently feel the pain of his artistic loss, as unsympathetic as he is in the end. Curtiz populated his film with a cast of fascinating supporting characters and bit players, creating a lived-in feeling of realism. His camera smoothly glides through his remarkable sets with a calm eye on the bizarre proceedings. Even in a clearly perilous scene like the burning of the wax museums, where it is obvious the actors are actually in danger, Curtiz’ camera stops to observe, watching the eyes slide down a waxy skull with as much attention as the battle taking place in the foreground. The special features on Blu-ray are especially robust for a Warner Archive release. They include the documentary Remembering Fay Wray, which is essentially an interview with the actress’ daughter and biographer Victoria Riskin, who provides great background and analysis of her mother’s career. There are two commentary tracks: one with Curtiz biographer Alan K. Rhode and the other with Scott MacQueen, head of preservation at the UCLA Film and Television Archive, which has includes the added bonus of audio clips from reviews with Wray and Farrell. There’s also a brief featurette about the restoration, which in several comparison shots shows how ragged the film has been for the past several decades and how remarkable it is to finally be able to view it as intended.
Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.
I didn’t get what I expected when I watched the new Warner Archive Blu-ray of Two on a Guillotine. With the cover gruesomely displaying a disembodied head and a drop of blood dripping of the title, I anticipated a Grand Guignol-style chiller. It turns out this wasn’t to be, but I enjoyed the lighter, more William Castle-style film that it actually is. Connie Stevens stars as Cassie Duquesne the daughter of a famous magician (played with gusto by Cesar Romero), who gave her up when she was barely out of babyhood because of his grief over the disappearance of his wife (also played by Stevens in flashbacks), who was a part of his magic act. Raised by an aunt, Cassie hasn’t heard from her father for years when she receives notice of his funeral. When she shows up at the services, those who knew her parents are stunned to see she is a dead ringer for her mother. Cassie’s father has left a bizarre will. His house has been willed to her, but in order to get it she must stay there for seven nights. Apparently Papa has a plan to come back to her from the dead. When reporter Val Henderson (Dean Jones) hears about this unusual arrangement, he smells a great story and begins to cozy up to Cassie. Of course his ambition falters when he begins to fall in love with the charming heiress. While there are fun chills and twisted situations to be found in Two on a Guillotine, for the most part it focuses on Cassie and Val’s relationship. There’s even an extended sequence where the pair frolic in an amusement park (director William Conrad makes a cameo appearance next to a funhouse mirror). They’re an engaging pair and much of the appeal of the movie is due to their chemistry. The baby-voiced Stevens hasn’t won much respect for her acting chops over the years, but here she demonstrates considerable skill and reserve. While there are ample opportunities for her to become the hysterical damsel in distress, she shows great restraint in scenes of suspense and is genuine and charming in her lighter scenes with Jones. Jones is equally appealing, showing range outside of his more famous Disney live-action roles. After tackling several television episodes, director William Conrad (most famous as a television actor in later years and as a perfect criminal heavy in films noir of earlier decades) made this film as part of a deal to produce and direct moderate budget thrillers for Warner Bros. Here the cost-cutting involved using the already existing mansion set for My Fair Lady (1964) as the haunting Duquesne abode. Conrad would helm the also entertaining My Blood Runs Cold and the underrated Brainstorm the same year. Ultimately, Two on a Guillotine is one of those movies where you’ll have a good time if you don’t ask too many questions. Trying to envision the logistics it would require to pull off the situation it proposes is baffling. It’s even a bit disturbing that an adorable white magician’s rabbit has the run of a mansion and no one ever thinks to feed it or look where they are walking. However, if you let yourself fall in love with the leads and trust the plot to unroll its own reality, it’s a lot of fun.
Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copy of the film for review. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.
