Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing; Vincent Price and Peter Lorre, Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi. And the likes of Edgar Allan Poe. The monolithic iconic faces of Horror--sometimes they even played barons, princes, or counts--a cast of macabre actors, and the author behind many of their horror stories.

The most haunting and best known of the horror protagonists, these guys pretty much guarantee to darken the screen. And such different creeps! Karloff is steady, almost austere, authoritative. Versatile, he can convincingly be the goon, or the opposite; in probably his most famous role, as Frankenstein’s monster, he’s the passive brute.

Lugosi had a far more limited range; few would deny his landmark portrayal of Dracula in 1931, in which his demeanor has much to do with establishing the authentic feel of that film. His marked accent, however, didn’t help him much, and he unfortunately fell upon very hard times. (see Plan 9 From Outer Space in the Sci-Fi From Outer Space chapter for details of his last movie).

Lorre was in some respects similar to Lugosi, also a Central European ex-patriot. His roles were more subtle, with a superficially non-threatening appearance. As the child murderer in 1949’s M, that very child-like quality made him even more menacing. This somewhat exotic mien gave him stature as an outsider; which made him fit in with his underworld roles in film noir.

In horror, Lorre was probably best as a sidekick; a dim-witted, even comical but psychotic henchman. One very successful paring was Lorre with Vincent Price. Of all of these guys, Price was easily the most versatile (like Lorre, well acquainted with noir roles), and he could lead the cast. Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether his character (as in House on Haunted Hill) is supposed to be deranged, or is just a bombastic show-off, having a good time messing with people. But he certainly had a severe quality as well; most of his movies based on Poe adaptations show us a ruthless heartless monster.

The authors of many of these horror dramas were meticulously churned out in the 19th an early 20th centuries. Victorian authors of the bizarre and irrational: Poe, Robert Louis Stevenson, H.P. Lovecraft, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and others, fortunately had their work revived as films, often several times. Although the results varied--depending on the filmmaker’s intent and interpretive skill, the essentially pictorial writers found new readerships and status posthumously, as their vivid, even surreal imagery was brought to life.

Let’s start with vintage Vincent Price: hammy, menacing. unbalanced...

House On Haunted Hill, 1959.

******** 8.0

Vincent Price Still Haunting the Hill

I first saw House on Haunted Hill as a kid. It took me a long time to shake its spooky feeling off, convinced as I was that certain elements (Price’s wife appearing at Nora’s window, the rope curling around Nora’s feet) could not have been faked.

Ok, so it’s just a movie, and those incidents were faked. Anyway, having seen it a few times recently, I’m intrigued by the plot. Price’s character running the show; he runs two shows really: the ghost gambit with his guests,and the murder mystery. It’s impossible to know what he’s really up to until the last few scenes in the cellar.

It’s established early on that Price and his wife can’t stand each other; Price mimics shooting her with a candlestick. Still, the murder mystery lurks in the background while the ghostly presences manifest themselves.

We are left wondering--who/what is behind these machinations: Price? Pritchard? Price’s wife? or, are they supposed to actually occur of their own volition? The revelations at the end bring both plots together.

The only loose end is Pritchard. He frames the movie by introducing the characters and plot, and summing it up when it’s played out. But he’s really in his own world; he fits into the atmosphere of the house, even as he’s repelled by it. He also establishes that none of the characters are what they seem to be. The guests are all needy/greedy. Nora has the most legitimate reason for wanting the money, but she’s soon manipulated to the point that she becomes an hysterical loose cannon.

The movie never lets us off the hook; will murders continue at the house? Since Pritchard owns the place, he should be the best informed. Obviously, like all the other characters, he’s not a reliable witness either. This leaves the question: who’s story is it? In other words, does the murder mystery explain everything else, or are we to believe that Pritchard’s world of ghosts is the arbiter of fate?

Even after all these years, and being a bit more skeptical than Pritchard, the caretaker’s wife still scares me, and Price’s genteel ghoulishness remains disarming.

A Comedy of Terrors, 1964.

********8.0

Vincent Price and Peter Lorre are a team: an undertaker and his assistant (Waldo and Felix) in this campy horror fest. We also get Basil Rathbone as landlord John F. Black, plus Boris Karloff as Amos Hinchley.

That’s enough horror moguls to fill the books and crannies of a hundred haunted houses. Waldo’s wife is Amaryllis (Joyce Jameson); Karloff is her father. Maybe he should’ve named her Venus Fly Trap. That’s a girl’s name, I think. At any rate, the always suave Lorre has a crush on Jameson’s character–an obtuse love triangle if there ever was one.

The plot’s energized by a cash flow situation in the family mortuary business. In short, they need bodies. Sort of like Ed Gein. People like this want corpses so much, they make them, in house, so to speak. Got the picture?

As in a comedy horror picture. Sounds ludicrous, but these two genres have something in common; they work at suspension of disbelief, and the unnatural or absurd. Price is uniquely capable of showing several odd traits simultaneously. Slimy, ludicrous; so, then, dangerous, ruthless, sadistic. Macabre, but entertaining.

Start with a pretty ghoulish graveyard scene: Price and Lorre look on at a burial ceremony, bemused. In silent-era comedy fashion, the guys quickly wheel into action: opening the coffin, dumping the body, and then taking the coffin. The music has that zippy, jumpy quality that suits this sort of action.

It’s good this has a Victorian setting–that always adds a layer of authenticity. Next up–an argument at Waldo’s home. He offers Amos poison as “medicine” Amayrillas calls Waldo a “tosspot,” and ten other names of household items. She focuses on their failing business: “you drove [father’s] undertaking business into the ground!” Maybe so, but Waldo comes back with “where else?”

Better yet, when she talks about her father’s interest in “curious objects” he says that her dad “fathered one.” When Felix throws together a wonky coffin, Waldo shuns it “no one would be caught dead” in it. Anyway, the respectable Mr. Black happens by, looking for the rent. Waldo has 24 hrs. hours to pay up–or it’s the street.

Felix tells Amayrillas he feels bad for her, and generally dotes on her. Anyway, Waldo has a cunning business plan, which he describes to Felix. Waldo has it over Felix, as the underling has a sketchy past. So, the ghoulish plan plays on. They plan to do-in Mr. Phipps (Buddy Mason), an elderly acquaintance of Waldo’s. Onto Phipps’s haunted house-style mansion.

Skulking around in the place gets a bit tedious. Anyway, Waldo eventually strangles the dude: quite a scary corpse. Waldo relaxes in victory in the back of the hearse. Returning home, a maid from a neighbor’s comes to fetch his services: her employer is dead. Good opportunity for Waldo. Again, the corpse is spooky enough.

At the funeral parlor, the widow is missing. Desperate to take advantage of the arrangements he has in progress, Waldo hies off to the Phipps’s mansion to get her; the place is deserted. She’s sold everything and split to Boston and beyond. So, she stiffed him (!) For his fee. “The world is full with knaves and felons!”

The next dinner conversation is awful batty. Amos is now upset that he doesn’t get his “medicine.” Not a good time to get a blistering eviction notice from Mr. Black. “We shall kill two birds with one…pillow” comments Waldo.

Back to Black’s mansion (isn’t this the Phipps place?). This scene really drags. Ironically, when someone actually does something in this movie, it’s a lot less notable than when the characters are bantering, or we just see some macabre/absurd juxtaposition. Black is reading Shakespeare in bed–pretty much acting out Macbeth.

This is good stuff: running a sword though a partition behind which Felix is hiding; he nearly getting skewered. As I just pointed out, these touches work great. Meanwhile, Waldo’s able to sneak up on Black from behind. Obligingly, Black simply falls down, dead. Or so it seems. His servant tells the attending physician that Black is subject to cataleptic fits, and might just appear to be dead.

Anyway, he’ll do for a corpse/client. The two birds (eviction and Black) are now taken care of. Down in Black’s basement, though, the ‘corpse’ comes to life (more great sight gags). Both Waldo and Felix are flummoxed: but, thinking fast, Waldo actually tries to convince him that he’s dead. Again, Black collapses. Again, apparently dead.

The “stubborn crackpot” refuses to stay dead. All of this stuff is just what we bargained for: we know the situation is bizarre, so we want to wait and see how it plays out. Like an on-going joke with numerous punchlines. For insurance, so to speak, Waldo chains the coffin shut. The payoff, literally, comes in the form of the funeral ceremony.

Amaryllas song, of how “he is not dead, but sleepeth” is doubly apt, and obviously intentionally ironic. We are tantalized that it’s an open-coffin deal, meaning what we think that could mean. Almost miraculously, nothing weird happens.

Since he’s merely put in a mausoleum, though, there’s a side-issue. They can’t recycle the coffin, as it would be missed. Plus, we hear Black–the undead it seems–wondering where the heck he is.

Whatever. Back home, the gang is swimming in filthy lucre, song, and dance. Amayrillas is getting cozy with Felix. Later, she asks Waldo, who isn’t as attentive, “am I so repulsive?” He: “That’s the word, yes.” Oh boy, the watchman at the cemetery hears you-know-who sounding off from the crypt.

This too is doubly funny, as the poor dude assumes that Black’s a ghost (“they [ghosts] usually wait until later,” and Black reverts to reciting from Hamlet. When he does pop out of the coffin, the watchman feints. Black goes forth. Will he seek vengeance on Waldo? That’s the next implicit set-up.

Well, Black grabs a stout ax, and… it’s a dark and stormy night. Waldo, awakened by a door slapped around by the wind, is genuinely and justifiably spooked. And then we see muddy footsteps going up the stairs…here’s some actual suspense. Satisfied that all is well, Waldo goes back to sleep on the couch.

But Black bursts in on Amaryllis, brandishing the ax. She feints. Waldo and Felix investigate the commotion. Black, still quoting Hamlet pursues them relentlessly “he’ll never die” laments Waldo. The denouement arrives when Waldo shoots his Shakespearean antagonist. Of course, Black doesn’t just die, and has time to recite “[that life] is a tale told by an idiot…” Certainly in this case.

Now things get truly macabre, as Amayrillas, oddly defending Black, and Felix, who’s passed out, threatens to turn in her husband. He strangles her, musing “who’s next?” Felix is, as he’s reviving. The two of them have a stupid sword-fight. Looks like Felix is killed.

All the timing is inopportune here. A guy arrives to say that Black has been seeing out and about. Well, there he is, along with Amaryllis, dead on the floor. He freaks out, yelling that he’s going to the cops. Thoroughly exhausted, Waldo collapses at the base of the stairs.

Another brilliant bit of bad timing: Amos comes downstairs, and, taking pity on Waldo, gives him some “medicine.” Then Amos quaffs the rest of the poison. When Waldo comes around momentarily, his eyes bulge out decisively as he sees the bottle; ironically, of course, it’s the same one he’s been goading Amos with all along.

