1. Coffin City: Nosferatu To Ligeia: Introduction to Horror genre, and Assorted Ghosts and Psychological demons

2. Horrible Fiends From the Underworld

3. Barons of Horror: Price, Lorre, Karloff, Lee and Cushing, and Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Louis Stevenson, Lovecraft

Beginning with Nosferatu, the German Expressionist silent horror film masterpiece from 1922, and slithering through the macabre corridors of interwar Draculas and Frankensteins, we then find the post-WWII Roger Corman and Hammer productions, featuring the sinister characters of Vincent Price and Christopher Lee, some gathered from the works of Edgar Allan Poe. Price sometimes played with Peter Lorre, Lee with Peter Cushing.

The most common sign of a horror movie is the presence of the supernatural. Often, the otherworldly stuff is presented in period context; the assumption is that such things were more believable, therefore more plausible in some past era (usually Victorian or earlier). That conceit is a given if the film is based on Victorian or pre-Victorian take or novel.

So, we have 1816’s Frankenstein, 1886’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and 1896’s Dracula. Those three stories are notable for several movie adaptations; so much so, that vampires, Mr. Hydes, and Frankenstein-esque monsters are found in variants (Son of..., Bride of...Return of...). Other examples of mythic, historical, and popular movie creatures include The Phantom of the Opera, The ’horror’ (of the victims and perpetrators) of the Wax Museum, The Mummy, and The Wolf Man. These characters sometimes appear in pairs or bunches, in horror sometimes tinged with comedy.

Some of these inventions or mythic characters are horrific, but hardly supernatural (The Phantom, the Wax Museum proprietors, for example). But we’ll allow that a protagonist’s disfigurement creates an appearance that seems of supernatural origin, because it’s horrifying. There’s more to a monster than a monstrous look, however.

After all, some gangster movies have mangled or disfigured victims, not to mention someone who scares everyone because they’ve been presumed dead. No supernatural stuff intended; there’s city streets, normal--if criminal--activity everywhere. But in horror films, the atmosphere, if not the setting is itself scary.

A haunted house is the classic horror abode; a castle’s even better, a village, a room. Throw in a graveyard, a crypt, or cave; and a ’dark and stormy night’s, or just some fog. The house’s interior probably shows neglect: wear, collapsing beams, creaky doors, bugs, rats...House On Haunted Hill (1959) sort of cheats by having a more modern (1920s) house. It’s pretty spiffy in there, but manages a convincing spookiness nonetheless; helped by some requisite though incongruous vintage decor, and, in large measure, by Vincent Price and a good script.

Another way of achieving the effect of horror is, ironically, through science. One would think that the supernatural is in complete opposition to science; but we’re talking about legitimate science, but speculative science. That is, science fiction. It’s important to remember that sorcery and magic were denigrated as witchcraft by the authorities, while these so-called witches or wizards might actually have been practicing science.

When mainstream attitudes came to accept science, roughly in the course of the 19th century, then science, or science fiction, while retaining the color of superstition, strangely accentuated the horror genre.

First up is a grab bag of ghosts, psychological horror, horror comedy, anthologies, and other creepy doings that broke ground between the other sub-genres.

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Similar to the chiller/thriller mystery movie, this sub-genre has more overt supernatural elements, whether conceived as mental manifestations or creations from the Beyond.

Dementia 13, 1963.

******** 8.0

A Corpse, A Castle, And Pond Scum

"If I die, there’s nothing in it for you!" Richard (William Campbell) tells his rather unloved wife Louise (Luana Anders). But die he does. Louise gratuitously implicates herself in his husband’s death. Why push him overboard if he’s already died? Nothing much more is heard of him; she gets away by merely letting on that he’s "away on business." At any rate, there’s a cool segue into the Ab-Ex credits.

Upon meeting up with his family at their Irish castle, she discovers that it’s haunted (and sporting, conveniently, a portrait of the deceased sister Kathleen). Thanks to some quick flashbacks we see that Billy Haloran (Bart Patton) has somewhat thoughtlessly tossed his younger sister in the pond seven years previous. Thanks to the matriarch Lady Haloran (Eithne Dunne), time has stopped for family relationships. Kind of throws some unlucky charms into the John Haloran (Peter Read) and Kane (Mary Mitchell) romance. The family busies itself with re-enactments of Kathleen’s funeral.