Black Lagoon: Hollywood Monsters and the Lost Legacy of Milicent Patrick Mallory O'Meara Hanover Square Press, 2019 The Creature from the Black Lagoon, known as the Gill-man is one of the most beloved movie monsters, but few know that its design was created by a woman, artist Milicent Patrick. Film industry professional Mallory O’Meara found this unacceptable and set out to tell the story of this pioneering woman in creature design. Her book The Lady from the Black Lagoon: Hollywood Monsters and the Lost Legacy of Milicent Patrick is a fascinating combination of biography and memoir which gives this remarkable artist her due and questions how far Hollywood has come in its perception of women. Patrick wore many hats in her career. In addition to designing creatures, she was one of the first woman animators at Disney, a modestly successful film actress, and a makeup artist. While she managed to do well in all these fields, her greatest talent was drawing with skill and imagination. She was so good that when she showed Universal make-up department head Bud Westmore her drawings while she was she was sitting in the make-up chair one day, he was inspired to hire her on the spot, make her the first woman to work for a major studio as a make-up designer. While Patrick would be best known for creating the frightening, but sympathetic Gill-man creature, she had her hand in other projects, such as the creation of the bobble-headed Metaluna Mutant for This Island Earth (1955). She showed all signs that she would have a long, creative career, but it was not to be. Ironically, the man who gave her big break would be the one to end her design career. While Westmore could spot talent, he was not a nice man. As a department head he was notorious for cruel behavior, employee harassment and jealousy. He wanted credit for all the work completed by his department and the Gill-man was no exception. When the Universal Studios publicity department decided the novelty of a glamorous, poised woman like Patrick designing such a horrifying creature made her a perfect fit for a publicity tour for the film, Westmore was furious. Though she deserved credit for her design work, he didn’t want to give it to her. Though she was eventually allowed to go on the tour with strict orders from her boss to give him full credit for the design, audiences and media still gave her credit and he was furious. When she returned from the tour, she had lost her job and since Westmore’s brothers had a lock on the make-up design trade in Hollywood, she had also lost her career. Patrick seems to have taken this injustice in stride, likely accepting it as a normal occurrence for the age, but O’Meara takes on the rage for her. She not only exposes the many ways in which Milicent has been denied credit for her work and the infuriating details of how she lost her career, but she has correlated those issues with the sexist behavior she has encountered in her own work in the film industry. In addition to connecting her own stories to those of Patrick, O’Meara shares the frustrations and complications of trying to find information about the artist and her career. Without her own story, there wouldn’t be enough material about Milicent to fill a whole book, but the inclusion of O’Meara’s quest to save Patrick from obscurity and her own professional struggles give the story a depth and meaning that goes beyond the artist's personal story, while also perfectly placing it in historical context. The result is a lively parallel narrative of a gifted woman who thrived despite the indignities she suffered and another gifted woman determined to make things better by standing up both for herself and a fellow creative nearly lost to the past.
I ended my October horror binge with a trio of unusual horror films recently released on Blu-ray from Warner Archive. Not a bad way to close out the month. The Fearless Vampire Killers or Pardon Me, But Your Teeth Are in My Neck (1966)
I’ve always had mixed feelings about this oddly-paced, eccentric horror comedy about a pair of vampire hunters. It's unique and funny in a low-key way, but for long stretches it bumbles along as if it has gotten lost. The fantastic cast helps, led by director Roman Polanski and Jack MacGowran (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) and featuring Sharon Tate in an essentially thankless role which she elevates with her unique charisma (she was born for film) and glowing beauty. The frightened villagers are fascinating with their realistically wind burned faces, a dramatic contrast to the glamorous vampires living in the estate up the hill. The film is at its best when it plays with the conventions of vampires, introducing what has to be the first openly gay cinematic neck drainer and a Jewish vampire who gets a belly laugh out of a damsel wielding a cross which obviously has no effect on him. A spookily hip soundtrack by Chris Komeda suits the slightly scary, mostly goofy feel of the film. Special features include a theatrical trailer and a very silly making-of featurette The Fearless Vampire Killers: Vampires 101.
Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark (1973) In this television horror fantasy classic Kim Darby plays a lonely housewife who has just inherited her grandmother’s lavish, but run down mansion. Going against the advice of a handyman who has long worked on the estate (William Demarest in full Uncle Charlie mode), she opens up a bolted door on the side of a bricked up fireplace releasing a trio of pumpkin-headed goblins who constantly whisper her name and scatter in a symphony of screams whenever they are exposed to bright light. They want to drag her into the nether regions of the house as thanks for her releasing them, though it’s confusing because sometimes they also say they want to attack her. It’s an odd film; sometimes it’s laughably silly, but then suddenly you’re thrust into bone-rattling terror. I’m not fond of Darby. While I recognize her skill as an actress, something about her has always irritated me. As a result, my sympathy wasn’t with her as intended and I often found myself wishing the little guys would drag her away to put her out of her misery. Still, the slow-building tension is effective, and when you view it as an allegory reflecting the aimlessness imprisonment of life as a 1970s housewife, it becomes more poignant. It’s easy to see why this traumatized so many children who stayed up past their bedtimes decades ago. As with Warner Archive’s release of Bad Ronald, it’s also a rare delight to see an older television film with such a sharp clear image. Special features on the disc include audio commentary by Steve “Uncle Creepy” Carton, Jeffrey Reddick and Sean Abley and another excellent new commentary by television film expert Amanda Reyes, who talks about a lot more than the film, placing it in context within the world of 1970s TV movies.