A final nice touch. The cat crawls onto Black’s body. After some mimicy nose twitching from Black, we fade to a black screen; and Black’s voice once more wondering “What place is this?”

With the exemption of a few patches of plot quicksand, this is very well done, and highly entertaining. Many scenes, some of which tumble into each other–basically the entire last part of the movie involving Black’s death, and its aftermath, are outstanding, very amusing, and not without a true edge of horror.

It gets even better once Black invades Waldo’s house. All of the running jokes: the poison/’medicine’ thing, and, especially, Black’s narcolepsy (coupled with the Shakespearean stuff) amplify and complement the latter scenes.

Granted, that if the viewer doesn’t have much familiarity with both Shakespeare and Poe, Black’s character is not going to make any sense. Rathbone pretty much carries the last half of the movie. That brings us to casting; all four leads, or five, counting Jameson, are very well-suited to their roles.

It is too much of a stretch to imagine that Felix could be a plausible rival to Waldo. In fact, I’d turn Karloff into Felix, and Lorre into the graveyard guy. We don’t need the father-in-law character anyway, and Joe E. Brown doesn’t do much with a fairly important supporting role.

As I think I’ve let on, the humor really weaves this together. Some critics object that it’s too broad, too campy; the first graveyard scene for example, is too silly. But the one-liners and rejoinders coming from Waldo are usually good, some great (and not just the ones here quoted). Waldo, as noted, the Shakespeare motif perfectly suits both Black’s character and his forlorn situation.

With a slightly tighter script, and maybe juggling a character or two, this would be about perfect. As it is Comedy Of Terrors is a must see for Vincent Price fans, and ’60s horror fans in general.

The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1945.

******* 7.0

Probably the best known work of Oscar Wilde, brought to the screen here with Hurd Hatfield as the soul-selling Dorian Gray. Lord Henry Wooten (George Sanders) is his mentor, that is, Dorian’s portal to debauchery and hedonism. Gray’s early love interest, Sibyl, is played by Angela Lansbury.

Wilde’s novel takes a unique tack on the fountain-of-youth theme by objectifying it as a portrait. Basil (Lowell Gilmore) is the artist, Donna Reed his niece Gladys; and there’s her suitor, David Stone (Peter Lawford). Jim/James Vane (Richard Fraser) is Sibyl’s brother, who becomes Gray’s antagonist. Then there’s a friend, Allen Campbell (Douglas Walton).

Basil tells Lord Henry that Dorian Gray’s portrait is “mystical” in some way. Henry’s introduced to Dorian. It’s clear that Henry is a mouthpiece for Wilde’s witticisms, if not exactly a stand-in for Wilde himself. The clever juxtaposition of color for Dorian’s portrait–with black and white for everything else–definitely heightens its romantic, but increasingly lurid nature.

Soon Dorian explores the lower rungs of London nightlife. At the Two Turtles, he’s smitten with a singer, Sibyl. This gentleman-fish-out-of-water stuff is similar to another Victorian-era London horror story, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. What’s weird here, though, is that Dorian’s demeanor is so mask-like, that, in contrast to the innocent, good Jekyll v. the guilty, evil Hyde, Dorian effectively is a blank-slate.

Anyway, soon Dorian and Sibyl are pretty much in love. But Sibyl’s brother is Immediately suspicious of that “dandy” Dorian. At dinner with Sir Henry, Dorian tells Henry that he’s engaged to Sibyl. One ever-present side issue is the motor-mouth that Henry indulges to make the requisite Wilde-esque comments and aphorisms. Anyway, Henry has the idea of inviting Sibyl to see the portrait; it’s really a trap though, as Henry talks Dorian into trying to keep her there, like a mistress. Since it’s inevitable that she’ll be upset, he rudely rejects her. As predicted though, she doesn’t really want to leave, as she can’t bear to lose his favor. He plans to scoop her up once she’s utterly distraught.

He notices a slight change in the portrait, “lines of cruelty.” Significantly, it’s no longer in color. With all of Sir Henry’s sidebars, the narration is just another distraction. Guess who comes calling? Henry has the horrific news that Sibyl is dead. Henry, of course, is glib and dismissive of the issue. (By this time I’m completely done with that dumb yellow bird song.) Basil is correct that Dorian has picked up Henry’s disdainful. At the same time, he’s skittish about Basil even looking at the portrait.

Dorian shows a somewhat gothic touch by putting the portrait up in an attic room–already stuffed with relics of his childhood. His continuing youthful look attracts some attention; also his secretive whereabouts, “visits to the abyss.” Now, at least, he can shift his attention to Gladys, who’s all grown up. She thinks he’ll propose to her, but there’s David, already in line. Needless to say, he’s no fan of Dorian’s.

Then, at a get-together at Dorian’s, we get the mystical Asian ritual that somehow infuses the youthful blessing/curse. (But it’s been in operation, so to speak, for some time, right?) Gladys and David attend; but when she asks Dorian if he loves her, she only gets a robotic “if you like.” David, meanwhile, is prowling about near that upstairs, off-limits room with the portrait. Shortly thereafter, Dorian sees Basil. He tells Dorian that he and Gladys are going to Paris; plus “things are being said against you in London…hideous things.” Other acquaintances of Dorian’s have come to bad ends. He warns her off Gladys.

Anyway, he promises to show Basil the painting. Again it appears in color, showing “indescribably corruption.” He stabs Basil. Very creepy scene with the swinging gas light casting silhouettes of the body. Now the painting’s bloody. Dorian’s got a slight bit of cover, as no one knows he was there when the killing happened. He calls for Allen to dispose of the body, which, rightly, he refuses to do. But Dorian has dirt on Allen, so he eventually agrees to cooperate.

At a dinner at Sir Henry’s, Dorian has the nerve to propose to Gladys; remarkably, she accepts (Basil’s not there to dissuade her). Now more dominoes fall, as we discover that Allen’s dead. Back in the dregs of society, Dorian’s noticed by Jim Vale. Coincidentally, they both wander into the same dive (the Two Turtles). Fortunately for Dorian, his youthful looks convince Jim that this can’t be the same man who’s responsible for his sister’s death. They end up on the same train, in different cars. He gets home safely. At a hunt, a guy is accidentally shot, it’s Jim. Strangely–maybe not so strangely–Dorian wants to make restitution to his family.

Instead of Dorian showing up at Gladys’s, it’s David. He’s got into the locked room at Dorian’s, and saw the portrait. That doesn’t mean much in itself, except that he can attest that not only does it vaguely resemble Dorian, but that Gladys’ uncle painted it (there’s a tell-tale initial the young Gladys’ had put on it). “There’s something strange and evil about him” David persists.

Now, the narrator says that Dorian has to destroy the painting. Aha! The portrait returns its original condition, and Dorian has aged, not eighteen years, but about eighteen hundred years. The fact that he dies praying for forgiveness is a little late in the game.

I was glad I caught this on TCM, because it wasn’t as good as I expected; not quite worth buying, anyway. Although I haven’t read the book in about eighteen hundred years myself, other than the tacked-on Asian magic bit, I don’t think the plot is much altered. The period detail is excellent; other than some obviously shabby-chic sets for street scenes, we’re very much in c.1885-1900 London.

What’s fogging things up, as I’ve hinted, is the insidious mixture of Hatfield’s performance and all the mouthfuls coming from Sander’s character. In any movie based on a novel, especially one with the sometimes ornate vocabulary of an Oscar Wilde, we might be in for a chat-fest. But this has enough talking for three movies. We don’t have to have a narrator giving us, in effect, an abridged recitation of the novel when it’s acted out in front of us. In resplendent, copious, excruciating detail.

Sander’s performance is so blase that the guy looks more cadaverous than youthful. If that’s the intent, it’s successful; but who is going to have either sympathy or scorn for someone so boring? Lord Henry is much more interesting in every way. I do get that Dorian Gray ought to be a sort of guileless, but well-born Montgomery Clift or Henry Fonda type. But those two could easily project winning sincerity, even in their often hapless roles. This Dorian Gray portrayal has all the emotional depth of a boy scout earning a merit badge.

The Picture of Dorian Gray is worth watching for a good telling of a timeless story. Both Donna Reed and Angela Lansbury are interesting to see as two very different, but equally kind-hearted ladies. But their characters’ inherently decent natures make it all the more difficult to buy their attraction for this clod, Dorian Gray. 7/10 nuggets o’ wisdom.

The Fall of the House of Usher 1960.

******** 8.0

One of the films that, long ago, convinced my childhood self that, somehow, Vincent Price was Edgar Allen Poe. Or, in this case, Roderick Usher. Atmosphere was everything to Poe, and the same could be said for director Roger Corman. The house of Usher refers, of course, to the Usher family as well as the family mansion. If ever a haunted house could be a movie character, this one is it; this house even has its own action scenes.

Madeline Usher (Myrna Fahey) is Roderick’s sister, who, unknown to her lover, Philip (Mark Damon) is a wee bit cursed, with a slice of derangement. That sort of messes up any idea of happiness or normality. But that just means it’s a successful Poe adaptation.

By juxtaposing gothic elements, we first see Philip traverse a desolated landscape (the remnants of an actual wildfire) to get to the mansion; once inside, though, we’re treated to garish bunches of red decor. Like going through the stages of a nightmare.

It’s hard to tell what’s smoke and what’s fog outside the mansion–I guess that’s the point. “How dare you admit anyone to this house!” Roderick tells the caretaker, Bristol (Harry Ellerbe). Madeline manages to show up, briefly, just as Philip states his business. It happens that Roderick’s over-protectiveness derives from the belief that both he and Madeline are dying (suffering a “morbid acuteness of the senses”), and that, if she marries and has children, they will not be sane.

Madeline looks fine to me; it’s not explained why she’s there anyway, couldn’t she have stayed in Boston? Meanwhile, the house almost dumps a chandelier on Philip. Interestingly, Roderick is presented as something of an artist–he paints and composes. Later, Philip sneaks into her room, but Roderick basically kicks him out, telling her “Can’t you see that my love for you that makes me act as I do?” Fairly astute manipulative stuff. With the house disintegrating around them, it’s not exactly a place where anyone gets much sleep (Roderick can’t sleep without drugs).

Philip goes prowling around again. He comes upon Madeline, lying in a chapel, like a corpse. Bristol explains that she sleepwalks. In the morning he fetches gruel from the kitchen. “If the house dies, I shall die with it” notes Bristol. Just as everything’s getting rosy, she refuses to eat, to leave, and insists that she’s going to die. To help him ‘understand’ her situation she takes him down into a nasty-looking crypt.

