Autopsy of a Ghost (original title: Autopsia de un Fantasma) is a 1968 Mexican horror-comedy film, directed by Ismael Rodríguez and starring Basil Rathbone (cinema’s most famous Sherlock Holmes), John Carradine (Houses of both Frankenstein and Dracula) and Cameron Mitchell (Blood and Black Lace, The Toolbox Murders). The remaining cast were all Spanish speakers – the film is particularly notable as the final screen role for Rathbone.

Elizabethan dandy, Canuto Perez (Rathbone), roams the Earth in limbo, having committed suicide 400 years previously, doomed to potter about as a ghost in a lonely castle. For company he has his own skeleton, which has managed to separate itself from his person and interacts with him as an individual entity, usually being contrary, and a chuckling tarantula. Perez’s previous life had seen him carousing with ladies without much thought for their feelings and his suicide came as an escape from the Earthly punishment which faced him. A little overdue, Satan (Carradine) appears and offers him a way out – he has four days to make one of four women fall in love with him to such an extent that they would be willing to die for him. The catch is that he mustn’t venture beyond the four walls of the castle and must rely on the Devil to tempt the unlucky females into his lair. Cue much dressing up, a robot and a child who’s at least 30 years old.

The same year George Romero was re-writing the horror rule-book, Carradine and Rathbone had serious gas bills to pay and lowered themselves to appearing in Mexican farces, the horror and comedy of which would already have been outdated by their heydays in the 30′s and 40′s. The pair had already disgraced themselves (along with Lon Chaney Jr) in the previous year’s Hillbillys in a Haunted House but little could prepare them or the audiences, such as they were, for this jaw-dropping mess. It actually starts rather entertainingly, the jokes are passable, the sets are well decorated and it’s huge fun to see three such famous faces in such bizarre circumstances. Sadly, the joke wears thin extremely quickly, a particular shame as the running time is gargantuan for what it is – approaching the two-hour mark. Worse still, so excited are the film-makers, they forget to include our heroes for around half the film.

Carradine later asserted that Rathbone’s death, shortly after filming, could be attributed to the high altitude they filmed at. That, or presumably, he got to watch the film. It would seem that Rathbone and Carradine both read their lines in English and were dubbed, rather than learning phonetically; Mitchell, the show-off, spoke his, like the rest of the cast, in Spanish. Though the few supporters of the film would claim that Rathbone is having some fun in his twilight years, his scenes as Cyrano de Bergerac and reading Hamlet rather smack of ridicule at his expense.

Shot in colour on a budget seemingly stratospherically higher than standard Mexican films, the urge to pack as much in as possible makes it absolute torture to watch, a constant parade of ridiculous characters, none of whom are any real fun or offer anything of interest. Rightly buried, this will never see the light of day officially, there simply isn’t an audience that would appreciate it. You can watch it for free online (see below), though you may feel overcharged.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

Big thanks to BasilRathbone.net for some of the pictures.

Highlights of the film:

Whole film online:

Tales of Horror and Tales of Mystery and Horror are audio books released on cassette in the UK. They feature stories by Edgar Allan Poe, read by Christopher lee.

Tales of Horror was first released in 1979 on the Listen for Pleasure label, which specialised in audio books at the time. Supplied on two cassette tapes, the packaging was an oversized, thick card cover with artwork based on The Pit and the Pendulum. The other stories included were The Fall of the House of Usher, The Cask of Amontillado and The Black Cat.

Lee was the perfect choice for these stories, given them both a gravitas and a sense of the dramatic. For many younger British people, these tapes provided their first introduction to Poe’s writing.

This collection was popular enough to ensure a follow-up in 1985 – Tales of Mystery and Horror featured Lee reading Hop Frog, The Raven, Masque of the Red Death, The Tell-Tale Heart and Murders in the Rue Morgue (the latter story split into two parts).

While these and other audio books in the Listen for Pleasure series were hugely popular at the time, they have never been re-released on CD or MP3.

DF

Carmilla is a Gothic novella by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. First published in 1872, it tells the story of a young woman’s susceptibility to the attentions of a female vampire named Carmilla. It was first published in the magazine The Dark Blue and then in the author’s collection of short stories In a Glass Darkly in the latter year.

Plot:

The story is presented as part of the casebook of Dr. Hesselius, whose departures from medical orthodoxy rank him as the first occult doctor in literature. It is narrated by Laura, one of the two main protagonists of the tale. Laura begins her tale by relating her childhood in a “picturesque and solitary” castle in the midst of an extensive forest in Styria, where she lives with her father, a wealthy English widower, retired from the Austrian Service. When she was six years old, Laura had a vision of a beautiful visitor in her bedchamber. She later claims to have been bitten on the chest, although no wounds are found on her.

12 years later, Laura and her father are admiring the sunset in front of the castle when her father tells her of a letter he received earlier from his friend, General Spielsdorf. The General was supposed to bring his niece, Bertha Rheinfeldt, to visit the two, but the niece suddenly died under mysterious circumstances. The General ambiguously concludes that he will discuss the circumstances in detail when they meet later. Laura is saddened by the loss of a potential friend, and longs for a companion. A carriage accident outside Laura’s home unexpectedly brings a girl of Laura’s age into the family’s care. Her name is Carmilla. Both girls instantly recognize the other from the “dream” they both had when they were young…

Influence:

Carmilla, the title character, is the original prototype for a legion of female and lesbian vampires. Though Le Fanu portrays his vampire’s sexuality with the circumspection that one would expect for his time, it is evident that lesbian attraction is the main dynamic between Carmilla and the narrator of the story. When compared to other literary vampires of the 19th century, Carmilla is a similar product of a culture with strict sexual mores and tangible religious fear. While Carmilla selected exclusively female victims, she only becomes emotionally involved with a few.

Films:

• Danish director Carl Dreyer loosely adapted Carmilla for his 1932 film Vampyr but deleted any references to lesbian sexuality.
• French director Roger Vadim‘s Et mourir de plaisir (literally And to die of pleasure, and internationally released as Blood and Roses, 1960) is based on Carmilla.
• A more-or-less faithful adaptation starring Christopher Lee was produced in Italy in 1964 under the title La cripta e l’incubo (Crypt of Horror).

• The British Hammer Film Productions also produced a fairly faithful adaptation of “Carmilla” titled The Vampire Lovers (1970) with Ingrid Pitt in the lead role, Madeline Smith as her victim/lover. It is the first installment of the Karnstein Trilogy.
• The Blood Spattered Bride (La Novia Ensangrentada) is a 1972 Spanish horror film written and directed by Vicente Aranda, is based on the text. The film has reached cult status for its mix of horror, vampirism and seduction with lesbian overtones.
• Carmilla (1980) is a black-and-white television adaptation from Poland, starring singer Izabela Trojanowska in the title role, and Monika Stefanowicz as Laura.
• In 1989, Gabrielle Beaumont also adapted Carmilla into a medium length film with Meg Tilly as the vampiress.
• In the 2005 direct-to-video movie, The Batman vs. Dracula, Carmilla Karnstein is referenced of being Count Dracula‘s bride, who had been incinerated by sunlight years ago. Dracula hoped to revive her by sacrificing Vicki Vale‘s soul, but the ritual was stopped by the Batman.
• Carmilla is featured as the main antagonist in the 2009 movie Lesbian Vampire Killers, a comedy starring Paul McGann and James Corden, with Silvia Colloca as Carmilla.
• Styria (2013) is an adaptation of the novel set in late 1980s with Julia Pietrucha as Carmilla and Eleanor Tomlinson as Lara.

Music:

• Cradle of Filth, a British extreme metal band, produced an album called Dusk… and Her Embrace, largely inspired by Carmilla and Le Fanu’s writings in general, and have also recorded an instrumental track titled “Carmilla’s Masque”.
• Theatres des Vampires, an Italian extreme gothic metal band, has produced a video single called “Carmilla” for its album Moonlight Waltz.
• A chamber opera version of Carmilla appeared in 1970 (Carmilla: A Vampire Tale, music by Ben Johnston, script by Wilford Leach).

Books:

• A vampire named Baron Karnstein appears in Anno Dracula by Kim Newman. Carmilla herself is mentioned several times as a former (until her death at the hands of vampire hunters) friend of the book’s vampire heroine Geneviève. Some short stories set in the Anno Dracula universe have also included Carmilla.
• In the Japanese light novel series High School DxD the vampires are depicted as having a society divided among two major factions: The Tepes and the Carmilla. The Carmilla faction favors a matriarchal society for the world of vampires while the Tepes prefer a patriarchal government.
• Elfriede Jelinek‘s play Illness or Modern Women uses Carmilla as the name of one of its female protagonists, who becomes a vampire.
• Author Anne Rice has cited Carmilla as an inspiration for The Vampire Chronicles; a series of bestselling vampire books she wrote from 1976-2003.
• The novel Carmilla: The Wolves of Styria is a re-imagining of the original story. It is a derivative re-working, listed as being authored by J.S. Le Fanu and David Brian.
• Carmilla: A Dark Fugue is a short book by David Brian. Although the story is primarily centered around the exploits of General Spielsdorf; nonetheless it relates directly to events which unfold within Carmilla: The Wolves of Styria.
• Carmilla: The Return by Kyle Marffin is the sequel of Carmilla.

Comics:

• In 1991, Aircel Comics published a six-issue black and white miniseries of Carmilla by Steven Jones and John Ross. It was based on the story by Sheridan Le Fanu and billed as “The Erotic Horror Classic of Female Vampirism”. The first issue was printed in February 1991. The first three issues were an adaptation of the original story, while the latter three were a sequel set in the 1930s.
  