From Beyond the Grave (1973) In this omnibus film from British studio Amicus Productions, Peter Cushing is quietly ghoulish as an antique shop proprietor who seems to have the supernatural ability to curse people who trick or steal from him. He works his dark magic on ill-gotten goods including a mirror, a military medal, a carved wooden door, and a snuff box. The fate of each of the dishonest people in possession of these items is revealed in separate episodes. A remarkable cast, including Margaret Leighton, Ian Bannen, and the wearily middle-aged, but still glamorous Diana Dors does much for this low budget horror flick. The best sequence features Donald Pleasance and his magnetically eerie daughter Angela Pleasance, playing a father and daughter in a cautionary tale with the otherworldly haze of a fairy tale. The only special feature is a theatrical trailer.
Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing copies of the films for review. To order, visitThe Warner Archive Collection.
I always enjoy watching great horror movies, but it is especially fun to watch spooky flicks this time of year. Here are some of my favorite picks for thrills and chills. I've also included a more lengthy list of links to great classic horror films below, many of which can be viewed for free! Hour of the Wolf (1968) (Criterion Channel) Ingmar Bergman's take on horror unsurprisingly goes right for the soul. In this surreal and mysterious film Max von Sydow is a painter who suffers from horrifying visions and Liv Ullmann is his tender-hearted wife. Most of the horror here is derived from the intense fear you feel for Ullmann. She seems so vulnerable in the face of the mysterious forces pressing on her husband. Kuroneko (1968) (Criterion Channel) I'm a big fan of a good Japanese ghost story and this is one of the best. A mother and daughter who are assaulted and killed by soldiers come back from the dead to take revenge on the violent men of the world. This is a beautiful film, with apparitions flying effortlessly through the trees and a magically disorienting mood. The Last Man on Earth (1964) (Hoopla, Prime) Before The Omega Man (1971), Vincent Price held off post-apocalyptic zombies in this first adaptation of Richard Matheson's book, I Am Legend. It's a less flashy, more somber take on the tale, with more backstory. It all works because Vincent Price is so appealing as the titular last man. Dead of Night (1945) (Kanopy) This pleasantly spooky horror anthology with a cozy framing story turns into sheer terror thanks to a segment featuring Michael Redgrave and an absolutely horrifying ventriloquist's dummy that comes to life. A Bucket of Blood (1959) (Kanopy, Tubi, Prime) Though producer/director Roger Corman's Beatnik take on the Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933) and House of Wax (1953) is played tongue-in-cheek, there are plenty of chilling moments in this low-budget wonder starring beloved character actor Dick Miller in a rare starring role. If you like the mix of humor and horror in this one, don't miss Corman's The Little Shop of Horrors (1960) (Kanopy, Tubi) which shares the same sensibility, in addition to several members of the cast and crew. Viy (1967) (Shudder) This Russian production based on a story by Nikoli Gogol plays like a lively folk tale. An immature seminarian murders a young woman, and while he is able to cover up his crime, he is coincidentally ordered to keep watch over her body for three nights. Turns out, the lady is not quite at rest and she is out for revenge. The horrors take a while to unfold, but once the creatures of the underworld rise up to take vengeance, this film turns into a wild and visually exciting ride. Mario Bava's Black Sunday (1960) (Kanopy, Tubi) is also loosely based on the same story. The Queen of Spades (1949) (Kanopy) In this unusual tale of a haunting, a greedy Captain kills an old lady for her gambling secrets. She sold her own soul to get them and from beyond the grave she now makes him pay the price as well. A delightfully spooky mood and eerie atmosphere make this an especially pleasing period flick. Night Tide (1961) (Kanopy, Prime) Dennis Hopper is uncharacteristically sweet and vulnerable in an early role as a sailor on leave. In this slow burn story he falls in love with a woman who may or may not be a murderous mermaid. Though he knows he may be in danger, the young seaman fears loneliness even more. The Hands of Orlac (1924) (Kanopy, Prime) The Peter Lorre film Mad Love (1935) is the most famous version of this story of a pianist whose hands are replaced with those of a murderer after a horrific accident, and while I love its campy energy, I also appreciate this more creepily restrained, silent version of the story. Rather than Lorre's mad doctor character, Conrad Veidt is the center of the action here as the tortured pianist who is horrified by the origin of his new hands. Horror Noire: A History of Black Horror (2019) (Shudder) To fill our your Halloween viewing list, this fascinating documentary is a must-watch. The best actors, directors, and other creators of black horror are paired up to discuss their favorite films, their own work and what it means to be black and working in the genre. There are some fascinating duos here and as many of these films I have seen, my to-see list was nevertheless much longer after watching this.
Giallo All the Colors of the Dark (1976) (Shudder) Blood and Black Lace (1963) (Shudder, Prime) Suspiria (1977) (Hoopla) Five Dolls for an August Moon (1971) (Kanopy) Black Sabbath (1963) (Kanopy, Prime) There’s also a great collection of producer Val Lewton’s atmospheric horror films on Criterion Channel right now and, if you have the stomach for it, several of Herschel Gordon Lewis’ groundbreaking and gory splatter movies as well.