Plenty of coffins; in fact her coffin too “it waits for me.” Thanks to the inherent seismic activity, a coffin tumbles out, displaying a spider-webby skeleton. “It is not I who wish to live in a cemetery” Philip tells the ever-present Roderick. So, it’s reveal time for Roderick: he says everything used to be beautiful thereabouts. But then “the land withered as before a plague” Why? Because all of the ancestors were criminals of all descriptions. “It is only a house” No, Philip. It’s evil because of the family’s “history of savage degradation.”

It’s sounding more like Roderick has his own particular evil intent towards Madeline. She professes her love for Philip, though. But, sure enough, soon enough, she appears to have died. Now she won’t have to wait to get into that coffin. Philip: “Is there no end to your horrors!” Roderick: “No.” We see her move a hand, though. Down to the crypt she’s sent, for a family reunion, so to speak.

Philip is set to leave next morning. In the kitchen, Bristol admits that Roderick was “highly overwrought.” More importantly, he says Madeline was subject to cataleptic fits–Philip zooms down to the crypt–no body in that coffin. Now Philip is ballistic. Roderick admits that she was buried alive, but then says that she really is dead. A bit confusing; so much so that Philip has a nightmare (within the overall nightmare).

This is shown as a ghastly array of all the ancestors’ ghosts: following, encircling, tormenting Philip. There’s bilious blue, red, green, and purple tints. Philip wields an enormous ax, but it turns into a skeletal arm. He ultimately sees Madeline, alive, in the coffin. But her scream wakes him up. He seeks out Roderick, who claims “Did you know I can hear every sound she makes?” So she’s not dead? Return trip to ye old crypt, with an ordinary ax. “She has the madness” notes Roderick. Yeah, but pretty gonzo for her to get out of the coffin, yet again.

A virtual city of secret passageways open up as Philip follows her trail of blood. Behind this door…she lurks, trying to strangle him. She does strangle Roderick. The house starts to burn from some logs spat out of the fireplace. Philip does escape. The remnants of the house literally sink into the tarn (pond). Nicely done.

One way to think about the premise is to see the supernatural and gothic trappings as a descriptive mask for what seems an incestuous relationship between Roderick and Madeline. What they’re up to doesn’t belong within acceptable or natural bounds, so it appears unreal, macabre, and sinister. That might explain why Philip had such a fine time with her in Boston, because she was away from an unnatural relationship with Roderick.

It must be a dilemma for filmmakers to adapt any of Poe’s tales into movies. For one thing, unless they’re bunched together in an anthology, there’s very little guts to work with. Poe was one of the briefest of authors, he even theorized that “sustained effort” was only possible for a writer to attain in short bursts; to produce the “single effect” or theme. (references from Poe’s essay on ‘The Poetic Principle’)

In other words, a filmmaker has to build a lot into a Poe story to keep the viewer’s interest. Corman did a fine job of that. When we break it down, there’s a lot of talking and shuffling between rooms. That’s about it. Part of the reason for Poe’s brevity might be that “single effect” was a state of mind, developed by his protagonist’s thoughts and monologues, and enhanced with description. Character implied emotion and mental state, not action. So, we have to have a movie with very little plot, not much character development, and almost no action.

The saving grace for the filmmaker is that all of the impressions and expressions can be developed visually by sets, especially interiors, and reverie, dream, nightmare, and hallucinations from a full spectrum of special effects. Corman has captured Poe’s intent. My only quibble with the mansion is that it’s much too tidy on the inside. This is about the best that can be done with Poe without disturbing the correct look and feel.

Body Snatchers, 1945.

********* 9.0

Not the pod people, but a period-horror tale.

Based on a Robert Louis Stevenson tale, this Victorian-era horror movie stars Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi. While Karloff has most of the fun as a grave robber-turned-murderer, John Gray, Lugosi’s Joseph just kind of helps out around the corpses.

Gray’s client, so to speak, is Dr.MacFarlane (Henry Danielle) who, with assistant Donald Fettes (Russell Wade), develops quite an appetite for cadavers (the fresher the better) for their medical research. Also stuck in this mess are Meg Cameron (Edith Atwater, Mrs. Marsh (Rita Corday), and her daughter, Georgina Marsh (Sharon Moffett).

We begin in 1831 Edinburgh. Gray’s leaving a child client of MacFarlane’s at his office. Mrs. and Georgina Marsh are there to discuss the girl’s paralysis. MacFarlane’s exasperated, as the girl won’t readily reveal where her back pain originates; Fettes has better bedside manner, and he looks to her. A tumor, if removed, might cure her.

Unfortunately, MacFarlane’s not available to do the surgery. Fettes wants to bug-out of doctoring, but MacFarlane makes him an offer he can’t refuse–he’s promoted from student to assistant. Now we meet Joseph; and Fettes is clued in on the medical school cadavers’ origins. Hop to the first graveyard scene.

Fettes awakens to find Gray returning from that hallowed spot. Snooping, he ends up helping Gray with the corpse. Gray explains his “humble position.” (Such a leer Gray has on his lantern-jawed face.) Mrs. Marsh calls on Fettes–pretty much begging for him to intercede for her daughter. “Life can’t be all skittles and ladies” suggests MacFarlane, knowing his assistant’s been chatting her up.

For the second time, Fettes threatens to quit MacFarlane. It seems Gray killed the dog that was interfering with his grave-robbing job. In the street a blind beggar sings. The two medical guys go into the pub–eek! there’s Gray. Seems that ‘Toddy’ (MacFarlane) has a past. It’s Fettes chance to sneak in his above-board topic, the poor little paralyzed girl, Georgina.

Now we get a clue to MacFarlane’s issue, thanks, ironically, to Gray. The doctor, it seems, had botched up some operations. This explains why he no longer will take a chance–bad luck for Georgina. We can surmise, however, the Fettes will ultimately be the miracle-worker. “Since when have you [Gray] become the protector of little children?!”

Anyway, MacFarlane grudgingly agrees to perform surgery on Georgina. Gray’s blackmail worked; maybe Gray is a tad altruistic…Meg looks in on MacFarlane later; she thinks he’ll be rid of Gray, he’s not so sure. When Fettes comes in, MacFarlane, not unexpectedly, backs out of his agreement to operate. The quaint nice touch–the street singer–is once again propped up; Fettes inquires of Gray’s whereabouts.

He finds the cabman. Gray’s fake solicitousness is pervasive. Here’s the problem: they need a ‘subject,’ directly. To help the spinal research; Gray hems and haws. But once Fettes leaves, we see the germ of a plan: he’s going to abduct and kill the singer for the needed ‘subject.’ In a quick effective scene, we see his cab approach her–then her singing abruptly stops. She’s in the hopper.

Well, here’s Gray with his cab fare, so to speak “It’s impossible she could be dead” comments Fettes, astounded. Not so impossible, it seems. He’s not mollified to learn how nonchalant MacFarlane is about the ‘delivery.’ “Grave-robbing is one thing; murder is something else!” Ah, whatever! who’s prowling around downstairs but Joseph.

Upstairs, Georgina’s surgery is on. What’s interesting is that the undoubtedly beneficial aspects of the story are aided by the infamously evil elements; we under that the surgery would not be as easy without a donor spine for practice. Not the least of MacFarlane’s worries is that old fool Gray: “Do you think you’re getting rid of me, Toddy?” Have we seen the last of Gray? Doubt it.

Georgina isn’t exactly down with the post-op. MacFarlane is so confrontational that she won’t even try to walk. What! Didn’t we know that the problem was fundamentally psychological? That’s going to be Fettes’s thing. Oddly, MacFarlane confers with Gray about the enigmatic results of the surgery. “You can’t put life together the way you build blocks, Toddy.” Gray’s right.

Gray all of a sudden is a cunning genius–a more holistic sort of medical man, anyway. Ah, now it comes out: Gray took the fall for MacFarlane’s earlier misdeeds. Now it’s Joseph who comes calling on Gray. “Give me money, or I tell the police that you kill subjects” Smart, but Joseph shouldn’t accept a drink from the ghoul. “Drink up, man!” He wants Joseph to throw in with him.

That is to say: in the manner of the infamous Dr. Knox, who was in a similar business. Inevitably, Gray throttles and suffocates poor Joseph. But, who’s gonna want his body? Out on the street with his cab and cargo, Gray takes the corpse to a handy indoor cesspool or some such. Gray comes calling on MacFarlane. He going to ‘gift’ him Joseph; it’s doubling down on the blackmail now, can’t look a gift corpse in the mouth, y’know.

For the third time, Fettes gives notice, but he’s an accessory by now. Meg tries to talk him into leaving nonetheless. “MacFarlane is to Knox what he [Fettes] was to him.” Turning the tables, MacFarlane shows up at Gray’s. Obviously, to tell the ghoul off. The essence of this meeting is a proposal to Gray (“the crawling graveyard rat”)–a bribe. Strangely, Gray passes up that for his current stealthy position;as the one who can finger a gentleman.

A fight ensues. As expected, the gentleman loses. Or does he?! MacFarlane was playing possum. A nice second phase to the fight, seen only in shadows. So we don’t see until the next scene that it’s MacFarlane who’s won. He tells Meg of his disposal plans for the body.

Back to the subplot. Here we are at the bridge, symbolic perhaps of changes in life. Then, the semi-mythical white horse at last passes underneath–the one that she longs to see. Motivated and unhindered, she rises up to see it. Cured!

Meg tells the jubilant Fettes where to find MacFarlane. He’s hanging out in a pub; just who’s just basically gives away Gray’s cab. MacFarlane, somewhat superstitiously, notes that Georgina got well as soon as Gray was put right.

He figures to set out to the graveyard with Fettes in tow. Oh, this is quite nice! They duly dig up a corpse, and, as they haven’t use of the cab, they have to set the corpse between them in their carriage. We hear two things, the dark and stormy night, and “Todddy!…. You’ll never get rid of me !” Gray’s voice…on a loop tape, as it were.

Thinking that the corpse is a dead woman’s, they discover, it’s…Gray. The horse bolts, and MacFarlane ends up on a literal death ride with Gray’s unattractive bod. Superb climax. When Fettes gets down to the scene of the wreck, MacFarlane’s dead, and the corpse is a woman after all.

The Body Snatchers is very much of a piece. The atmosphere absorbs the viewer with its grim, period-correct setting. Oddly, MacFarlane, for all of his off-putting manner and nefarious acts, is one of those reform-minded progressive Victorians that somehow fits naturally into what’s essentially a gothic horror story.

Karloff really steals the show–and not just the bodies. This is black humor at its wickedest; clearly, he’s the dominant personality, and almost seems indestructible. The other performances are fine too, especially Danielle’s; he’s got a Christopher Lee-esque suave dastardly look. At first it seems the Georgina subplot might be a distraction; instead it’s a breeze of quiet drama in what is otherwise nonstop horror.