• In the first story arc of Dynamite Entertainment‘s revamp of Vampirella, a villainous vampire named Le Fanu inhabits the basement of a Seattle nightclub named Carmilla.

Video games:

• In six of the Castlevania games; Circle of the Moon, Rondo of Blood, its PSP remake Dracula X Chronicles, Simon’s Quest, Judgment, and Lords of Shadow; there is a female vampire named Carmilla (also spelled Camilla in Circle of the Moon).

Television:

• In episode 36 of The Return of Ultraman, the monster of the week in the episode, Draculas, originates from a planet named Carmilla. He also possesses the corpse of a woman as his human disguise.

• The Doctor Who serial State of Decay features a vampire named Camilla who in a brief but explicit moment finds much to ‘admire’ in the Doctor’s female travelling companion Romana who finds she has to turn away from the vampire’s intense gaze.
• In the HBO TV series True Blood, in episodes 5 and 6 of season 2, a hotel in Dallas, Texas has been built for vampires called “Hotel Carmilla”. They have heavy shaded rooms, and provide room service of human “snacks” (with blood type and sexuality) for their vampire clientele.

Wikipedia

The House in Nightmare Park (known as Crazy House in the U.S.) is a 1973 British comedy horror film directed by Peter Sykes and starring Frankie Howerd, Ray Milland and Hugh Burden. It was one of a number of British comedy films which parodied the successful British horror genre, closely associated with the Hammer Horror films. Its plot follows that of a traditional “Old Dark House” story.

Struggling artiste, Foster Twelvetrees (celebrated British comedian, Frankie Howerd) performs his excruciatingly over-sincere readings of the classics in the flea pits of London, oblivious to the fact his meagre audiences are, at best, asleep. Never one to turn down a paying gig, he accepts an offer from Stewart Henderson (Ray Milland, Dial M For Murder, X: The Man With the X-Ray Eyes) to perform for his family in his sprawling Gothic mansion. Despite the spooky surroundings and odd behaviour of Henderson’s sister, Jessica (Rosalie Crutchley, 1963′s The Haunting) and their servant, Patel (a blacked-up John Bennett from The House That Dripped Blood) who seem particularly intent on rifling through Twelvetree’s luggage. During the night the house is stirred by the arrival of Henderson’s brother, Reggie (Hugh Burden, Blood From the Mummy’s Tomb) plus his niece, Verity (Elizabeth MacLennan, Hands of the Ripper), who seem to be looking for handouts from the ill brother of the family, Victor, who is apparently locked in his room, convalescing.. Elsewhere, it is apparent their aged mother is in a locked room in the house – Foster gets along with her very well until she attempts to murder him, Patel coming to his rescue.

Persuaded to stay, yet another brother arrives, Ernest (Kenneth Griffith, Circus of Horrors) and his wife Aggie (Ruth Dunning, The Black Panther), again looking for money from the AWOL Victor. Suspicions are roused that there may have been unagreed changes to Victor’s will and the confusion builds to a head when it is found that Victor isn’t in his room, only a dummy – not only that but Twelvetrees hasn’t been led to the house for reasons of entertainment but because he is in fact yet another brother and may hold the key to the missing family diamonds. With the family plotting between and against each other, the action leads to the peculiarly placed snake-house where it becomes clear that only the last person standing will have a chance of claiming the lost hoard.

The 1960′s had seen a remarkable change in the fortunes of Howerd who had despaired throughout the 50′s as both bad project choices, changing fads and crippling stage-fright had devastated his career as one of the UK’s top comedians. By recognising his strengths as an almost avant garde performer, able to spin on a sixpence and deliver out of character/script bon mots, he had embraced the variety background rather than rebel against it. Regardless, he still harboured thoughts of giving at least one great performance on the Silver Screen, especially since he had been denied the opportunity to reprise his successful stage role in A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum, overlooked in favour of the original star, Zero Mostel. His previous big screen appearances had usually missed the mark, often by a significant distance – he harboured a life-long grudge against director Michael Winner for, in his opinion, almost ruining his career, after appearing in his production of The Cool Mikado.

Milland was particularly keen on the project, as he was a big fan of Howerd’s – perhaps an odd admiration for the often dour, serious-looking actor. The House in Nightmare Park was essentially from the stable of Associated English Scripts (ALS), a company founded by Howerd and his agent Stanley Dale alongside the comedy writers, Eric Sykes, Spike Milligan, Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, later to expand to include the likes of Terry Nation (who here co-produces) and their secretary Beryl Vertue (now recognised as one of the most important figures in British television). In 1967 ALS merged with the Australian Robert Stigwood Company and through this antipodean connection led to Peter Sykes being installed as director (later to offer forth the rather less comedic Demons of the Mind and To the Devil, A Daughter for Hammer). Screenplay duties were handled by both Terry Nation and Clive Exton, who between them covered everything from Doctor Who to 10, Rillington Place over their relentless writing careers.

It is perhaps odd then that where the film fundamentally falls down is the screenplay. It is almost crushingly overworked and fussy, introducing so many brothers you half expect Howard Keel to start dancing at the end of the dining room table. There is also the perennial problem of pitching a comedy horror at the right level to please both audiences – it’s a pretty decent effort, Howerd’s character as a lousy ham actor allowing his whimsical one-liners to carry without dragging you out of the film. The film is clearly steeped in the history of both The Old Dark House (the 1963 version rather than the 1932 classic) and The Cat and the Canary (Bob Hope version as opposed to the 1927 film) and it is aided by the excellent cinematography of Ian Wilson (before he did Queen Kong!) in the recognisable surroundings of Oakley Court in Berkshire, seen in everything from The Plague of the Zombies to The Rocky Horror Picture Show, not to mention the oozy credits of TV series Hammer House of Horror.

Keeping with the Hammer connection, a word on the score – a masterful one from Harry Robertson (here, Robinson), famous for many horror scores, including Vampire Lovers and Twins of Evil. Some may say the score is too good for the film but that only lends the film even more of a peculiar air – so many familiar actors of such great standing and yet, somehow, it doesn’t quite work. The film very much belongs to Howerd, Milland stays in the shadows, never really able to build on a character that is far more crucial than the action suggests. Only Hugh Burden gets a good run out, constantly referring to Twelvetrees as a ‘swine’ – it borders on annoying but re-watches are surprisingly forgiving.

It goes without saying that violence is not a core part of the film and beyond the threat of interrupted sleep and some snakes, the fear is largely non-existent – this is even more frustrating when we are treated to an incredibly effective surprise ending, which only serves to remind the viewer how unnecessary the long introductions the characters get are.

The film, alas, did nothing to change Howerd’s luck at the box office but it remains his best film and the one he was most fond of. It’s a film which is well worth persevering with, a unique film in many ways, despite its familiar influences and one which has more laughs than many comedies of the era and more atmosphere than plenty of horror films.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

(Agnes) Elisabeth Lutyens (9 July 1906 – 14 April 1983) was an English composer of classical music but is best known for her contribution for scores to horror films throughout the 1960′s.

Born in London, one of five children of the architect Sir Edwin Lutyens and his wife Emily, Elisabeth studied composition at the École Normale de Musique de Paris, before accompanying her mother to India in 1923. On her return she studied with John Foulds and subsequently continued her musical education from 1926 to 1930 at the Royal College of Music in London as a pupil of Harold Darke. 

Lutyens is credited with bringing the Schoenbergian serial technique to the world of film scores, not always employing or limiting herself to 12-note series; some works use a self-created 14-note progression. Schoenberg’s exploration of tonal and atonal music was a huge influence on Hammer’s early sound, the gloomy expressionism first evident in Benjamin Frankel’s 1960 score for The Curse of the Werewolf (1960) though it was Luytens who is credited with fully exploiting these avenues. Her rejection of the traditional lush, romantic scores often used in film, lead to her being viewed as ‘difficult’ and sometimes even ‘un-British’.

Perhaps it goes without saying that Lutyen’s ability to break into territory inhabited almost solely by men is little less than remarkable, paving the way for future female composers such as Nora Orlandi and Wendy Carlos (born Walter, of course). Lutyens was no shrinking violet though – striding through upper class London society amongst such company as Constant Lambert, Francis Bacon and Dylan Thomas (for a time, her lodger) but posturing as a radical left-winger, even joining the Communist Party, all the while living in something approaching squalor – a real paradox. This, combined with her often outrageous anti-Semitic outbursts and homophobic ranting (I may have forgotten to mention her alcoholism) did not make her an ideal dinner guest.

Lutyens once said, “film and radio music must be written not only quickly but with the presumption that it will be only heard once. Its impact must be immediate. One does not grow gradually to love or understand a film score like a string quartet”. She was the first female British composer to score a feature film, her first foray into the genre being Penny and the Pownall Case (1948) but her work on horror films, undertaken for financial reasons, are where she made her mark. Her work in the genre began in 1960 with Cyril Frankel’s Never Take Sweets From a Stranger for Hammer, an alarming film even now. Her distinctly anti-romantic treatment is wistful but still angular, leading you down, disturbingly apt strange paths.

This was followed in 1963 by a score for Freddie Francis and Jimmy Sangster’s Paranoiac, a marvellous work of grating textures – it sounds like a gnashing beast having a conversation with itself under the film. Lutyen’s score is mixed with diegetic music during some of the murder scenes, seagulls and running water mashing with her grim tones.