Not without cunning, Louise starts encouraging Lady H.’s hopes about the presence of Kathleen; that is, if she can drive the old lady nuts, she stands to gain financially, we suppose, assuming she can insinuate herself into the family a little further. Nothing like a visit to the dead child’s bedroom--with its creepily animated toys still at work.

Not to be outdone, the powers that be have arranged the actual Kathleen’s on the bottom of the pond when Louise ventures there to plant evidence of the girl’s presence. So much for Louise. Meanwhile, a local is poaching along, running afoul of the ax-murderer; happening upon Kathleen’s (?) corpse is a capital offense, it seems.

The macabre scenes keep frothing up. Lady H. opens Kathleen’s crypt/playhouse, and a doll stroller comes tootling right out. Inside: Kathleen (?) having a tea party. But that rather destructive ax-murderer spoils the fun. Draining the pond seems like a good idea: they find Kathleen’s ’shrine’. They’re way behind the eight-ball, however, thinking, not only that Louise is still alive, but that she’s up to some pilfering of family heirlooms and such.

But it’s really the corpse (?) that’s getting around. Dr. Caleb (Patrick Magee) gets Billy into a fugue state, but what we see instead is the Robert and Kane wedding party. Caleb, kill-joy that he is tells Kane "I’m not sure where Richard is, or, indeed, what he is." Well, finally locating Louise and Kathleen (?) gives him the idea to use the alleged Kathleen as bait, so to speak, to flush out the killer. Good idea, or, at least, it works.

Billy ends up where his drama began, in the pond’s muck. It’s not much of a surprise, as he’s clearly the nutty one, and not merely a terse, eccentric, anti-social type like his brother. I was actually hoping that Caleb would be the culprit--he sort of has the outsider’s envy gnawing away at him.

In many ways, I feel that Dementia 13 compares favorably with the somewhat similar Psycho. The plot in Dementia, although it’s got holes, is much more integrated than the somewhat disjointed situation in Psycho (the scenes before and after Novak’s encountering Anthony Perkins almost seem like two different movies). The opening sequence in Dementia is over with quickly, and almost everything else happens in and around the very spooky castle.

But the premise of a psychologically-damaged guy (Patton even sort of looks like Perkins) who will stop at nothing to keep things anchored in the past--to the extent of macabre rituals, not to mention murders--loosely link the two movies.

Dementia 13 is the sort of horror movie that would look black, white, and gray--even in color. Not to be missed for horror fans.

The so-called anthology format--with s number of separate, mostly unrelated tales--within a frame story. this is probably the most successful horror anthology.

Dead Of Night, 1945.

*********9.0

"It Isn’t A Dream This Time"

Very successful example of a horror movie anthology. This ’grab-bag’ device rarely works well, for a couple of reasons: there’s usually a wide variation in the quality among the episodes, and often the frame story is awkwardly-handled. In Dead of Night the frame story is actually one of the stories, and not just given in a Boris Karloff-esque detached narration. It ties all of the stories together, in that each main character is also the creator of their particular story. So there’s a complex sort of layering--each story reverts to the frame story, yet has a life of its own.

The mystery element operates both on the suspension of disbelief in each individual story, and the more closely-examined frame story. That focus makes sense, as the viewer is another guest around the fire, so to speak, at Foley’s (Roland Culver’s) house; the five stand-alone episodes are literally subplots of the main story. The question arises, does Walter Craig’s (Mervyn Jones’s) ’dream’ encompass each episode, or only the characters and scene as they appear in Foley’s house? It would be consistent with the nature of dreams that the dreamer could ’see’ what his own dream-characters describe. Near the end, having killed the doctor, Craig enters each episode in the very hallucinatory denouement. He’s not just a dream-character, he’s also a victim of a nightmare. He is manipulated just as the dummy presumably used the ventriloquist.