These characters have plenty of nuance (even Gray has a a flicker of enlightened thought). Nothing’s really out of place; if anything, with a minimum of settings and characters, the elements care conjured up for maximum effect. For example, we can we’ll see the makings of something in which the widowed Mrs. Marsh mates up with Fettes; this remains implicit, though. And wisely so, as a thorough romance would be an unnecessary appendage to the plot.

Very entertaining. Interest builds throughout, and The Body Snatchers is capped off by a great ending.

Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors, 1965.

*****+ 5.5/10

A more or less horrible anthology of horror tales.

When the frame story is better than the episodes in a film anthology, something is wrong. Like the movie. A great cast helps a bit: Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Roy Castle, Donald Sutherland, Alan Freeman, Max Adrian, Anne Bell, and Michael Gough.

Cushing is the mysterious Shreck (German for ‘fright’). He inhabits the part well, giving tarot readings to a group of five businessmen sharing the same train compartment with him. All the guys get their comeuppance–for dismissing Shreck as a crank. Each guy descends into his own black hole of horror, according to Shreck’s cards.

So far so good. Unlike the very successful Dead Of Night from twenty years before, the frame story isn’t subtle or thoughtful. As others have pointed out, it’s absurd, because we eventually discover that all the protagonists are already dead. Thanks to an off screen train wreck. That would be something to see though–even if it’s stock footage. At any rate, it’s all about the episodes.

The first is about a werewolf; this is pretty creepy, as we get a genuine moldy corpse tossing around in a coffin amidst a cool crypt. There’s a nice juxtaposition of sunny days with gothic nights. Still, not a lot happens, kinda stagey (McCallum and Ursula Howells star). 6/10.

The next story concerns a deadly plant (?!). At the risk of punning badly, this plant is, well, too vegetarian. To get to the point–it grows quickly and strangles a guy (Alan Freeman). It doesn’t consume/eat him, turn him into a plant, create pod people, take over the town, or anything cool like that. There’s some interest in the middle portion as he consults with a scientist; the film clips he’s shown have more menacing plants than this vine. 4/10

The voodoo episode has some slick mid-’60s quasi-rhumba music (Roy Castle is our hip musician protagonist). That’s it. This has great potential (as all of the episodes), but it’s played almost entirely for fun and games. The denouement is predictable and lacks any sense of terror. 4/10.

The last two episodes are the best of a sorry lot. The old severed hand avenging itself on the guy who persecuted the hand’s ‘owner.’ Art critic Lee savages an artist (Gough); the guy finds a way to humiliate the critic. Not one to take criticism, Lee’s character nearly kills the artist–in fact maims him. Despondent at losing his means of livelihood, he kills himself.

The hand finds its way back into action; this stuff is well-staged. But there’s the predictable car wreck in which Lee (guess what?) Loses his means of livelihood, his sight. Not bad, 6.5/10.

The last bit could’ve been better too. Sutherland marries a French girl (Jennifer Jayne); she’s tre chic, and a vampire. She makes a nice bat. He has to give the old stake in the heart so she won’t zip out at night biting kids.

Shoulda checked into her family history before doing the vows, man. Not a bad twist though, as his colleague (Adrian) turns out to be a bat-man; he sets it up so Sutherland kills his wife, thus reducing the competition. Time for bad pun #2: This sucks. 5/10.

Back aboard the haunted choo-choo. Well, it does look the part. This movie was a large disappointment. Except for the werewolf episode, and a few creeping hand bits, there’s a near-complete lack of horror or terror here. If it weren’t for the stellar cast, this would be largely forgettable.

The frame story is fine, and each episode has an interesting (although standard) premise. The only one that’s really a decent story is the revenge plot of Lee’s episode. Even that is more or less at Twilight Zone level (no slam on Rod Serling, as he had to churn this stuff out each week). A slight boost for the frame story, but only.

City Of The Dead, 1960.

******** +8.5

Christopher Lee stars in this tale of New England witchcraft. As Professor Driscoll, he encourages a student, Nan (Venetia Stevenson), to investigate the site of a 1692 witch hunt. What she finds is a modern equivalent of the original witch coven, headed by Elizabeth Sewlyn/Mrs. Newless (Patricia Jessel). Nan’s brother Richard (Dennis Lotus) tries to help her out in witch country.

Other participants include Nan’s boyfriend Bill Maitland (Tom Naylor), antiquarian Patricia Russell (Betta St. John), Jethro Keane (Valentine Dyall), Patricia’s grandfather, Reverend Russell (Norman MacOwan), and servant Lottie (Ann Beach).

We start in 1692. Burning Elizabeth is the order of the day; unfortunately for the do-gooders, and thanks to Jethro’s summoning of Satan’s clouds, she has time to curse them. Still, it didn’t save her. Fast forward to 1960.

And Driscoll’s classroom. He talks Nan into doing a field trip to Whitewood, the center of the historic coven. Richard comes to see Nan, while Bill and Driscoll look on. He tells Driscoll that witchcraft is “mumbo jumbo.” Apparently, though, good old Elizabeth had come calling on the families of those who condemned her. Well, at least, that’s what they say…

At the local hangout, Nan and Bill talk about her project; Bill’s definitely in Robert’s camp thinking it’s a bunch of nonsense. In a fog-enshrouded landscape, she gives a stranger a ride to Whitewood. They’re both going to the Raven’s Inn. He happens to be the reincarnation of Jethro Keane. People just sort of appear out of the fog. Like…this.

Of course the inn is next to the graveyard. Anyway, Lottie greets her at the inn, and Mrs. Lawless books her room. Jethro’s lurking about. Mrs. Newless and Jethro mumble cryptically that “he will be pleased.” I don’t think they mean God.

The Reverend looms out of the shadows of the church, warning Nan to leave “before it’s too late.” I’d drive right through myself; all the freaks standing around in the fog are ghostly nuts. Nan pops into the antique store where she meets Patricia. Nan learns that Driscoll’s ancestors are locals.

That night she hears weird chanting coming from downstairs. She goes to find the landlady, who gives her a tour, but tells her that the basement is filled in). Jeepers! There’s the dead blackbird with a stick through it–just like it said in Witchcraft 101.

There’s a sort of black mass procession outside; while inside, Nan opens up the trapdoor to the basement. She’s grabbed by the coven, who apparently want to sacrifice her. Elizabeth/Newless does the deed.

Back in civilization, Richard’s having a party; so where’s Nan? Bill convinces him to call Whitewood. But there’s “no such place” as the Raven’s Inn. Next call is to the cops. Meanwhile, Newless tells Patricia that Nan’s left. Two cops come and talk to Patricia, who of course hasn’t seen her in weeks.

Richard and Bill are really worried now. So Richard goes to Driscoll; “you think something happened to my sister!” Well, uh, no, but. Now it’s Patricia calling on Driscoll–same inquiry. Anyway, Nan’s friend takes the spooky trip to Whitewood, giving the ghostly Jethro the ride into town. Both Bill and Robert converge on the place.

Bills hallucinates Elizabeth’s 1692 burning and crashes (with the automotive witchcraft of a ’49 Ford reborn as a burning truck). Now Robert’s wandering about in the foggy walking graveyard …Then, more wisely, he looks up Patricia and the Reverend. Back at the old Inn, Lottie is strangled for being too snoopy.

Does Pat think that Nan’s disapperance has something to do with this witch thing? Duh! A spring of woodbine on Pat’s door–that’s a bad sign. They can’t escape, as their car’s been sabotaged. Bill emerges, bloodied, but basically ok; the Reverend however, is not so lucky. Both guys find the cave entrance to the coven’s lair. Uh, oh, “we’ve been waiting for you” is Elizabeth’s welcome down in the basement; where a load of witches clusters around the old slab-o’–sacrifice.

They shoot their way out, but there’s enough witches to jumpstart a new sacrifice. Even though Bill’s been stabbed, he manages to leverage a heavy cross from the handy graveyard. That torches any witch that gets too close. They all get toasted before Bill collapses.

This movie is so atmospheric that the fog is pretty much a character. The Salem-esque setting is as close as we get in America to European dark-age superstition. The premise is more or less off the shelf, then; but it’s how well witchcraft theme is used that makes this film spook us so thoroughly.

It’s interesting how witchcraft is the dark side of religion’s spiritual coin. The good v. evil aspect makes it such a powerful, dangerous rivalry. Religious schisms in the 17th century created hostilities established churches and new sects. The losers could be marginalized as selling out to Satan. The Puritans, so adept at finding witches in New England, were themselves outcasts from England.

The psychological aspect of witchcraft is related to the spiritual dichotomy in that man’s ‘evil’ or repressed nature is in conflict with his civilized ‘good’ persona. This plays out in City of the Dead as some characters have dual roles; the other oppositional groups are the Whitewood natives and the outsiders. Driscoll straddles both worlds.

In fact, Christopher Lee is underutilized in that he never really assumes his dark side as a Whitewood bad guy. It should be Driscoll who’s the main witch; I don’t get why he’s on the sidelines for most of the movie.

With that caveat, this is quite a nice slice of horror. The pacing is just right, the performances are consistent and fit the tone, and, as mentioned, the creep factor could wake the dead.

The Creeping Flesh, 1973.

******* 7.0

What a title! And Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing: ’70s British horror, a cursed skeleton, a Victorian gothic atmosphere, a monkey, scientists, a serial killer, and insanity skulking about in the family. If you need more it might just be here…a twist at the end too.

Lee is scientist/explorer Emmanuel Hildern, and Cushing is his half-brother James (he’s got a metaphoric skeleton in the closet in the form of dead asylum inmate/sister-in-law Marguerite). In supporting roles are Lorna Heilbron as Emmanuel’s daughter, Penelope, George Benson as Emmanuel’s assistant, Waterlow; asylum escapee Lenny is played by Kenneth J. Warren, Duncan Lamont is the Inspector.

As we might suspect, there’s a lot going on here: the skeleton that Emmanuel Hildern brings back from New Guinea not only threatens to take on a life of its own, it might serve a beneficial purpose as well. Allegedly containing (embodying?) the secret of evil, could it help find a cure for insanity?

First thing we see is a suitably macabre painting. It’s Emmanuel’s hobby, as we see the easel in a corner of his lab. There’s a flashback to three year’s previous, when he has just returned from New Guinea. Penelope and Waterlow welcome him home. And he has a mysterious specimen delivered in a handy coffin-sized crate.

“This will change everything!” He tells Waterlow, excitedly. Big deal, it’s just a rather large skeleton. They theorize about the age of the thing. Ever upbeat Hildern goes on that “this time, my discovery will bear fruit!” Anyway, at his brother’s salutary institution, Hildern’s Asylum for Mental Disorders, Emmanuel finds that his wife has died there.