The following year saw her working on The Earth Dies Screaming but perhaps her most famous work was to appear in 1965 in Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors, the well-regarded anthology for Amicus. The rather scattershot approach of instruments combating each other in random blasts is typical or her minimalist though very purposeful manner of phrasing. It’s almost rioutously unjoyous, about the most depressing, upsetting and jarring thing you could marry to images on a screen – of course, it works perfectly. It should be noted that the Roy Castle jazz section of ‘Voodoo’ is the work of the musician Tubby Hayes, not Lutyens.

Continuing her work for Amicus came her own particular favourite score, for 1965′s The Skull. Employing harsh, irregular percussion, it is one of the elements which differentiates Amicus from Hammer, despite the obvious similarities of theme and often cast. As if being one of the lone females composing for film, it says much about her deep-felt belief in the power of the structure of her works that she was confident enough to submit this for what essentially was a major work for the studio. Whereas Italian composers at a similar period were also willing to be challenging in their composition, this tended to veer far nearer to jazz than obtusely challenging avant garde classical music.

As time progressed her work became no less-challenging - The Psychopath and The Terrornauts were tonally slightly more fun but still deliberately exactly the opposite to any other British composer for film at the time. She concluded her forays into the world of horror in typically unexpected directions – 1967′s somewhat obscure Theatre of Death, the evocative of the era educational short, Never Go With Strangers and finally the as raunchy and absurd as it sounds Dutch effort, My Nights With Susan, Sandra, Olga and Julie.

Her mark on the world of composition for horror film cannot be overstated – her complex, though often sparse pieces are hugely atmospheric and challenging yet give every film they appear alongside that extra something that would be sorely missed in their absence.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

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Cassandra Peterson (born September 17, 1951) is an American actress best known for her portrayal of the horror hostess character Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. She gained fame on Los Angeles television station KHJ wearing a black, gothic, revealing, cleavage-enhancing gown as host of Movie Macabre, a weekly horror movie presentation.

Born in Kansas, Peterson grew up near Randolph, until her family then moved to Colorado. According to a 2011 interview, Peterson states that as a child, while other girls were occupied with Barbie dolls, she was more fascinated by horror-themed toys.

In the late spring of 1981, six years after the death of Larry Vincent, who starred as host Sinister Seymour of a local Los Angeles weekend horror show called Fright Night, show producers began to bring the show back. They asked 1950s horror hostess Maila Nurmi to revive The Vampira Show. Nurmi worked on the project for a short time, but eventually quit when the producers would not hire Lola Falana to play Vampira. The station sent out a casting call, and Peterson auditioned and won the role. She and her best friend, Robert Redding, came up with the sexy punk/vampire look after producers rejected her original idea to look like Sharon Tate in The Fearless Vampire Killers.

Peterson’s Elvira character rapidly gained notoriety with her tight-fitting, low-cut, cleavage-displaying black gown. Adopting the flippant tone of a California “Valley girl“, she brought a satirical, sarcastic edge to her commentary. She revelled in dropping risqué double entendres and making frequent jokes about her cleavage.

The Elvira character soon evolved from an obscure cult figure to a lucrative brand. She was associated with many products through the 1980s and 1990s including Halloween costumes, comic books, action figures, trading cards, pinball machines, Halloween decor, model kits, calendars, perfume and dolls. She has appeared on the cover of Femme Fatales magazine five times.

Her popularity reached its zenith with the release of the feature film Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, co-written by Peterson and released in 1988.

Buy Elvira, Mistress of the Dark on DVD from Amazon.co.uk

In 1985, Elvira began hosting a home video series called ThrillerVideo for U.S.A. Home Video and later International Video Entertainment (I.V.E.). Many of these films were hand-selected by Peterson. Choosing to stay away from the more explicit cannibal, slasher and zombie films of the time, these were generally tamer films such as The Monster Club and Dan Curtis television films, as well as many episodes of the Hammer House of Horror television series. She refused to host Make Them Die Slowly, Seven Doors of Death, and Buried Alive, so the videos were released on the LIVE Home Video label without Elvira’s appearance as hostess.

The success of the ThrillerVideo series led to a second video set, Elvira’s Midnight Madness through Rhino Home Video. In 2004 a DVD horror-film collection called Elvira’s Box of Horrors was released, marking Elvira’s return to horror-movie hosting after a ten-year absence. In September 2010, Elvira’s Movie Macabre returned to television syndication in the U.S., this time with public-domain films.

Elvira appeared in comic books from DC Comics, Eclipse Comics and Claypool Comics. DC published a short-lived series in the mid-80s titled Elvira’s House of Mystery.

In the late 1980s and early 1990s, a number of Elvira-themed computer games were produced: Elvira: Mistress of the Dark, Elvira 2: The Jaws of Cerberus and Elvira: The Arcade Game.

Two Elvira-themed pinball machines were produced by Bally/Midway: Elvira and the Party Monsters (1989) and Scared Stiff (1996).

In the early 1990s, Peterson began a series of successful Elvira calendars featuring characteristically provocative and campy poses in various macabre settings.

After several years of unsuccessful attempts to make a sequel to Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, Cassandra and her manager and then-husband Mark Pierson decided to take matters into their own hands and finance a second movie themselves. In November 2000, Cassandra wrote and co-produced Elvira’s Haunted Hills.

Buy Elvira’s Haunted Hills on DVD from Amazon.com | Amazon.co.uk

The film was shot on location in Romania for just under one million dollars. With little budget left for promotion, Cassandra and Mark screened the film at AIDS charity fund raisers across America. For the many people in attendance, this was the first opportunity to see the woman behind the Elvira character.

In 2012 Peterson became an investor in Comikaze Entertainment Inc., which hosts Comikaze Expo, one of the largest pop culture conventions in the United States. She and fellow investor, Marvel Comics legend Stan Lee, were guests of honor at the inaugural Comikaze Expo in 2011. Comikaze CEO Regina Carpinelli refers to Peterson as the “Mistress of the Board”.

Buy Elvira’s Movie Macabre 12-film DVD set from Amazon.com

Buy Amok Time Elvira 7 inch action figure from Amazon.com

Buy Elvira’s Movie Macabre: Bloody Madness on DVD from Amazon.com

Buy Elvira’s Move Macabre: Giant Monsters on DVD from Amazon.com

Wikipedia | Elvira’s Movie Macabre episode guide

Orror is an Italian adult comic book (known as “fumetti” in Italy) that was published by Edifumetto in two volumes in the late seventies. Initially, twenty one issues were published between June 1977 and May 1978. The second series, published in 1979, consisted of six issues. Some of the cover artwork was obviously ‘inspired’ by film imagery.

We are grateful to Comic Vine for information and images.

Dwight Iliff Frye (February 22, 1899 – November 7, 1943) was an American stage and screen actor, noted for his appearances in the classic horror films Dracula (1931), Frankenstein (1931), The Invisible Man (1933), and Bride of Frankenstein (1935). He is frequently seen on-screen as a simple, sometimes deranged, sycophantic assistant to a more intelligent, malevolent character.

Born in Salina, Kansas on February 22nd 1899, after which his parents relocated to Denver, Colorado, Dwight was given voice training and piano lessons, showing signs of a promising career as an accomplished concert pianist. His unusual middle name derives from a character in Tennyson’s poetry cycle, Idylls of the King, one of the few nods towards the arts his parents gave.

An appearance in a school play led to Frye catching the acting bug, to the dismay and alarm of his parents, particularly his mother who was a devout Christian Scientist. Despite their concerns, he followed his dream to Washington, appearing on-stage in a variety of roles, with the ambition of appearing on Broadway.

After a series of successful theatre notices and being described as one of the ten most accomplished stage actors in the country, Broadway did indeed come calling, culminating in a play which opened in 1926 and ran for 165 performances – The Devil in the Cheese. This play is particularly notable, not only for its successful five month run but that it pitched him against two particular actors; Fredric March, best known for his Oscar winning performance in 1931′s Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and one Bela Lugosi. Remarkably, the omens did not stop there, Frye appearing a Renfield opposite Frederick (“not very scary”) Pymm in a stage production of Dracula in 1929/30.

It was in New York that Frye made his first screen appearance, unbilled in a wedding scene for Universal’s  comedy, The Night Bird (1928). Marrying Laurette Bullivant the same year, his stealthy rise to fame was unexpectedly stifled by the stock market crash of 1929 – however, it was during this period in which he appeared in provincial theatre to make ends meet that he was spotted by a Warner Bros. executive.

Before working for Warner’s, it was Universal that gave him his first major role, that of the fly-eating, wide-eyed, babbling Renfield in Tod Browning’s Dracula (1931). Despite actively campaigning to win the coveted role, the actor who played him on Broadway, opposite Bela Lugosi, Bernard Jukes, was unsuccessful – indeed his career never recovered. Frye’s portrayal became the template for all future portrayals of the character, his high-pitched, hissing voice and the creepiest laugh in film history. Sadly, it also typecast him for the remainder of his career – despite superb notices from the press for his role, he was a new face to most of the watching public and their attention was constantly dragged to the fruity-vowelled Lugosi – Frye was the mental one.