There’s an increasing sense of vertigo to the last scenes, as Craig is herded about by the mocking, menacing, ghoulish crowd. I was reminded of the zombie-like characters in 1962’s Carnival Of Souls who close in on the protagonist. In that movie we discover that the woman’s deteriorating mental state is a result of her having died in the film’s beginning scene. Maybe Craig similarly loses touch with reality, because, as the various episodes depict insanity and death show us in their different guises, he has died.

Throughout the film, we’re confronted by the nature of reality. Stated another way, one’s perception is one’s reality. We generally have Craig’s point of view, the others either reflect his view, or replace it with their (and their stories’) view. How Craig absorbs this nest of viewpoints is to experience it as a dream. The alternative would be a sort of split personality--a possibility the ventriloquist story demonstrates.

Is the filmmaker positing that reality is dream-like, or, that we can only perceive another’s point of view as a dream? Dreams are part of reality, they exist as thoughts. Unless we express them, of course, then their ’expiration date’ is only as long as our memory, which may be incomplete, or even non-existent. To stretch a point, an actual event, once past, also exists only as a memory--possibly documented nonetheless. What ties us to reality is consciousness. Anything less than full consciousness leaves us open to all sorts of intriguing, even frightening possibilities.

I began by commenting that anthology films like Dead Of Night often are uneven--that’s also noticeable here. There’s broad agreement among user and critics’ reviews that the last episode, the ventriloquist story, is the best; the comical golfing story the weakest. The others’ somewhere in between, with the haunted mirror story probably the best of that bunch. Generally, the shorter the story, the less interesting--the brief haunted room and hearse driver’s episodes suffering from being underdeveloped.

But this movie makes its own rules: given the conceit of dreaming, some parts should be fragmentary, absurd, even comical; just like the varied tone and intensity of each episode. Even Craig’s condensed, altered reenactments of each episode resonate (thankfully skipping the silly golfers’ deal), just as recurring dreams are common.

There’s always more complexity and doubling. The re-experiencing of each dream episode occurs within what is an overall recurring dream. If we accept that Craig actually does wake up, only to embark on the same journey, then he’s pretty much doomed. That version doesn’t quite add up, though, because with (waking) reality intruding, he’d be up for murder at some point. Another possibility is that he never leaves the dream, and therefore never actually goes to Foley’s, let alone kills anyone there. Or, as in Carnival Of Souls, he has already died. Again, the movie successfully makes its own reality, as an ambiguous ending is the only possible one.

A surreal treat for the classic horror fan. Elegantly scripted, well-acted, are undeniably frightening, especially the ending. If you gloss over the golfers, Dead Of Night is perfect.

An entertaining Mexican horror film, with a slice of sci-fi, and some nuttiness

The Aztec Mummy Against the Humanoid Robot, 1958.

***** 5.0

"You Are So Perverse And Arrogant"

This was a lot more entertaining than I thought it would be. With so many plot elements in play, what’s not to like? There’s an ancient legend, complete with ritual sacrifice, a curse, and a lost treasure, a greedy ’doctor’/gangster hoping to unearth the treasure, which is guarded by a mummy...and, an Aztec descendant hypnotized by the doctor to pilfer the treasure; with plan ’B’ begatting the robot, a Frankenstein monster of sorts, equipped with radioactive powers. The atmosphere is pretty good too; not only are there tunnels, a crypt/mausoleum in a nasty graveyard, but a lab as well. The mansion, with the good guys huddling in 1930s British mystery fashion, provides the frame story.

I’m sure that my experience would’ve been diluted considerably had I seen the ’prequel’ movies in this series. If the frame story had been the only original element, then my rating might’ve fallen as low as the snake pit. In any case, the experience was worth it. As others have pointed out, the indigenous Aztec theme helps quite a bit by establishing authenticity. We don’t have to deal with a transplanted vampire legend. What was weird, though, was the mummy’s aversion to the crucifix; there would had to have been an association with the Conquistadors for that to make sense. It does add up that the robot’s radioactive power wouldn’t work on the mummy. As a supernatural being, the mummy can’t really be killed--he’s already dead.