They discuss how and what to tell Penelope. It’s obvious that there’s a competitive instinct between the brothers, James coming off as a jerk. Apparently, he’s been subsidizing Emmanuel’s “ridiculous” expeditions. Now the problem is that an inmate has escaped–red herring, or red alert?

Back home, Emmanuel checks in on the skeleton; we know something’s going to happen. Yes, washing it might be counterproductive–the old guy starts growing flesh on those bones. Somewhat aghast, Emmanuel chips off its half-rebuilt finger. Weirdly, not to be shown up by his brother, James is messing with a severed arm suspended in an aquarium.

Stupidly, James ventures into the asylum’s cells. He shoots an unhinged guy who has grabbed his keys. Meanwhile, cops are searching high and low for the escapee. Dude has found a place to hole up in (he needs to, as Lenny’s Khruschev look is uncomeradly).

Waterlow, not knowing of the skeleton’s affinity for water, makes a boo-boo. Back to the asylum, the Inspector is clued in about the identity of the missing guy. Now, transition to the skeleton shack, err, lab. For some reason, Penelope finds a way to get ahold of the house keys–to scope out mom’s old room?

Emmanuel relates the indigenous myth from New Guinea to explain what’s happened: a rebirth of a corpse, courtesy of the water/rain god. That means, through some layers of wishful thinking, that this skeleton holds the secret to…something. Actually, the myth posits a post-Edenic scenario. The original natives were giants, but by the god’s tears (shed for his fallen people), evil is made flesh in his descendants. It’s not so grim though, as this critter only gets exposed at the Earth’s surface every 3,000 years. Presumably, things are mellower for the natives in New Guinea just before that happens.

What Emmanuel has done, if effect, is speed up the cycle by 1,000 years; pretty dangerous obviously, but it presents an opportunity as well. Maybe he can ‘control’ evil by doing…who knows?…with this giant skeleton. What’s obvious to me is that dissecting the fleshy disembodied finger looks much like carving up one of grandpa’s cigars.

Some microscope action, mixing normal and reanimated blood, reveals…a bunch of red dots floating around. I don’t get Emmanuel’s next hypothesis–that evil is a disease for which there is a vaccine–the premise is interesting, but what’s that have to do with the mythic rain god’s evil effect on a skeleton?

Well, at any rate, he thinks that injecting juice (“serum”) from the old boy will inoculate a person from evil. Well, ok, what’s so hot about heaven, anyway? Meanwhile, Penelope is hallucinating that she hears herself as a child talking to her mom. The hint is: will she be the test case? She’s poking about in mom’s stuff…

Whilst, down in the lab, we got some serum going on. Why inject a monkey with it? Is the critter a serial killer? Upstairs, Penny finds the info on mom’s death. More microscope stuff…the cells are looking like gross spiders.

The piano is playing upstairs, what’s this? Oh, it’s Penelope, playing dress-up; she’s upset for dad’s not relating the horrid end that befell Marguerite. We then get his flashback of Marguerite dancing at the Folies Bergere. Apparently, she had both Emmanuel and another guy on the hook. Then, a lurid scene of her being dragged away to the asylum after her breakdown.

Time to check up on Lenny, the nut, whom we see saunter into a pub. After fondling a woman, he takes on the whole bar. I guess he wins, as the next thing we know, the proprietor is literally picking up the pieces while complaining to the cops.

“Come down here quickly!” pleads Waterlow. A similar smash-up has occurred in the lab. Some ways away, look who’s emerging from his lair in the East End (is Lenny Jack the Ripper?). The old boy’s obviously up to no good. And here’s Penelope, out on the town, slumming, it would seem. It’s clear that she’s due to cross paths with Lenny.

Who’s this picking up on her in a pub? The cad’s doing some Ripper-esque foreplay, and takes her ‘upstairs.’ (Why has she suddenly lost her marbles?) They struggle on the bed as he tries to rape her. But she gouges him with her nails so badly that he gives up. She seems determined to continue flirting with just any guy there.

Maybe channeling mom (and in mom’s dress) she goes into a sort of flamenco dance. But the guy who grabs her gets his–by way of a broken bottle to the neck. She flees into the dark streets…Then ducks into a warehouse. It’s only a matter of time before the pursuing mob, reinforced by police, will break in.

Guess who appears as her savior? Lenny, of course. Weirdly, she attempts a distraction by clubbing Lenny, who obliges by falling out a window. Dumb move–she’s easily captured. Plausibly, she’s avenging how her mother was mistreated by men by–mistreating men. At the institute, a blood sample from Penelope is of interest (James has no idea that it’s her’s). Obviously, she’s had the serum.

Sure enough, her blood has the weird cells, which he’s seen at his brother’s lab. Looks like they have someone to experiment on; otherwise, why would James bring her home? Aha! Finally we see a note that indeed Penelope was “inoculated.” Under the heading of “Causes of Insanity.” James confides in Waterlaw that he’s going to swipe the nefarious skeleton. Remember that slab in the lab?

Waterlaw gets his comeuppance for nosing in on the bone thief by getting killed. Who’s side is he on? James told him what he was going to do, and he didn’t bat an eye; so why is he now surprised at the goings-on? Upstairs Penelope is freaking again. The thief soaks the skeleton in a handy pool, to jump-start it, so to say.

Knowing what’s happened under his nose, Emmanuel goes in search of the carriage with its ghastly passenger. Adding to the drama, there’s a thunderstorm. Inevitably, the carriage crashes, trapping the coachman underneath. Now, rising quicker than lightning, the skeleton emerges, embodied. A chilling sight for Emmanuel. James comes back to the scene of the accident.

Aware that the whole experiment has gone kaflooey, Emmanuel hastens home and burns the severed finger. Penelope rises from bed, only to strangle the servant who’s fallen asleep by her bedside. Huge shadow of the creature on the outside of Emmanuel’s place. Guess who lets it in? It’s not after Penelope, but Emmanuel.

More shadowy creature action… he’s coming up the stairs just now. We get a look: wow, now that’s a creature! Never seen one like that before–kind of a cadaverous alien face. “This creature walks upon the earth!”

Flashback to the opening scene. Now we see why Emmanuel’s got time to paint: he’s in the Institution! A “hopeless case.” Missing a finger as well. Next door is another of his lot, Penelope (well, we knew she wasn’t doing so hot). The end.

The last forty minutes (out of 132m. overall) of The Creeping Flesh is great. Scary, atmospheric, suspenseful. The ending twist worked excellently. But the lead-up to all the mayhem takes too long (ok, not the 3,000 year wait between the rain god’s interventions). Just think how much more exciting it would be to have the creature on the loose earlier?

That begs the question of the overly-elaborate plot. For one thing, Lenny serves no purpose; even his one long scene in the main plot only succeeds in his elimination. I’m not saying that a Jack the Ripper subplot is a bad idea, but it ought to have a point.

More significantly, Cushing’s role competes with Lee’s when both should complement each other. They only tie together because of Penelope, but her role isn’t so well-scripted either. She’s already a bit unhinged by her mother’s fate, and even more so by the deception involved. It’s a bit much to assume that her father would have no qualms about using her as a guinea pig.

James has been set up very convincingly as the bad guy, Emmanuel might be be misguided, but he definitely seems to care for his daughter. Why not use one of James’s patients (Lenny?) For the serum’s test subject? Then his mayhem would fit into the creature aspect of the plot instead of distract from it.

Back to that evil dude: how did Emmanuel expect to realize anything positive from playing with fire? Again, if James had been the one to bring the skeleton home, then harnessing the power of evil would fit his personality. But without some experiment having a benign result, how can Emmanuel claim that his experiments have been a “success”?

Let’s talk about the creature–somewhat like the alien in The Thing, or the fossilized alien in Horror Express, this rain god creature is out to get us. In fact, thanks tongue myth it’s evil incarnate. But the other two human-like monsters are brooding, skulking, attacking, or just generally chewing up the scenery throughout their plots. Here’s a very creepy thing (both other monsters are fittingly horrifying too), but, it bears repeating, that he’s basically side-lined for the middle part of the movie.

The setting and atmosphere are spot-on Victorian. As I point out in movies of this type, there’s something unique about the era: on the cusp between tradition and science–where for a little while, it seemed that superstition and modernism reinforced each other in the speculative fiction of the day.

The Creeping Flesh is quite a bit more than the sum of its parts; it’s entertaining and worth watching, but promises more than it delivers.

The Black Sleep, 1956

****** 6.0

Using the exotic drug, the Black Sleep, Sir Joel Cadman (Basil Rathbone) practices brain surgery so that he can cure his wife, Angelina (Luanna Gardner). Cadman, therefore, is a sort of Dr. Frankenstein. He’s set himself up as a god, but turns out to be more of a sorcerer. His "subjects" would probably sue for malpractice if such were possible in Victorian England.

Even so, neither Borg, Curry, The Sailor, nor Mungo would be able to do more than make paper chains after Cadman’s done with them. Odo is Cadman’s supplier, so to speak; he lures down-and-out folks to him, drugs them with the Black Sleep, then delivers the comatose bundles to Cadman.

Anyway, the long denouement takes place when Laurie and Gordon explore the dungeon where the abandoned victims are captive. Borg is a heck of a delusional victim--he thinks he’s a Crusader. The Sailor has become horribly disfigured. Curry is spaced out; Nancy (Sally Yarnell) looks diseased.

At this point, we finally see Angelina. She’s been in a coma for eight months. Since Odo messed up (killing a would-be subject) Laurie is next in line for surgery. The cops come looking for Odo, but they don’t suspect anything. Not long after they leave, the victims somehow escape the dungeon. Setting fire (!) to Daphne, Borg leads Curry and the Sailor on a rampage. Mongo is killed, then the Cadmans are pushed down the dungeon steps to their deaths. The police return, nabbing Odo, Laurie and Gordon escape, and all’s well. The end.

This has a wild ending tacked onto a pseudo-scientific and rather wooden talk-fest. The rebellion itself is redemptive, but why should Angelina die? She, along with all of the interesting characters, are off-screen far too much.

The premise doesn’t really deliver its full potential. The Black Sleep itself really only functions as a anesthetic; the meat of the plot concerns the diabolical surgeries, not how the victims were captured.

This has some great scenes, but gets a bit lost between sci-fi and horror; worth watching for Carradine’s performance alone.

The Curse of Frankenstein, 1957.

******+ 6.5

Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee team up, naturally, as Doctor Victor Frankenstein and his monster. There’s a bit of a frame story, as the condemned Doctor tells his take from prison. Joining him in his creative period are colleague Paul Krempe (Robert Urqhart), maid Justine (Valerie Gaunt), and cousin Elizabeth (Hazel Court).