Dwight appeared in the first film version of The Maltese Falcon, as the neurotic psychopath Gunsel Wilmer, although some of his scenes, like so many others in his future appearances, ended up on the cutting room floor. Back at Universal, a  brief stop-off in The Black Camel followed, opposite both Lugosi and Charlie Chan-favourite Warner Orland (also seen in Werewolf of London) but it was in another film that Dwight once more found his calling as a subservient lunatic, this time as Fritz in James Whale’s game-changer, Frankenstein (1931). But for Fritz mistakenly swapping over the required brains needed to give life to Frankenstein’s creation, who knows where the film would have gone; it was actually something of a slight role yet Frye captured the ghoulish glee and castle-dwelling torch-wielding of the character magnificently.

It says much about Colin Clive and Boris Karloff that they were not blown off the set, Whale having seen his potential and giving the role of Fritz a far more expanded role than the book, for the first time with dialogue. Reporting to the make-up chair of Jack Pierce every morning for his hunched-back and smeared-on mask, his enthusiastic method acting slightly reduces him to comic relief, in a film where Karloff’s portrayal literally had audiences running for the exit in fear. It reinforced his reputation for playing supporting roles of a certain mentality.

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In 1933 Dwight was back at Universal for an unbilled role as a reporter in The Invisible Man, primarily as a favour for his friend James WhaleHe had been determined for typecasting not to happen and had taken roles in film genres ranging from comedy to gangster but none had lead to the wide-spread acclaim as his horror roles. Inevitably then, his role as Herman Glieb, the village idiot in The Vampire Bat, returned to gibbering, sound-bites and furtive looks to the camera. The feature was filmed on the Universal back-lot for Majestic Pictures and starred Lionel Atwill as mad scientist Otto von Neimann and Fay Wray. Herman’s fondness for furry bats makes him the number one suspect in a series of ‘bat killings’ that are plaguing the town of Kleinschloss. It’s a brilliant, rather overlooked role, with some wonderfully perverse dialogue:

“Bats…they soft, like cat! They not bite Herman!”

“See? Blood! Herman like you…me Herman! You give me apples, Herman give you nice, soft bat!”

In 1935, a good cast was indeed well worth repeating and Bride of Frankenstein was released, perhaps the greatest film from Universal’s golden period. So enamoured was Whale with Frye’s earlier performance, that he essentially gave him three roles; Fritz, the loyal, disturbed assistant of the doctor; Kark, the village local who murders his family and blames the Monster and an unnamed grave robber who assist Ernest Thesiger’s Dr Pretorius procure fresh corpses. Ultimately these roles were combined into the role of Karl. Note, Frye never appeared in any film as the oft-misquoted ‘Igor’. Some of Frye’s role ended up on the cutting room floor, most famously the scene of him murdering the village burgomaster, (E.E. Clive) but also scenes of him murdering his aunt and uncle, some more background on his character and some more scenes opposite Thesiger. It was perhaps the only vehicle outlandish enough to make Frye’s performance seem appropriate but it was the final nail in his coffin as far as his acting career was concerned – despite putting every last bit of energy into capitalising on his fame, he was destined never to have a break-out role.

He did actually receive top-billing (nearly) in one of his next films, the much over-looked The Crime of Dr Crespi,  alongside acting titan, Erich von Stroheim. Based on Edgar Allan Poe’s The Premature Burial and sporting the poster tagline, ‘It Starts Where “Frankenstein” Left Off!’, it again features him in the shadows of the medical profession and again with shovel in hand bothering the dead.

For the remainder of the 1930′s, Frye worked tirelessly, both on camera and in the theatre but none of his roles were anything more meaningful than ‘supporting’. A potential return to the ‘big’ time was denied him with 1939′s Son of Frankenstein, in which his role as an angry villager (allegedly) was lost entirely due to studio tomfoolery, being unable to decide whether Technicolour was the way forward – an eventual decision to stick with black and white meant Frye’s parts were unusable. Without the out-of-favour Whale at the helm and with chaotic shooting, the film was, incredibly, a box-office success. Frye was appalled. Ironically, this is the film with Igor (actually Ygor) in it, played by…Bela Lugosi.

Frye did appear in two further Frankenstein efforts, yet another angry villager in Ghost of Frankenstein and a tailor in Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman. These incredibly reduced roles must have been a real kick in the teeth for an actor so integral to the success of three of the biggest horror films of all time. Frye’s final notable role was that of, yes, a hunchback in 1943′s Dead Men Walk. Low-budget and relatively little-seen, the film echoes much of Dracula and is surprisingly effective. It did little to help either Frye’s career or his ailing health – Frye had secretly being harbouring a heart problem for many years and the stress and toil of his endeavours was beginning to slowly draw the curtain on a frustrating career.

Not only price prevented Frye from attending to medical matters – his faith as a Christian Scientist forbade the intervention of professionals and, alas, it was to cost him his life – Frye died of a heart attack whilst taking a bus journey to the set of a film he was shooting, 1944′s political biopic, Wilson. He is interred at Glendale’s Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery, alongside such appropriate luminaries as Forrest J Ackerman, Lon Chaney Snr, James Whale and composer Max Steiner. Frye’s legacy can be both seen and heard – Alice Cooper’s 1971 song, “The Ballad of Dwight Fry (sic)” is sung from the perspective of one of the actor’s creations,

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

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Count Dracula’s Great Love (originally El gran amor del conde Drácula) is a 1973 Spanish film directed by Javier Aguirre. The film is also known as Cemetery Girls (American reissue title), Dracula’s Great Love (American promotional title), Dracula’s Virgin Lovers (UK and Canadian theatrical title) and The Great Love of Count Dracula (International English title). The titular vampire is played by Spain’s most famous horror star, Paul Naschy, the stage name of Jacinto Molina, who also co-wrote the screenplay with Aguirre and Alberto S. Insúa.

Through the thick forest fog we witness a coach losing a wheel on Borgo Pass (one of the few nods to Bram Stoker‘s novel) and the five extravagantly-costumed travellers setting off on foot to find shelter for the evening. A local sanitarium is deemed suitable and they are granted a hearty welcome by the owner, Dr. Wendell Marlow (Naschy). The doctor is actually none other than Count Dracula, though it’s of no particular consequence that he goes by this name as this is pretty much the only connection to either the novel or any film with the character. The Count is desperate to resurrect his deceased daughter but can only do so with the blood of a willing virgin bride. One by one, his female guests meet grisly (not to mention breast-baring) ends until the one virgin, Karen (Haydée Politoff, of Queens of Blood) remains but an unlikely pang of moral conscience leads to a surprise conclusion.

Rural Madrid is not a particularly convincing Transylvania but the gothic stylings of Paul Naschy’s attempt to nail the role of the Count are incredibly heady, from the foggy exteriors to the lushly-decorated crumbling castle. Javier Aguirre was something of a stranger to horror films and it shows – the unnecessarily twisty plot reads more like the rules to a complicated card game, leaving cinema’s most notorious vampire with his wings clipped and, well, rather toothless. To make up for this, we are treated to a greatest hits of nudity and romping, with dashes of claret in a self-aware attempt to fulfil its horror film remit.

The quartet of bodiced lovelies is completed by Rosanna Yanni (Naschy’s Hunchback of the Morgue), Mirta Miller (Umberto Lenzi’s Eyeball) and Ingrid Garbo (Murder Mansion), though their ability to act is slightly surplus to requirements, indeed even Naschy is something of a by-stander, with no enemy as such, the characters plod around somewhat aimlessly until they fall into bed with the next man/woman. The sappy Count, when not moping around is beaten up by two far more vicious-looking vampires, their glowing, cat-like eyes a nice touch but not enough to stir huge interest.

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Many of the crew on the film had worked on 1972′s violent Western, Cut-Throats 9, including the composer of the score, Carmelo Bernaola, a workman-like but reliable and long-time collaborator of Naschy. The nudity in the film is strong for the time, pushing the bare skin barrier far harder than Hammer did, aided by the film’s numerous different cuts, different territories being treated to differing strengths of bosom screen time – this also accounts for the myriad of different titles.

Although Naschy was most well-known for his werewolf character Waldemar Daninsky, he was also famous for playing most of the movie world’s most famous monsters, from hunchbacks to The Mummy, to warlocks to Fu Manchu – yet here, as Dracula, he seems a little lost, playing the required suave role perhaps for the sake of it and completely lacking the more monster-like passion he was known for. Without the trusty director of his classic films, Leon Klimovsky, Count Dracula’s Great Love is fun as 70′s Euro-sleaze but a disappointment as a cohesive narrative. Ironically, the film was sometimes shown theatrically on a double-bill with Klimovsky’s The Vampires’ Night Orgy.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

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Although the continuity is a little wayward, the events of many of the Golden Age of Universal horror films actually take place in one of two fictional locales – the village of Frankenstein and that of Vasaria (sometimes spelled Visaria). In turn, these were generally filmed in the same place too, the sprawling Universal back-lot, nicknamed ‘Little Europe’.

Frankenstein Village is home, naturally enough, to the famed Frankenstein family who resided in the area for 700 years. Taking elements of the setting of Mary Shelley’s novel, Ingolstadt in Bavaria, it is referred to in House of Frankenstein as being located near the fictional town of Reigelberg in Switzerland (the country is also referred to in a 1930 shooting script for Frankenstein).

Notable places of interest in the village include a castle on the edge of the village, the ancestral dwelling of the Frankenstein family, latter inhabitants being the Baron and his son, Henry. Located behind the castle was an old watchtower where Henry Frankenstein drew notoriety for his attempts to grant life to cadavers. The building also had a crypt and a windmill is to be found nearby. Overseen by a burgomaster, the locals partake in many traditional trades and much of their economy appears to be based on the large forested area at the edge of their community.