With Paul’s assistance, Frankenstein gets a nice corpse of a highwaymen (the local equivalent of a pirate). Well, things are coming along swimmingly, but they need a new head. Paul tries to dissuade Elizabeth from staying; of course, he really can’t let on why. Bedsides she’s betrothed to Victor. Well, that doesn’t stop him from making out with Justine.

Victor skulks off to the local charnel house to pick up some doodads, err, body parts. He and Paul argue over the monster’s progress. They crux of the matter is that the creature needs a brain. Is that why they have the learned Professor Bernstein (Paul Hartmuth) over for dinner? An old guy with a seasoned brain...hmm. Conveniently, the old bird falls off a balcony to his death. Night sees Victor grave-robbing in the mausoleum.

Doing Jack the Ripper one better, he not only has killed the guy, but mitigates his body to take his brain. Paul intervenes though, and that learned brain is trashed. Maybe Victor patches it together, as he’s vision busy with animating his creation. Sure enough the monster comes to life; it’s plenty hideous--who wouldn’t be gross with a face of Elmer’s glue? It almost kills Victor, but Paul saves him. The next fiasco comes when the guys discover that the monster is on the loose. Oh man, a blind grandpa and little boy are gathering mushrooms in the woods.

This is the ’misunderstood monster’ scene. But Elmer’s glue man is a murderer. Victor and Paul catch up with him; Paul shoots him. Hey, this is cool--they bury the monster, but we, who have seen countless movie monsters, know that the creature really isn’t dead. Strangely though, we don’t get to see the monster come back from the dead; it’s actually impaled on a meat hook back at the castle. Victor has a domestic issue as well. When Justine finds out he’s really going to marry Elizabeth, she threatens to go to the authorities with the Intel on the monster business.

That night, she sneaks around, looking for some first-hand evidence. Well, there’s the monster all right. We assume it murders her. Next thing we know, the happy couple is getting married. Paul shows up afterwards at the castle. Victor’s got he olde creature chained up in a corner.

Bizarrely, Victor blames Paul for the Creature’s condition; remember it was Paul who shot it. So what? It’s gotten smarter, if anything. Naturally, it’s time for Elizabeth to discover the thing. It’s out on the roof ledges...Victor gets a pistol. He manages only to shoot her as the creature lurks behind her. But, in the rapid way that most movie monsters die, it first catches fire from a gas lamp, then falls through a skylight into a handy acid vat.

We return to the frame story, as Paul visits Victor in prison. Inexplicably, Paul won’t attempt to help him out by explaining to the authorities about the monster. It would make Paul sound nuts too. Apparently, Elizabeth survived; but he’s hanged for Justine’s death. The end. I found this to be a bit underwhelming. Nothing wrong with the acting, the pacing, or the plot.

The more sinister interpretation of the monster certainly wasn’t out of place. But the make up on Lee was more disgusting than frightening. That more or less took the horror out of this. Cushing was actually scarier than his monster; he deliberately set about creating something by killing. Then he created a killer. That perverted use of science comes across with complete clarity. Another good element was the Justine/Elizabeth rivalry.

That subplot would seem to be unrelated to the main one ; but in psychological terms could see the creature as a manifestation of Victor’s id. He has to eliminate Justine so he can have Elizabeth. That’s exactly what the monster accomplishes. Victor can’t long survive without it, as they are parts of a whole. The Curse of Frankenstein is worth a look, but this isn’t much of a scare-fest.

Frankenstein Must be Destroyed, 1969.

******** 8.0

Well, here’s a nasty Baron (Peter Cushing). Something’s going to be destroyed here, that’s for sure. Right away we see a petty thief prowling around in Frankenstein’s lab; bad move! He sees a green head floating in an aquarium, then the Baron drives him away.Frankensteine’s got a fake identity after being run out of his last hangout, along with his accomplice, the now-loony Dr. Brandt; there was the little matter of brain transplants. To cap it all off, not only is there there’s another head in a tub, but that the Baron has a monstrous mask. After the fuddy-duddy inspector (Thorley Walters) putters around the cleaned up lab, Frankenstein is in the clear.

He soon meets some of Brandt’s former acquaintances, then takes a room from Anna (Veronica Carlson). Her fiancee Karl (SimonWard) works at the same asylum where Brandt and Anna’s unfortunate mother are patients. For some nefarious reason, Frankenstein tries a bit of blackmail with the happy couple. It seems that Karl has been siphoning off cocaine from the hospital.

Apparently, all of the other boarders have been told about what kind of sordid woman they’ve been paying rent to; they leave en masse. Meanwhile, the police are on the lookout for thefts of medical supplies. Yes, if course, it’s Frankenstein’s doing; but, more importantly, he’s recruited Karl (using the drug pilfering as blackmail) to be his henchman. And fellow murderer. "Who are you?" demsnds the incredulous Karl--Baron Frankenstein, at your service. He wants to get Brandt out if the asylum and cure him.

Brandt looks rather harmless "Brandt had a secret that I must know" it’s all about freezing brains--at the instant of death. Ok, so Frankenstein and mark sneak into the asylum to spring Brandt. Unsurprisingly, Brandt’s afraid of Frankenstein. They nearly botch the job, but eventually get away into the woods where Anna waits with a carriage.

Well, they’ve got Brandt on ye old operating table; brain transplant in the making.whowhos Ok, who’s going to be the donor? well, "Professor Richter would be ideal." With that settled, there’s a superfluous scene of Frankenstein attacking Anna (certainly this leaves little doubt that Frankenstein’s a complete sociopath). Nowcweve got both Richter and Brandt on slabs in the lab. A bloody mess. The brain looks like a chicken--whatever. The police are closing in: lots of suspicious disappearances in the neighborhood. The Baron’s house is reached. Some newly cultivated dirt looks odd; is there a cellar? Uh, no...

Ok, we’ve got Brandt’s new brain in place. Then we get to watch Frankenstein drilling into the top of his skull so he can insert a foot-long rod. I guess that completes the deal. Brandt’s wife spots Frankenstein on the street. But just as a friend pops in to say hi to Anna, a jet of water spurts out of the garden. A hand emerges, then the rest of a body. It’s Brandt. She manages to drag it out of view.

Well, they had efficient plumbers back then, no problem. Anyway, Frankenstein resumes work on Brandt. Surprisingly, when Brandt’s wife shows up, he not only admits that he’s there, but takes her down to the basement to see him. He’s got a decent story; he, of all people, had the unique skills to cure her husband. On the face of it, it makes just enough sense to satisfy her. She thanks both Frankenstein and Karl.

Time to skip town. Just ahead of Ella, who sneaks into Frankenstein’s place. She gets the cops, who assemble in the lab. When Ella arrives we see what they’re staring at: Richter’s body, presumably. Anyway, the vagabonds are in a hideout. Karl and Anna hatch an escape plan. Brandt starts stirring. He’s bewildered; his head looks like a cracked eggshell.

Anna’s the first to see him; even though he only wants Frankenstein, she’s so frightened that she stabs him. Frankenstein fights with Karl in the stables, and stumbles back inside to find a mess; he’s so upset that she stabbed Brandt that he stabs her.

Brandt manages to survive, he makes it back to town, to his house. He quietly works his way up to his sleeping wife. Thoughtfully, he’s left a note for her. He’s in a closet. She thinks he’s dead (the corpse under the lab floor). This is a truly horrifying scene. Well she eventually calms down even though seeing him face to face is a fright. So why has he come back? Well, he lives there, you know...She goes to the police.

His goal: revenge. And what a cunning plan! He’s correct in assuming that Frankenstein is still after that secret formula. So, Brandt spreads fuel around the front room’. When Frankenstein arrives, Brandt plays the moment well: either Frankenstein makes a run for the back room where the formula is kept, and tries to wriggle out before the fire engulfs him; or he can just wait until the police arrive.

Frankenstein isn’t about to give up; the house goes up in flames. Amazingly, Frankenstein would’ve got way if Karl hadn’t arrived to try and stop him. The three of them wrestle around in front of the house. Finally, Brandt carries the weakened Frankenstein back inside where they’ll both be consumed. From Brandt’s point of view, justice is served. Karl survives. The end.

There’s plenty going on, and more than a few surprises. Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed has more of a serial killer feel than traditional horror movie. In this way, we get to see the depth of Frankenseins’s depravity; his reckless disregard for humanity in general and feelings in particular. when forces Karl and Anna to do his biding, the terror aspect multiplies.

The end result is that the ’monster’ never really emerges in the tradiional sense. Brandt is very much a victim, and does nothing that anyone could blame him for (ok, he’s a bit villainous at the end, but he gave Frankenstein a sporting chance). In every way, the true monster is Frankenstein himself.

Cushing does a masterful job, absolutely becoming a Dr. Frankenstein. Pravda does very well with a complex role: he has to be, in turn: a madman, a surgical wreck, a pitiful victim, and a genuine threat. The rest of the cast fis in wellwith thiese two. the almost comical Inspector was the opposite of the stereotypical stern Germanic official. He’s not at all incompetent though. It’s as though we need his casualmess to offset the coldness of Frankenstein.

One thing tht wa pretty much a red herring: why does Frankenstein need this secret formula from Brandt anyway? We could accept, of course, that Brandt has knowledge superior to Frankenstein, which he never quite trusted to his partner. But Frankenstein seems to lack for nothing.

Though it’s a minor issue, it does bug me a little that everything looks spotless. On the streets, and in the nice homes shown here ee’d expect that. but no rats, cobwes, or anything gross in this lab where heads and blood are common objects? Not even a skull. Oh well, color makes it look nicer too.

This is a fascinating take on the Frankenstein story; maybe a little too off beat for some. but maybe we don’t need a green monster lumberng around when the ghoulish sadist Frankenstein is in business.

Madhouse, 1974.

******* 7.0?

"The character of Dr. Death has taken over" Unusual treat finds Vincent Price sharing top billing with Peter Cushing. And a suitably bizarre role it is, even for Price. He’s Paul Toombes, an TV producer, who’s finest screen creation is the macabre Dr. Death.

Somehow, his fiancee is murdered by someone made up as the caped, hooded figure. Toombes gets institutionalized as a result; when he gets out, though, things get worse. Who are these horrific people? We’ll find out. Cushing is Price’s associate, Herbert Flay; his wife is none other than Faye Flay (Adrienne Carri), Robert Quarry is Oliver, Natasha Pyne is Julia. Also, we’ve got Elizabeth (Linda Hayden), Gerry (Barry Dehner), and a TV interview (Michael Parkinson). The credits also promise "special participation by Boris Karloff and Basil Rathbone".

At a private screening of one Paul’s recent movies; he introduces his fiancee, Ellen. He’s showing her off, but at the same time he doesn’t trust her, and he’s automatically of the other guys "they’re all on the make!" SShe retreats upstairs. Aha! A stash of dr. Death gear, knife included, is way too handy.