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Generally assumed to be in Switzerland, Vasaria is nestled in the mountains of Eastern Europe, rather isolated from the outside world and approximately a three-day journey from the nearest hamlet – Frankenstein. Vasaria was also home to men of medicine – Dr. Gustav Neimann (played by Boris Karloff in the film House of Frankenstein), and the youngest son of Henry Frankenstein, Ludwig (Cedric Hardwicke in Ghost of Frankenstein). Vasaria also became the residence of Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney Jr), better known in furry mode as The Wolfman.

For the narrative to make any sense at all, the events of the films should take place in roughly this order:

Frankenstein (Frankenstein Village)

Bride of Frankenstein (Frankenstein Village)

Dracula

Dracula’s Daughter

Son of Frankenstein (Frankenstein Village)

Ghost of Frankenstein (Vasaria)

The Wolf Man

Son of Dracula

Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man

House of Frankenstein (Frankenstein Village)

House of Dracula (Visaria)

Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein (ironically the one film which attempts to put all the monsters in a ‘believable’ real world where they could cross paths). Both towns have a surprisingly high quota of hunchbacks and hanged criminals.

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Stage 12 at Universal Studios was built in 1928, covers 29,500 square feet and was originally created for the 1929 film, Broadway. The sprawling nature of the set meant that in leant itself to epic productions where entire communities had to be housed – these included Dracula, Frankenstein ( both 1931) and Bride of Frankenstein (1935). Alas, a devastating fire in 1967 means that the current replica of a town available to visit is not the original.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

With thanks to Universal Monster Army website and Monster Kid Classic Horror Forum

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‘Can you face the ultimate in diabolism …..can you stand pure terror?’

Die, Monster, Die! (British title: Monster of Terror) is a 1965 sci-fi horror film directed by Daniel Haller (the art director for Roger Corman’s Poe films) from a screenplay by Jerry Sohl, loosely adapted from H.P. Lovecraft‘s story The Colour Out of Space. It stars Boris Karloff, Nick Adams (Godzilla vs. Monster Zero), Freda Jackson, Suzan Farmer, Terence De Marney and Patrick Magee (Dementia 13; Asylum; The Black Cat).

It was shot in February/March 1965 at Shepperton Studios and on location in Shere village and Oakley Court under the working title The House at the End of the World. Haller also directed The Dunwich Horror, a 1969 Lovecraft adaptation.

In the USA, American International Pictures released the film  on a double bill with Mario Bava’s Planet of the Vampires (1965). In the UK the film was released on a double-bill with Corman’s 1963 film The Haunted Palace (also based on a Lovecraft story).

Plot teaser:

An American college student (Nick Adams) pays a visit to the estate of his fiancée’s family. During his journey, he finds an area of countryside burned out and an enormous crater, as well as townspeople reluctant to the point of hostility to either drive to his destination or even talk about the family that lives there. The source of all these problems is later revealed to be a radioactive meteorite kept hidden in the basement by his girlfriend’s father (Boris Karloff), who has been using the radiation to mutate plant and animal life, with horrific consequences. Worse yet, family members may have been affected, too…

Reviews:

“The plodding plot would be more painful if the flick were longer, but the intriguing meld of gothic horror and contemporary sci-fi is hard to pass up.” G. Noel Gross, DVD Talk

“Despite the old school Gothic setting (large castle, fog-shrouded forests and graveyards), this seems strangely modern at times in terms of character actions, pacing and sound design. Haller and his crew make it all quite atmospheric, there are some interesting aural and light effects used at the finale, nice use of matte paintings throughout, some mildly icky make-up fx (such as a face melting down) and an interesting metallic-looking meteor monster that shows up at the very end.” The Bloody Pit of Horror

“Despite game performances from all involved, Die, Monster, Die! is ultimately undone by its generic and uninspired approach. The effects of the meteorite – kept squirreled away in the basement – are erratic and highly selective.” Aaron Christensen, HorrorHound magazine

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Cast:

• Boris Karloff as Nahum Witley
• Nick Adams as Stephen Reinhart
• Freda Jackson as Letitia Witley
• Suzan Farmer as Susan Witley
• Terence De Marney as Merwyn
• Patrick Magee as Dr. Henderson
• Paul Farrell as Jason
• Leslie Dwyer as Potter
• Sydney Bromley as Pierce

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Frankenstein’s Castle of Freaks (originally: Terror! Il castello delle donne maledette – “Terror! The Castle of Cursed Women”) is a 1974 Italian horror film produced and directed by exploitation entrepreneur Dick Randall. It is very loosely based on the Mary Shelley novel Frankenstein.

The film is also known as Dr. Frankenstein’s Castle of Freaks (American video title), Frankenstein’s Castle (British video title), Monsters of Frankenstein, Terror, Terror Castle, The House of Freaks and The Monsters of Dr. Frankenstein

In a non-specified time in an undisclosed European country, neanderthals roam the countryside, upsetting the local villagers. Seeing an opportunity to rid themselves of their tormentors, they corner one of the brutes (Goliath, Loren Ewing from Devil in the Flesh), evading the tree trunks and rocks he hurls, to bash him over the head and kill him. Leaving his corpse, this is soon collected by some shadowy individuals and taken to the castle laboratory of Count Frankenstein (Rossano Brazzi, slumming it somewhat post-The Barefoot Contessa and The Italian Job) so that he can continue to conduct his unholy experiments. The Count is most disappointed that the other (female) cadaver collected up has been tampered with by his necrophiliac dwarf assistant, Genz (Michael Dunn, The Mutations, The Werewolf of Washington)

The locals are becoming alarmed – they’re suspicious as to what is going on at the castle and also a tad unhappy that the graves of their loved ones are being robbed. Not for the first time in the film, they are told to go away and stop being silly by the hopelessly inept head of police, played by familiar trash movie face, Edmund Purdom (The Fifth Cord; Absurd; Pieces) in fairness it’s a very sparse mob with a touch of the Monty Pythons about it. Elsewhere, Genz has befriended the other marauding caveman, Ook (the brilliant character actor Salvatore Baccaro, aka Sal Boris but here under the worst pseudonym ever, Boris Lugosi) and… if you’ve made it this far, it probably doesn’t matter.

Some female nudity, comedy caveman grunting, some pervy dwarf action and some endless experiments with the world’s smallest lab set-up, the ending can’t come quickly enough – indeed, rather like the opening scene, when it does come it seems out of place.

Directed by Dick Randall (here as Robert H. Oliver), best known as a producer of low-budget schlock and horror (The Mad Butcher; Pieces; The Urge to Kill), the film was made in Italy and features many bit-art actors from genre of the time – or more correctly, slightly before the time, many of them clearly having fallen on bad times – also along for the ride are the likes of German stunner Christiane Rücker (Castle of the Walking Dead), buff strongman Gordon Mitchell (Satyricon, Frankenstein ’80), Xiro Papas (The Beast in Heat) and Luciano Pigozzi (Blood and Black Lace, Baron Blood, All the Colours of the Dark).

The real wonder of Frankenstein’s Castle of Freaks is that it conspires against the odds so wilfully to become one of the most painful horror films to watch. As the script is at pains to clarify, the story is broadly speaking that of Frankenstein and so one might assume the hard work has been done… but no, endless, pointless twists, cut-aways, a breathtakingly slow operation (Frankenstein spends longer shaving Goliath’s head than Colin Clive did making two monsters come alive) and some mild hanky panky spiced up with the inclusion of a dwarf and a caveman who communicates through grunts, only serve to make this a harrowing mess.

Worse still, bad enough that the likes of Brazzi are disgracing themselves but that the film is so bad that even aforementioned Dunn and Baccaro (also seen in The Beast in Heat and briefly in Deep Red), usually arresting and air-punchingly fun in their performances are unable to save this is alarming. The squelchy, grimy score is by Marcello Gigante, better known, and suited, for his work on Italian Westerns. The settings are meagre and rather harbour the feeling that if the camera moved slightly to the left they’d get a decent shot of the car park; as it goes, the gothic flavour is one of the few nearly-ticks.

Picked up by Harry Novak‘s Boxoffice International Pictures and unleashed in cinemas during 1974, the film has not improved with age and is so ponderous it’s difficult to even reappraise it as kitsch. The film found its way onto the home market initially through the likes of Magnum Video and later seen alongside Randall’s far more accomplished production, The Mad Butcher, through masters of lo-fi Something Weird.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

Countess Dracula is a 1971 Hammer horror film based on the legends surrounding the “Blood Countess” Elizabeth Báthory. It is in many ways atypical of Hammer’s canon, attempting to broaden Hammer’s output from Dracula and Frankenstein sequels. The film was produced by Alexander Paal and directed by Peter Sasdy, Hungarian émigrés working in England. The original music score was composed by Harry Robertson.

In 17th Century Hungary, Countess Elisabeth Nádasdy (Ingrid Pitt) and her bed companion and steward, Captain Dobi (Nigel Green), are snubbed in a will at the expense of the young and the too old to benefit. The Countess takes it rather better than Dobi as she has recently discovered the secret to ever-lasting youth, a quick bath in the blood of murdered young girls. Alas, the fridge is empty of such commodities and the effect is disappointingly short-lasting, so she keeps her hold on Dobi whilst enlisting him to furnish her with the required local young ladies. Her rejuvenated young self takes advantage yet further of the situation and embarks on a sexual affair with simpering Lieutenant Toth (Sandor Elès), the son of a famous general who is eager to similarly make his mark.