Sure enough, the guy sneaks up on Ellen, and stabs her. We only see his hands before he puts the disguise on, could be anyone. en recalling his fiancee’s death--who is it behind that skeletal mask? Toombes come to a bit later, finds Ellen sitting at her dressing table...from behind all’s well, but when he touches her, her head falls off. Sometime later, aboard ship, he meets Elizabeth. She wants to star in his next movie; he doesn’t want to be bothered.

But the next day, he departs with Julia, his contact in London; Elizabeth almost catches up to them, but not quite. Herbert is his host: "here’s to Dr. Death" they toast. "Everyone thinks I’m dead!" admits Paul, morosely. He takes a mysterious phone call for Dr. Death.

Well, he still has fans. They watch one of their old collaborations. Paul’s mesmerized by his own film (this is where we see Karloff and Rathbone). Now he seems to be in a trance, taking directions from the actors in the film. He comes to, or does he? Next thing we know, that someone is donning the Dr. Death gear and literally hunting the Intel is Elizabeth, who’s unwisely snuck into the grounds.

Just then, Dr. Death implales her with a pitchfork. Sort of quaintly, her corpse is set adrift in a rowboat, to be found downstream by some locals. As in Ellen’s murder, Paul wakes up in bed. A nutty woman runs up to him screaming--she looks like the walking dead.

No lack of these Old World worthies, and nothing like a centuries old legend--Often with the Central European setting intact, but could be anywhere. The great thing about the concept is that vampires are the ultimate supernatural beings. At one and the same time they are: ghosts, zombies, have immortal, have powers of mind-control, and can shape-shift. Quite the horror resume.

Now, a new world take on the theme...

The Werewolf Versus The Vampire Woman, 1971. 7/10

******* 7.0

Creepy Characters in the Crypt

Surprisingly scary ’70s Euro horror movie. Unlike nearly all of the attempts to combine monsters in a film, Werewolf vs. The Vampire Woman doesn’t seem contrived or silly. The werewolf and the vampires (extra treat in that they multiply) are very convincing thanks to appropriately spooky special effects.

In fact, we get several vampiric phases. The gliding about, corpse-like look, the mourning veil-clad spectral look, and the more modern, but less effective, pale, fanged look. Not to mention the reversion-to-a-skeleton look, with maggot accoutrements.

Plus, in the first few minutes we get the full-on werewolf, quickly claiming the movie’s first victim. As the credits role, we also get a preview of some of this spooky stuff in a cool montage. The plot makes sense for the most part. The two heroines, Elvira and Genevieve, journey to a remote gothic church (maybe it’s a small castle) to research a legendary vampire. Thankfully, there’s enough rustic, atmospheric spots like this in Europe’s hinterlands.

I was a little confused by Waldemar’s and Elizabeth’s roles. How can he tell her that the two girls won’t uncover any secrets, saying all that "is just old legends"? He knows he’s a werewolf. Also, he, of all people (well, part-time person), ought to know that removing the crucifix from the old vampire Wandessa’s corpse will revive it.

It helps that the viewer is never given much relief from the spooks. Guinievere gets bit, the handyman gets it...Elvira is dodging the vampires for most of the last half of the movie. The denouement in the crypt is great: there’s yet another threat to Elvira, a suspenseful fight between the the vampire Wandessa and Waldemar’s werewolf, and Wandessa’s literal meltdown.

What’s the point of the fight, though? Has the werewolf, like Godzilla, when he’s arrayed against MegaJunkpile, become a ’good guy?’ Or are they simply fighting over hunting ’territory’, in the sense that they have the same prey?

Anyway, this was enjoyable, with genuine horror. The performances are fairly even, and there’s really nothing extraneous. I’m just not well-versed on supernatural (werewolf v. vampire) etiquette.

Mark Of The Vampire, 1935.

******** 8.0

"You’re Not A Moonflower, You’re A Morning Glory"

Mark of the Vampire has some of the spookiest touches of any horror film. Bats, rats, beetles, spiders, a wolf, a crab, an owl, even a possum are scuttling about. Not to mention a spider-webbed, a very foggy graveyard, an adjacent mausoleum, and the centerpiece castle to encompass the darkest of deeds.

Bela Lugosi and Carroll Borland, as the father/daughter Count Mora and Luna, are convincingly ghostly vampires. The wind-whistling music permeates all of this atmosphere, with the bat-into-vampire metamorphoses a marvel of special effects--for any era.

The plot involves a triangle of sorts. John Hershott’s Baron Otto, as Irena’s guardian, has a cunning way to steal Irena’s (Elizabeth Allen’s) fortune away from her and her intended, Feodor (Henry Wadsworth). By taking advantage of the locals’ superstitious nature, he can make the murder of Irena’s father, Sir Karell (Holmes Herbert) look like the work of a vampire. Count Mora, conveniently, becomes the suspect vampire.

But the Inspector (Lionel Atwill) and Professor Zelin (Lionel Barrymore) subsequently hatch an even more cunning scheme to entrap Otto. Many reviewers on this site feel that the movie’s plot is hacked up, due to considerable editing/cutting. Well, that’s true; it would’ve been even more creepy with the supposedly incestuous subplot left in. Also, the hysterical maid seemed like she was from a different, more light-hearted movie.

The plot does leave some loose ends, to say the least. If the Count and Luna are just actors, why are they assumed to actually be vampires by the community? Some people might be taken in, but it’s inconceivable that the actors are ’in character’ all the time.

The metamorphic scenes that are so well executed unfortunately don’t make sense. Unless we’re seeing these scenes from a gullible character’s point of view, they break up a logical chain. Maybe the cut-out scenes make some sense of this. Perhaps inadvertently, the cool transformations imply that the Count and Luna are vampires, and are pretending to be actors. At least it would explain why most of the locals believe that they are the real deal.

The plot’s confusing, but thought-provoking. Otto’s hypnosis is a nice touch, literally letting the action go back in time. Short of a confession, it’s really the only way to corner Otto. Another liberty that plot doesn’t mind taking is using a substitute Sir Karell (actually the same actor, Herbert). He ultimately makes the hypnosis scene work; and the faux Sir Karell can also be trotted out as an undead victim of the Count to frighten Otto.

But Sir Karell’s continued presence uncovers another logic issue: why wouldn’t Otto suspect that a hoax is in progress? After all, Otto knows he killed Karell. Therefore, Otto could only see Karell if the Count really is a vampire, or at least that Karell is a ghost. In any case, he’s suitably shocked by the vampire business, thanks to Lionel Barrymore’s Professor Zelin.

Barrymore and Lugosi are masterful here, both arch and commanding; Barrymore with a mad-scientist zeal, Lugosi with his special-effects enhanced otherwordly demeanor. Atwill’s performance injects some needed skepticism to this menagerie of characters.

I had to watch this three times to check what I thought I saw, and I’m still not sure I didn’t miss something. Despite the flaws in logic, Mark of the Vampire cleverly blends horror with a murder mystery. It’s so visually powerful that you could probably turn the sound off and still have an entertaining experience.

The Horror Of Dracula, 1958.

********* 9.0

In the classic vein of British horror, 1958’s Horror of Dracula features Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, and Michael Gough. They’re Dracula, Dr. Van Helsing, and Arthur Holmwood. Arthur’s wife Mina (Melissa Stribling) and Lucy (Carol Marsh) are sisters. The unfortunate Johnathan Harker role is played by John Van Dyssen.

Plus, we’ve got a female vampire (Valerie Gaunt), some servants types, Inga Barbara Archer), Gerda (Olga Dickie), and her daughter, Tania (Janina Faye). And there’s a Dr. Seward (Clarke’s Lloyd Beck). Got to be some superstitious innkeepers and villagers too.

In this iteration of Bram Stoker’s tale, Harker is a librarian; doesn’t much matter what he’s supposed to be. Anyone who’s summoned to ye olde house of Dracula draws a tough assignment (it’s notoriously a pain in the neck).

Harker starts off narrating his visit to Castle Dracula. Looks like the maid service has just tidied up; not so much as a spider lurking about inside. Dracula’s note shows some calligraphy skill. Ms. Vampire glides up on Harker, looking very nice, but very desperate. “I’m being held prisoner!” Too late for a rescue, however.

“I am Dracula” Lee looks more suave than Lugosi (in his 1931 role), but both make Dracula quite the gentleman. I don’t think we need the voice-over. Wait, why is he in-the-know about Dracula already? He’s there to “end this man’s reign of terror.” We’ve got to assume he’s referring to the the woman’s plight. When Dracula leaves, the girl comes up to Harker “you have no idea what an evil man he is!”

Unfortunately, she decides to sink her fangs into Harker; just then Dracula shows up, throws her aside, and attacks Harker himself. Of course, Harker comes to in a daze, with those tell-tale bite marks on his neck. “I have become a victim of Dracula and the woman in his power.” He knows he has to find the sleeping Dracula and kill him.

In ye olde crypt, Dracula is literally chilling. Harker spikes the girl first; but the commotion awakens Dracula, who magically appears above Harker. We segue to the village inn. Wind chimes, and garlic are the motifs. Like the castle, everything’s spotless. Van Helsing comes into the picture, inquiring about Harker.

Now we gather that Harker’s mission was a ruse, designed to get him into the castle with the express purpose of killing Dracula. Van Helsing doesn’t get help with the locals; the innkeeper’s daughter, however, has retrieved Harker’s diary. So Van Helsing scoots to the castle, only to see a hearse leave as he arrives.

Security being non-existent there, he rumages around Harker’s room, then goes down to the crypt. There’s two coffins: the suddenly ancient corpse of the woman in one, and Dracula in the other. And there’s the spike and mallet. Kind of a good time for a segue.

Yes, he’s back in London (?) filling in Arthur Homewood and Mina about her sister’s fiance’s death. Arthur’s more than a bit suspicious. Poor Lucy. She’s ill, and then this. But, we soon see why she’s ill; waiting up for a late night bedroom guest. What’s this? Van Helsing has an early type of dictaphone. This is what’s so great about the late-Victorian era–the dawn of technical wonders alongside dark medieval legends.

It’s not Johnathan, it’s Dracula swinging in on Lucy. I don’t get how Dracula escaped his fate back at the castle. The doctor (Seward) is sort of a blithering idiot; haven’t they noticed the bite marks? Mina comes to see Van Helsing; she describes Lucy’s symptoms. Aha! “Anemia,” huh? His exam of her is preemptory, but he’s seen the bite marks.

So he gives orders to shutter her room at night. Let’s get some garlic flowers, they’re so fashionable just now–they indeed are to die for. But Lucy really wants Dracula; she tells Gerda to ditch all the defensive measures. The full moon’s behind a cloud…next thing we know, she’s dead. Gerda confesses her role in the catastrophe.