To stay in her youthful state, it begins to require ever more victims and the trail or bloodless corpses is beginning to arouse suspicion. To throw locals off the scent, she assumes the identity of her daughter, Ilona (Lesley-Anne Down) who has been absent for some time, squirreled away by her mother in a hut in the forest, lest anyone find it odd that they are surprisingly similar age –  but not before the resident of the castle library, Fabio (Maurice Denham), begins to suspect something dodgy is afoot, not least when he nearly stumbles upon an unfortunate meeting between local busty prostitute, Ziza (Andrea Lawrence), Toth and the Countess, an encounter which Ziza doesn’t fare well in.

Upon finding that actually only virgins prolong the youthful appearance, yet more attacks take place but it’s all too much for Fabio who realises he must inform Toth – alas, too slow and he meets his end at the hands of Dobi who has been blackmailed into protecting the Countess any way he can. A slightly hurried marriage is arranged between Toth and Elisabeth but lo’! Ilona makes a surprise appearance. The congregation can only stand aghast as Elisabeth’s ageing/marrying/slaying dilemma begins to unravel before them.

A particularly strange entry into Hammer’s canon, at a time when their star was still shining brightly. Playing rather more like a historical yarn (more-so than the likes of Rasputin) than a horror film, let alone a vampire film, there is much to admire here but it’s ultimately a disappointing, unsatisfying experience. Director, Sasdy, proved himself to be a director of some style in Hammer’s own Hands of the Ripper from the same year but Countess Dracula suffers from being overly ponderous, seemingly unable to decide on historical accuracy, breasts or geysers of blood – eventually it panics but too late for a discernible resolution.

Those expecting fangs, fog and fluttering bats will certainly be disappointed – this concentrates on the Countess’ plight, as she sees it, giving all the characters a decent fist of stating their moral standpoint but it becomes unnecessarily wordy and redundant relatively early. It’s difficult to root for the Countess, killing and preening; Dobi shows real promise as a character but is reduced to a stooge; Toth is a sap of the highest order and needs a good telling off leaving only a librarian and a prostitute as characters of real interest.

Though an exotic vision and alluring mysterious both on-screen and in ‘real life’, only the truly brave of heart would call Ingrid Pitt a great actress, though she is served well by good ageing effects courtesy of Tom Smith, who worked on several Hammer films and onto the likes of The Shining and Return of the Jedi. Indeed, Pitt herself was a replacement for Diana Rigg who ultimately declined the role. Elès (Evil of Frankenstein) presumably makes the cut due to being Hungarian, whilst Green (The Masque of the Red Death) shows real promise but was sadly cut down at the age of only 47 the following year. Denham essentially channels Merlin and Lesley Anne-Down ultimately has very little to do – far more interesting is ravishing Andrea Lawrence, who hopped, skipped and jumped from On the Buses to I’m Not Feeling Myself Tonight to Frankenstein and the Monster From Hell.

The rather unconvincing mountains of Eastern Europe are, of course, Pinewood Studios, but the interiors are perhaps the film’s greatest achievement, a feast for the eyes of a believable castle and various castes of life that exist in and around – it’s a real shame that the fascinating world they live in is still somehow bland, despite gory murders and sumptuous sets. Though there is,naturally, a reasonable amount of nudity, the murders are relatively few on-screen though there are some juicy moments involving a hair-pin and a nicely judged scene of Elisabeth bathing which is more wistful than gratuitous.

Harry Robertson’s (here as Harry Robinson) score plays well alongside the relative drama on-screen, a mix of studious  orchestral sweeps and the use of a Hungarian cymbalom (same ball-park as a harpsichord) to add some flavours of the unknown environment. The dialogue is largely forgettable, aside from some ‘common slut from the whorehouse’ chat and Ziza uttering a barely credible ‘juicy pair’ line but there is something about the film which lingers in the memory and, though not especially a success, a mark of Hammer’s bravery that this appeared when it did.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

Witchhammer (Czech: Kladivo na čarodějnice) is a 1970 Czechoslovakian drama film directed by Otakar Vávra. It is considered Vávra’s magnum opus. The original title, Malleus Maleficarum, is also translated as Witches’ Hammer or Witchhammer.

The story of the film is based on Václav Kaplický’s book Kladivo na čarodějnice (1963), a novel about witch trials in Northern Moravia during the 1670s. The black-and-white allegorical film, full of symbols, follows the events from the beginning until the trial and execution of the priest Kryštof Lautner. Unwillingness to stop the evil in the beginning only encourages the inquisitor to graduate his accusations and use torture. The vicious circle scares everyone from resistance.

These trials started when an altar boy observed an old woman hiding the bread given out during communion. He alerted the priest who confronted the old woman. She admitted that she took the bread with the intent to give it to a cow to reenable its milk production. The priest reported the incident to the owner of the local estate who, in turn, called in an inquisitor, a judge specializing in witchcraft trials. Boblig von Edelstadt, the inquisitor, commenced an ever-escalating series of trials, eventually involving hundreds of people. In the end, 112 people were burned at the stake.

Broadly speaking, this is the filmed European version of Arthur’s Miller’s political side-swipe at McCarthyism , The Crucible, similarly all wrapped up in 17th Century Witchfinder’s clothing. Derivative or not, this is powerful, often shocking stuff, so much so that the Czech authorities did not want the film to be shown in Prague because of its political connotations. It was restricted to the cinemas in small towns just outside of the capital.

A brief prologue sets the scene nicely, if not particularly subtly: “A woman’s womb is the gateway to Hell”. In a society where morality is judged by class, appearance and intelligence by those who feast so extravagantly they employ face-wipers, the lowly women of a European town are being tormented for sport. So desperate are the lowers classes for food that they re offering up their milk-free cows to the Dark One in return for a bag of peas to avoid starvation. This is cause enough for Chief Inquisitor Boblig of Edelstadt (Vladimír Šmeral), a replacement for the ex-Witchfinder, Hutter of Sumperk (if nothing else, this is a superb film for names), to come charging into the town to fight for justice, Godliness and reason. Unfortunately for the locals, this includes not a little torture.

A cut-away to a face cast in shadow informs us throughout of the moral situation, necessarily a heady mix of religious fervour and violence. The flight of witches into the town (a rare mental image provoked of a very basic idea of witchly behaviour) is not enough to provoke disgust and fear – they are “smeared in the marrow and fat of babies”. The posturing of Boblig and his ultra-religious rhetoric is surprisingly at odds with many, interestingly the Church who become concerned after initial complicity that their own are in the firing line as soon as a homeless wretch. Such is the Inquisitor’s power, no-one dare stand up to challenge his decrees.

The social divisions become yet clearly as we repeatedly see the upper classes feasting and boozing, often to the point of apparent boredom whilst the suspected witches are forced to give bizarre confessionals to acts that they are frantically making up on the spot to avoid torture.

This is sadly not the best way out of their predicament and they are forced to suffer the rack, thumbscrews and the boot, all displayed in surprisingly graphic  shots. These lead to even further horrors at completely believable trails where they are required to thank their tormentors for their judgement before being burned alive. At another courtroom exchange, one of the accused can hold back no longer: “I was made to acknowledge my guilt! I was tortured for nine days.” The Inquisitor fearing he’s rumbled responds, “That’s a lie. She was interrogated with the usual application of thumb-screws and boot”.

Ultimately it is revealed that both Boblig and the Church are as bad as each other, Boblig jealous that he can achieve happiness only by force, the bishop and the nearly respectable Deacon Lautner (Elo Romanc) alarmed that their long stranglehold on the town and their own judgements are being questioned and usurped. Clearly there is only going to be one winner.

Unsurprisingly, there are no breakout stars from the film, no-one went on to conquer Hollywood and although the film is one of the few of the celebrated director to find its way onto an American dvd, there has not really been any groundswell of reappraisal in recent years. However, this can sit comfortably alongside the likes of Witchfinder General and Mark of the Devil as a disturbing account of real events, rivalling them even in the shock stakes, surprisingly graphic in its depiction of torture and also a healthy amount of full-frontal female nudity.

Of course, on a very serious level, the film appeared just a couple of years after the Prague Spring, a freeing of the Czech citizens from the dominant rule of the Soviet Union, a clear allegory, warning against an unchecked society. The realism of the film puts it in the upper league of witch-hunting barbarism flicks and, alas, still has a message for society today.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

(Agnes) Elisabeth Lutyens (9 July 1906 – 14 April 1983) was an English composer of classical music but is best known for her contribution for scores to horror films throughout the 1960’s.

Born in London, one of five children of the architect Sir Edwin Lutyens and his wife Emily, Elisabeth studied composition at the École Normale de Musique de Paris, before accompanying her mother to India in 1923. On her return she studied with John Foulds and subsequently continued her musical education from 1926 to 1930 at the Royal College of Music in London as a pupil of Harold Darke. 

Lutyens is credited with bringing the Schoenbergian serial technique to the world of film scores, not always employing or limiting herself to 12-note series; some works use a self-created 14-note progression. Schoenberg’s exploration of tonal and atonal music was a huge influence on Hammer’s early sound, the gloomy expressionism first evident in Benjamin Frankel’s 1960 score for The Curse of the Werewolf (1960) though it was Luytens who is credited with fully exploiting these avenues. Her rejection of the traditional lush, romantic scores often used in film, lead to her being viewed as ‘difficult’ and sometimes even ‘un-British’.

Perhaps it goes without saying that Lutyen’s ability to break into territory inhabited almost solely by men is little less than remarkable, paving the way for future female composers such as Nora Orlandi and Wendy Carlos (born Walter, of course). Lutyens was no shrinking violet though – striding through upper class London society amongst such company as Constant Lambert, Francis Bacon and Dylan Thomas (for a time, her lodger) but posturing as a radical left-winger, even joining the Communist Party, all the while living in something approaching squalor – a real paradox. This, combined with her often outrageous anti-Semitic outbursts and homophobic ranting (I may have forgotten to mention her alcoholism) did not make her an ideal dinner guest.

Lutyens once said, “film and radio music must be written not only quickly but with the presumption that it will be only heard once. Its impact must be immediate. One does not grow gradually to love or understand a film score like a string quartet”. She was the first female British composer to score a feature film, her first foray into the genre being Penny and the Pownall Case (1948) but her work on horror films, undertaken for financial reasons, are where she made her mark. Her work in the genre began in 1960 with Cyril Frankel’s Never Take Sweets From a Stranger for Hammer, an alarming film even now. Her distinctly anti-romantic treatment is wistful but still angular, leading you down, disturbingly apt strange paths.

This was followed in 1963 by a score for Freddie Francis and Jimmy Sangster’s Paranoiac, a marvellous work of grating textures – it sounds like a gnashing beast having a conversation with itself under the film. Lutyen’s score is mixed with diegetic music during some of the murder scenes, seagulls and running water mashing with her grim tones.

The following year saw her working on The Earth Dies Screaming but perhaps her most famous work was to appear in 1965 in Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors, the well-regarded anthology for Amicus. The rather scattershot approach of instruments combating each other in random blasts is typical or her minimalist though very purposeful manner of phrasing. It’s almost rioutously unjoyous, about the most depressing, upsetting and jarring thing you could marry to images on a screen – of course, it works perfectly. It should be noted that the Roy Castle jazz section of ‘Voodoo’ is the work of the musician Tubby Hayes, not Lutyens.

Continuing her work for Amicus came her own particular favourite score, for 1965’s The Skull. Employing harsh, irregular percussion, it is one of the elements which differentiates Amicus from Hammer, despite the obvious similarities of theme and often cast. As if being one of the lone females composing for film, it says much about her deep-felt belief in the power of the structure of her works that she was confident enough to submit this for what essentially was a major work for the studio. Whereas Italian composers at a similar period were also willing to be challenging in their composition, this tended to veer far nearer to jazz than obtusely challenging avant garde classical music.

As time progressed her work became no less-challenging – The Psychopath and The Terrornauts were tonally slightly more fun but still deliberately exactly the opposite to any other British composer for film at the time. She concluded her forays into the world of horror in typically unexpected directions – 1967’s somewhat obscure Theatre of Death, the evocative of the era educational short, Never Go With Strangers and finally the as raunchy and absurd as it sounds Dutch effort, My Nights With Susan, Sandra, Olga and Julie.

Her mark on the world of composition for horror film cannot be overstated – her complex, though often sparse pieces are hugely atmospheric and challenging yet give every film they appear alongside that extra something that would be sorely missed in their absence.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

Les Baxter (March 14, 1922 – January 15, 1996) was an American musician and composer. Although he is best know as a practitioner of exotica music, he also scored several films, many of which were horror.

Baxter studied piano at the Detroit Conservatory before moving to Los Angeles for further studies at Pepperdine College. Abandoning a concert career as a pianist, he turned to popular music as a singer. At the age of 23 he joined Mel Tormé’s Mel-Tones, singing on Artie Shaw records such as “What Is This Thing Called Love?”.

By 1950 he had moved to Capitol and had progressed to conducting and arrangement, including one of Nat King Cole’s big early hits, “Mona Lisa”. From here, he branched out into his own strange world, firstly scoring a travelogue called, Tanga Tiki and then a series of concept albums: Le Sacre du Sauvage, Festival of the Gnomes, Ports of Pleasure, and Brazil Now. These thickly-layered, atmospheric works featuring bird song, abstract wailing and all manner of jungle and tribal sounds became part of the exotica movement, the archly-kitsch imagined sounds of far-flung lands and would soon inspire similar minds; Martin Denny, Arthur Lyman and Esquivel.

Sadly, much of his work up to this point was over-shadowed by back-biting and malicious rumour. It was alleged on several occasions that Baxter was actually the front for a ghost-writer, the actual composers of several works suspected to be Albert Harris, Pete Rugolo and Nelson Riddle, most famously Frank Sinatra’s band leader. The evidence for this was Baxter’s extremely slow composition and supposed inability to read music, both claims which have since been largely disproved. Regardless, Baxter shrugged off the criticisms and after further, often ‘challenging’ exotica works, cinema beckoned.

Having already composed the familiar’ whistle’ theme for TV’s Lassie, Baxter’s first work of note and a rarity in respect of the reasonable budget, was the Vincent Price-starring, Master of the World. This association with Price and more especially of the Gothic was to become a cornerstone of his career but one sadly that more often than not went uncredited. The speed at which AIP demanded new scores and the lowly resources afforded him and his orchestra meant that he was lucky to receive a credit for his work, luckier still if he was happy with the results of scores his name was attached to.

Baxter scored many of the Poe cycle of films, which have since become critically acclaimed but at the time were seen as fodder by many. Amongst well over a hundred scores he composed there are a handful of particularly interesting ones, unusual in that he was required to re-score a film which already had a soundtrack, for the American market. These included famous Mario Bava works such as Black Sunday (1960), Black Sabbath (1963) and Baron Blood (1972), peplum – Goliath and the Barbarians, and comedies – Beach Party.

In terms of the slew of Italian films he worked on, there is simply no justification for the so-called need for an alternative score. Composers such as accomplished as Stelvio Cipriani (Tragic Ceremony; Tentacles, a theme recycled possibly more than any other in film history, Piranha II), Roberto Nicolosi (Black Sunday) and Angelo Francesco Lavagnino (Castle of the Living Dead; Queens of Evil) were amongst those whose works were presumably considered ‘too exotic’ for the American palate. In fact, it was naturally conservative AIP who insisted that the films were given a new score for the American market. Their explanation, according to the composer Bronislau Kaper (Them!) was that they found Italian scores, “stupid, arrogant, monotonous and tasteless”.

The fun didn’t end there. Samuel Z. Arkoff’s notorious cost-cutting extended to the regular recycling of not only individual cues but entire tracts of music – the score to Samson and the Slave Queen is nearly all taken from Goliath and the Barbarians, not that Baxter got double the money. Similarly, The Premature Burial (1962) features cues heard in some of his previous scores. It is worth noting that although Baxter was one of the most high profile composers to be put in this position, others, such as Herman Stein (Tarantula, This Island Earth) also had their music re-used or went uncredited.

For Mario Bava’s 1960 classic, Black Sunday, so much money was invested by AIP (over $100,000, more than the film’s shooting budget) that they felt obliged to make it their own, despite it coming to them already successful and fully-formed. Ironically, having dispensed with Nicolosi’s subtle, unobtrusive score, they replaced it with something not only extremely similar but something which, if anything, attempted to overshadow Bava’s visuals. At least with 1963’s, Black Sabbath, a distinctly different score took the place of Nicolosi’s work, a somewhat blander, mainstream effort compared to the shifting and free-form original. The extremely distinctive Cipriani score to 1972’s Baron Blood, was given one of the more extreme make-overs and for once actually adds something new, something less intrusive and, well, scarier.

This bizarre practise continued to an even more ludicrous instance for Cry of the Banshee (1970) with AIP insisting on separate scores for both the British and US versions of the film. There are several explanations for this, however daft; firstly, Baxter had by this stage become part of the furniture at AIP and could apparently do no wrong; secondly, the original composer, Wilfred Josephs, was known only for his work in television, not the familiar big-hitter the Americans demanded; finally, the cuts to the US version were so sweeping that the film made little sense with only minute cues remaining. Regardless, it is one of Baxter’s most revered works, though the original is fun for its faux-Elizabethan sound.

After the mid-70’s, work began to dry up on both sides of the Atlantic as Italy’s industry concentrated on home-grown scores and America entered the realms of enormous blockbusters. There was still opportunity there (some work on Frogs in 1972, the score to The Beast Within, a decade later) but both exotica and his film themes had had their time (though he did compose themes for Sea World, amongst other tourist attractions) and it would be after his death that Baxter began to be reappraised in a much more positive light.

Selected filmography:

Scars of Dracula – also known as The Scars of Dracula on promotional material – is a 1970 British horror film directed by Roy Ward Baker for Hammer Film Productions.

It stars Christopher Lee as Count Dracula, along with Dennis Waterman, Jenny Hanley, Christopher Matthews, Patrick Troughton, and Michael Gwynn. Although disparaged by some critics, the film does restore a few elements of Bram Stoker’s original character: the Count is introduced as an “icily charming host;” he has command over nature; and he is seen scaling the walls of his castle. It also gives Lee more to do and say than any other Hammer Dracula film except its first, 1958’s Dracula.

The film opens with a resurrection scene set shortly after the climax of Taste the Blood of Dracula, but is set in Dracula’s Transylvanian homeland rather than England, as that film was. British film group EMI took over distribution of the film in the UK and after Warner Brothers refused to distribute it in the US it was handled by a small company American Continental. It was also the first of several Hammer films to get an ‘R’ rating.