Van Helsing now seems like a bad guy; he has to tell Arthur and Mina the real deal on both Johnathan and Lucy. The inspector shows up with Tania–what does the kid know? She’s seen…a ghost? Yes, Lucy. It looks creepy crawly down in the crypt, and, by now, Arthur’s convinced something’s up.

Right, Lucy’s coffin is empty. Incredibly, Tania leaves the house again at night, and meets the undead Lucy. Arthur intercepts them. Van Helsing, luckily, is wingman here. Before Lucy can get her midnight snack, Van Helsing scares her off with a crucifix. Poor Tania has witnessed everything.

Well, at least Lucy is back in her coffin. Thoroughly spooked, Arthur wants to finish her off right away. Van Helsing, thinking more strategically, wants to keep her around to lead them to Dracula. Well, Arthur gets his wish; Dracula, wherever he is, can’t be happy either.

First really quiet scene–at the Holmwood’s. He and Van Helsing discuss vampire lore. Van Helsing remembers seeing the hearse leaving the castle–he now figures that must’ve been Dracula himself. Good old provincial officials prove corruptible, so the good guys find out where Dracula’s coffin went from the castle.

Meanwhile, Dracula has a cunning plan; he sends a fake message to Mina to meet her husband. Actually it’s to meet the Count’s coffin. Next morning, she’s one of ‘them’ (I realize how similar the vampire’s possession of a victim is to the sci-fi Invasion of the Body Snatchers type of ‘alien’ takeover). The official leads the doctor and Arthur to the mortuary. Dracula’s coffin has gone missing.

A remote graveyard might turn up the old boy. When they try and hand Mina a crucifix it toasts her hand. So Arthur, seeing how he could’ve put Dracula out of business earlier, now agrees to use Mina as bait. The guys wait outside, underneath Mina’s window…shazam! Dracula’s already inside, buy some devilish art.

Mina screeches, but the good guys think it’s a owl. Nope, it was her, another casualty. Well, a transfusion may do wonders. We can’t kill everyone off. That night, they strategize. If one of them stays by her…ah, but Gerda mentions the cellar.

So Dracula is already in the house. Indeed, Dracula zips upstairs, and hies off with Mina. A coach driver is the latest victim. In the village, the customs inspector can’t stop either the bad guys or good guys. Just as Dracula buries Mina outside, Van Helsing and Arthur interrupt him.

Van Helsing struggles with Dracula, breaks free, and utterly destroys him by tearing the curtains down as day breaks. An incredibly grotesque and prolonged decomposition overtakes the vampire. The end.

This was great horror–one of the best Dracula films, the best British one, anyway. Aside from spot-on performances from Lee and Cushing, and the excellent period atmosphere (too well manicured), it’s the restless pacing that gives such an impressive impact.

My only quibbles would come with the plot, and maybe the premise. We can assume that anyone tuning in is going to be familiar with the story of Dracula (and vampires generally). So the quick-and-dirty treatment that Van Helsing gives Arthur is all we need; what doesn’t add up, though, is that we’re to assume that Van Helsing and Harker have prior knowledge that Dracula is a vampire.

Changing Stoker’s plot isn’t a problem. I’m dealing here with the movie’s premise about Dracula. I suppose that Van Helsing could’ve doped all of this out from studying Harker’s diary–but he seems to know what’s happened to Harker even before he gets the diary from the girl at the inn.

In any case, this stuff presumes inside knowledge, as though we’re supposed to have seen a prequel And, if The Horror of Dracula had followed up a previous story, wouldn’t Dracula already be dead?

The other thing is that it’s unclear if the English characters are ever in London, or whether the whole movie is set in Hungary (at least I know that in this time frame, Transylvania was Hungarian, despite it being of mixed Rumanian/German ethnicity).

When Arthur and Van Helsing go looking for Dracula, for example, there’s no sea voyage alluded to–which would be necessary to get from England to central Europe. That also explains why Dracula quickly appears on the scene to attack Mina; he doesn’t have to travel far, apparently.

Despite these misgivings, Horror of Dracula is a must see for horror fans generally, and Lee and Cushing fans particularly.

Twicw-Told Tales, 1963.

******** 8.0

3 prices, 2 Hours, and All’s Well

Poe’s contemporary, Nathaniel Hawthorne, dealt with some of the same gothic themes, and in general, the darker side of human nature. But, in contrast to Poe’s sparsely-plotted pages and heavily lurid scenes, Hawthorne was much more contemplative. His tales had webs of branches in their primeval forest; Poe basically was giving us scorched-earth. It’s puzzling that, with the exception of The Scarlett Letter, Hawthorne’s work is rarely brought to screen; (there’s a 1940 version of the House Of The Seven Gables, with Price, no less).

Not that The Scarlett Letter isn’t good drama. Its overtly historic and moral framework--the Puritanical setting is so realistic--it lacks the romantic allure of Hawthorne’s fanciful tales. Poe has had no end of his tales made into movies, some with a few variations. Poe’s sparse plots are admittedly easier to deal with.

In The Raven, for example, itself an anthology movie, has only the bird and the poem used as motifs, the rest is pure gothic invention. Perhaps because of the condensed format, many reviewers consider the last episode to be the weakest. All of these are of course interpretive adaptations; unlike Poe’s broad and sometimes repetitious strokes, Hawthorne daubs many more narrative branches in his forest of the imagination.

In Dr. Heidigger’s Experiment, Vincent Price is Alex, the aging Doctor’s (Sebastian Cabot’s) colleague. Mari Blanchard plays Carl’s long-dead wife, Slyvia Ward. It seems, thanks to a natural phenomena, that they’ve stumbled upon the elixir of life. That is, yes and no.

Finding Slyvia immaculately preserved after 38 years brewing in her coffin, they figure that a stream of water from a well-worn crack above her coffin, has preserved her. naturally enough, they experiment with this special water; and, finding that it refreshes a rose from that doomed wedding, they drink it down. Hey, it works--it’s an easy special effects deal too, as Cabot and Price lose the old-man make up an revert to their actual 1963 ages.

After a bit of celebrating, they think that if it worked for them, why not for Slyvia? Technically, she doesn’t need to look younger, but come back to life. No matter, that’s exactly want happened when they Carl injects the good water into her. Once she’s convinced that she was dead for 38 years, things get a bit complicated. It seems that Alex and her had quite a romantic history; in fact, when she spurned him for Carl, Alex couldn’t stand losing her to another man--so he poisoned her.

Unknown to them, Carl overhears this conversation. Livid, he attacks his old friend; but it’s Carl who ends up stabbed. not exactly lucky, Alex watches the beautiful Slyvia crumbles into a ghastly skeleton as he ages again. Why? the elixir doesn’t last. Not only that, but the bottle that the guys got from the crypt was spilled in the fight. the last straw is that the crypt ceiling has run dry--no more elixir. They’ve all lost out. For Rappaccini’s Daughter, Price is Dr. Rappaccini himself; Joyce Taylor becomes his daughter, Beatrice, and Giovanni (Brett Halsey) is her unlucky suitor.

An elixir of another sort keeps Beatrice tied to an Edenic, child-like existence. in a garden, from which escape will mean death. That’s thanks to her mad-scientist father; he can keep her innocent forever. Perversely, by transfusing her blood with poisoned secretions from the exotic flora. She’ll never experience love for another man. Her romance with Giovanni is therefore doomed. But not before some bits of hope, and of deceit.

After discerning her situation, he’s completely frustrated. Desperate, Giovanni, somewhat naively, agrees to meet with her father. Rappaccini throws the young guy much more than a bone: he implies that her condition is reversible; and, he consents to Beatrice marrying his daughter. sounds too good to be true. As we might suspect, Rappaccini has something else in mind; that is, the cunning poisoning of Giovanni. So he ends up the same sort of false creature as Beatrice. Thanks to the resourceful and supportive Dr. Giacomo, there’s an antidote to the poison. but it kills both of the lovers. Somewhat poetically, Rappaccinni more or less commits suicide by falling into the deadly plants. The end.

The oddest thing about this is that it’s as much science-fiction as horror; Rappaccini is a later-day alchemist, tempting nature, God, and fate. There’s also the obvious biblical notion of the garden; but this is a false, corrupted innocence. Any change brings about not just a fall from innocence, but death. Time for a skeletal segue to The House Of The Seven Gables. I’d forgotten that the Pyncheon curse went back to the Salem witchcraft days of tge 1690s. So, in Hawthorne’s time, that was already 150 years past. House of the Seven Gables has Price in the role of Gerald Pyncheon.

The cursed Pyncheon family also includes Alice (Beverly Garland) and Hannah (Jacqueline DeWit); then there’s the rival family, the Maules, with Jonathan (Richard Denning), and, the household ghost, ancestor Matthew (Floyd Simmons). The main mission of the Pyncheons’ seems to be that all the males die after going nuts. So, it’s up to the current Pyncheon, Gerald (Price) to see what’s going to happen. Well, Jonathan Maule comes calling on Alice. Apparently, the Pyncheons’ house was built on the Maules’ property. We soon find out how that happened. "The curse said that the Pyncheons’ would have blood to drink." That’s Matthew’s words; he’s conveniently buried under the house.

There’s a devilish amount of history here: A Judge Pyncheon had Matthew Maule executed for witchcraft. His property was confiscated. Maule was hoping to marry Laura; his ghost calls out for her. In the crypt, Matthew’s grave is opened. They find a treasure map--the Maule’s fortune in somewhere in the house. Gerald, upset that his wife has been too friendly to Jonathan, hits her and hurts her alive in the same tomb with the skeletal remains of Matthew. That works ok, until Gerald seeks out the treasure.

Yet another skeletal hand reaches out of the cubby hole to grab him. The house starts collapsing, with Gerald strangled by the bony hand, Johnathan rescuing Alice from the crypt. Those two make it out okay, while the house implodes to rubble. The curse "of greed and hate" is over. Happy ending for the surviving couple.

Hawthorne leaves us pretty much with talky, stagey drama. He’s a better pure story teller than Poe; but, once we’ve dabbled in Poe’s world, we don’t need to set the table to enjoy the macabre feast. I can’t help thinking, though, that Hawthorne’s Young Goodman Brown would make an amazing film episode. Rare for one of his stories, there’s quite a lot of action. The witch-fueled and stylized contests of good vs. evil and innocence vs. experience are highly visual, even surreal.

All of that adds up to a genuine fright fest. A fairly-well detailed (though not necessarily accurate) rendering of this unique author’s so-called ’emblematic’ style, Twice-Told Tales is fascinating in itself, and interesting to compare with similarly-themed movies based on Poe’s works.

Next Chapter: Horrible Fiends From the Underworld