Deep in the Count’s lair, a vampire bat drizzles blood from its fakely-fanged mouth onto the ashes of the deceased vampire, giving Christopher another opportunity to do not-so-very-much but retain top billing. Skip forward an unspecified period of time and local villagers are frantic that yet another of their number has died in horrible circumstances at the hand (and mouth) of the resurrected Dracula. The timid and constantly at the rear priest gives his blessing to an assembly of the men-folk who set off armed with burning torches to his castle, leaving their wives in the sanctuary of the church. After a spot of ‘knock-knock’ with castle serf, Klove (Patrick Troughton, a former Doctor Who and also in The Omen), entry is gained and the building is left to burn. However, on returning to the church they find their loved ones have been messily savaged and killed by vampire bats.

Having enjoyed the pleasures of the burgomasters’ daughter, libertine Paul Carlson (Christopher Matthews, Scream and Scream Again, See No Evil aka Blind Terror)  flees her father (an ‘enthused’ Bob Todd of Benny Hill fame) and the Kleinenberg authorities by jumping into a nearby coach which, though driver-less, heads off at great speed. He is deposited near Count Dracula’s mountaintop castle. Initially he is welcomed by the Count and a beautiful woman named Tania (Anouska Hempel) who later reveals herself to be a prisoner of Dracula as his mistress.

Paul later has a liaison with Tania who concludes their lovemaking by trying to bite his neck. Dracula enters and, casually throwing off Paul’s efforts to stop him, savagely stabs Tania to death with a dagger for betraying him – Dracula partakes of several weapons in the film, unusually. Klove, Dracula’s mortal but obedient servant, dismembers her body and dissolves the pieces in a bath of either holy water or acid. Trapped in a room high in the castle, Paul uses a sheet to climb down to a lower window but the line is withdrawn by Klove and he is trapped in a dark room with only door locked and a coffin at the centre of the room. Unfortunate.

Buy Scars of Dracula on DVD from Amazon.com | Amazon.co.uk

In the sensible corner are Paul’s brother, Simon (Dennis Waterman, Fright and many a British TV programme) and his other half, Sarah (Jenny Hanley, also in The Flesh and Blood Show and who it’s impossible not to picture on her regular slot on kid’s TV show, Magpie) and they both set off to find the absent Paul. Repeatedly having the door shut in their face, they eventually find he’s loitering in the castle after landlord’s daughter can’t resist letting slip against her dad’s better advice, the always tremendous, Michael Ripper. This was Ripper’s 27th and final appearance in a Hammer film.

The Hammer Story by Marcus Hearn, Alan Barnes – Buy from Amazon.co.uk | Amazon.com

At the castle, Dracula dispenses more of his hospitality wine and starts making a vampiric move on Sarah but hasn’t bargained on the oafish Klove taking a shine to her too. Refusing the relieve her of the crucifix around her neck to allow the Count to feast, he is brutally branded by a red-hot sword, an addition to the whip-marks he already sports.

With the priest we met earlier in tow (Michael Gwynn, Village of the Damned, What a Carve Up), Simon returns but the holy man soon meets his end, another to suffer at the teeth of the rampant bats. His is next betrayed by Klove and ends up in the same room his brother, we now find, met a particularly grisly end. Unable to finish the count as he slumbers in his coffin due to some dithering and some hypnotism, we move on to the final act, Simon realising the Count is somewhat quite inhuman and the surviving foursome reconvening on the Castle’s battlements. Klove is thrown to his death and just as Dracula takes aim with a handy metal spike, a storm is brewing…

Scars is the sixth of Hammer’s Dracula films (the fifth for Lee) and is derided in some quarters for the flimsy effects and notable lack of budget. What the film does have is lashings of gothic silliness – how forgiving you are of the capers, not least Bob Todd (also in Burke & Hare) essentially jumping up and down on a whoopee cushion for five minutes, is entirely down to you. The film has little in the way of traditional blood-sucking action but if you’re after bat brutality, you’ve come to the right place – the aftermath of the church attack is one of Hammer’s biggest ensemble slayings. The bats themselves are another matter entirely – if horror films up to this juncture had taught us anything, it was that the manufacture of believable fake bats was akin to turning blood into wine. Scars is perhaps not an all-time low… but it’s close.

The perception of the film’s ‘cheapness’ (the budget of around £200,000 was not that trifling and was the same as Taste the Blood of Dracula) can partly be attributed to the castle’s set, which, in fairness, is necessarily sparse due to the first scene’s fire attack. What is less helpful is the cinematography, which clearly shows the flimsy walls and rarely allows the viewer to suspend belief and accept it to be a genuine location. If anything, the film lacks the traditional fog which normally permeates Hammer fare, covering a multitude of sins.

It seems pointless to appraise Lee’s performance, the supporting cast should certainly stand up and be counted though. It seems incredible in retrospect that homely Jenny Hanley should star in one of Hammer’s first real forays into blood and boobs but she performs adequately and not a little alluring.

Far worse is Dennis Waterman, absolutely hopeless as a brave, romantic hero and is awfully Scrappy Doo at best – his appearance in Fright is a step up, thankfully. Roy Ward Baker has said in interviews he thought Waterman was badly miscast, his appearance being entirely down to the studio.

Equally, insipid Christopher Matthews could hardly be more annoying and it is left to the old hands – Ripper and Troughton to carry off the plaudits, pitching their performances as louche and barking as they need to be.

The film’s conclusion is one of the more inventive of Hammer’s – it’s the one with the lightning. Ward was already an old-hand and had come straight off the back of The Vampire Lovers and was ready to launch straight into Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde. James Bernard returns as the composer of the score, shifting the well-known ‘Drac-u-laaaa!’ motif to a new but still distinctive fanfare for the Count’s appearances. The film was released in some markets on a double feature with The Horror of Frankenstein, partly in a (failed) attempt to reinvent the Frankenstein strand as a hip and sexy venture.

Daz Lawrence, Horrorpedia

Hammer Glamour by Marcus Hearn – Buy from Amazon.co.uk | Amazon.com

Buy The Hammer Vampire book from Amazon.co.uk

Cast:

• Christopher Lee as Count Dracula
• Dennis Waterman as Simon Carlson
• Jenny Hanley as Sarah Framsen
• Christopher Matthews as Paul Carlson
• Michael Gwynn as The Priest
• Michael Ripper as Landlord
• Patrick Troughton as Klove
• Anouska Hempel as Tania
• Wendy Hamilton as Julie
• Bob Todd as Burgomaster

Exhibition poster by Dave McLean

Terror and Wonder: The Gothic Imagination is a 2014 exhibition being held from October 3, 2014 to January 20, 2015 at the British Library in London.

Press release:

Two hundred rare objects trace 250 years of the Gothic tradition, exploring our enduring fascination with the mysterious, the terrifying and the macabre.

From Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker to Stanley Kubrick (The Shining) and Alexander McQueen, via  posters, books, film and even a vampire-slaying kit, experience the dark shadow the Gothic imagination has cast across film, art, music, fashion, architecture and our daily lives.

Elsa Lanchester and Boris Karloff in Bride of Frankenstein

Beginning with Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto, Gothic literature challenged the moral certainties of the 18th century. By exploring the dark romance of the medieval past with its castles and abbeys, its wild landscapes and fascination with the supernatural, Gothic writers placed imagination firmly at the heart of their work – and our culture.

Iconic works, such as handwritten drafts of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the modern horrors of Clive Barker’s Hellraiser and the popular Twilight series, highlight how contemporary fears have been addressed by generation after generation.

Terror and Wonder presents an intriguing glimpse of a fascinating and mysterious world.

Richard Mansfield as Jekyll and Hyde

The Sleeping Room is a 2014 British horror movie that was directed by John Shackleton. It had its world premiere on August 23, 2014 at the London FrightFest Film Festival and stars Leila Mimmack, Joseph Beattie and Christopher Adamson . Funding for The Sleeping Room was raised using equity crowdfunding and is credited as being the first British film to use this method.

Plot teaser

Blue (Leila Mimmack) is a call girl working out of Brighton that has been sent out to an old building that Bill (Joseph Beattie) is trying to restore. She’s somewhat surprised when he shows little interest in having sex with her, but ends up staying in the house with him since he has paid for her time. As she is looking around Blue discovers a mutoscope, through which she sees a series of moving images depicting a hooded man (Christopher Adamson). Shortly after that, Blue and Bill discover a secret room that is the key to unlocking many dark and terrifying secrets relating to Blue’s family, and the death of her mother.

Reviews

“A superb example of modern British horror, The Sleeping Room, like fellow Frightfest movie The Forgotten, marks a new bright future for genre filmmaking in the UK that, in a perfect world, would be held in the same esteem as Hammer’s prolific output.” Nerdly

“The Sleeping Room is an accomplished directorial debut from Shackleton. It’s a slow burner that relies on brooding atmospherics and a growing sense of dread fuelled by throw backs to the darkside of the Victorian seaside resort’s long forgotten history. Shot out of season there’s a rainy, end of the road feeling that permeates Blue’s search for answers and the need to escape the chains of her past, Bill’s alter ego and ultimately from this town for good.” Britflicks

“What really shines through is the sheer pace and bare-boned narrative efficiency, which represents both the film’s most idiosyncratic strength and its deepest flaw. While this breakneck pace never allows the viewer’s attention to meander from the plot’s unstoppable trajectory, it also leaves certain story elements somewhat underdeveloped…What it does pack into its lean, 75-minute running time though, is effectively creepy and satisfyingly lensed, and the shocks are permeated with a melancholy calm, mirrored in the constant lapping of the sea, which gives the whole film an unsettling sense of stillness, even as it rushes by.” Exquisite Terror

Wikipedia | IMDb

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