Some of the special effects were nicely done: the mummy’s plenty creepy, the acid-deformation and even the snake pit aren’t bad either. The lab seemed a decently 50s sci-fi jumble of doodads...but, what’s this? a wood-burning stove with a nose cone on top? And the icing on this entire mythic/horror/sci-fi/crime mystery melodrama was that robot. Actually, there’s two good things about it: it has potentially crazy power (as the graveyard keeper found out), and, true to the Frankenstein myth, there’s a guy there, inside of it. Of course there is; but he’s supposed to be there, a re-animated corpse with Cold-War era technology. But the robot is disastrously stupid-looking. Those of you comparing movies of this type to American serials of the 40s and 50s are spot-on.

Flash Gordon and his ilk did a bit better than this metallic-toned tinkertoy-box Bigfoot. Isn’t that a radio-dial display on its chest? And a gas can for a helmet? Even if we can stand watching it tootle around, we nonetheless get short-changed--as it doesn’t even appear until the movie’s almost over. The robot is embarrassing. The only really campy part of the movie is worth it--the nice throw-down the mummy puts on the robot. And that denouement works; the girl gives the mummy back its treasure. All is well.

So, the status quo is restored; the correct goal for a horror theme. With the major exception of the robot, Aztec Mummy v. Robot is a decent vintage cult movie. The acting wasn’t bad, and despite the use of flashbacks, the pacing hummed along well enough. I’d recommend this for the creative use of so many ideas.

She Beast, 1966.

**** 4.0

"For Running Over a Chicken You’ll Only Get Two Years"

The curse in She-Beast that counts isn’t the one the witch lays on the villagers, it’s one of cinematic logic: horror and comedy don’t mix. A bunch of bumbling locals messing with tourists and cracking wise about their despised government is quite a ways from a 18th century vampire and witch story. The hammer and sickle falling together on the floor was a worthy touch, though.

The acting is actually pretty good. Barbara Steele as the young reincarnation of the witch, and John Karlson as a Colonel Sanders-esque Van Helsing keep things tolerably watchable. And Van Helsing’s car is very cool. Otherwise, the plot keeps sabotaging itself, and the pacing is as slow as the two centuries since the witch’s death.

Good special effects though: "Creature, return to hideous mortality!" intones Van Helsing as he brings the witch back to life. He’s not kidding when he says hideous. As long as the witch is skulking about, all is well. But why the smutty scenes, the cockfight, the and all the goofy political innuendo?

The car chase scene, between two toy-like vehicles, was really too much--the guy on the mo-ped passes them at one point. It is funny, even well-done, but it cuts up the tone completely. It seems that just as She-Beast builds up a bit of horror the Borat-like plot takes over again.

This is worth a look for the decently funny stuff; and also for the nicely-turned-out witch. But it’s a lot less than the sum of its parts.

Village Of The Damned, 1960.

******* 7.0

"Is There No Limit To The Power Of These Children?"

Very interesting premise and a cunning British mixture of horror with sci-fi. There is an Invasion of Body Snatchers ’alien possession’-style plot. We’re drawn right in by the sort of fugue state encompassing the village. The Army and police show up quickly to investigate.

So, from the outset, we have established the perspectives of the authorities, and of the mysterious Gordon Zellaby (George Sanders). Setting this in an isolated community, where Zellaby is a notable scientist, is not only appropriate, but helps in suspension of disbelief.Unusually, the aliens/monsters are kids.

They’re just tweaked enough to freak out the villagers, with special mental powers and an obvious luminous gaze, causing a great deal of unease without spawning an instant catastrophe. The question becomes: has the mysterious Zellarby been up to something such that these kids have just manifested themselves? Initially, it seems that he has some secret knowledge of their origin.

They are quickly labelled as "those children" and are segregated; in fact a concentration-camp solution is proposed. They do seem to be a sort of Master Race, as others have noted. "If you didn’t suffer from emotions...feelings, then you could be as powerful as we are" David tells his ’father.’ There’s the pseudo-scientific theories of "mutations" (earthly explanation) or "transmission of energy" (extra-terrestrial explanation) at the expected gathering of experts.It does strain credulity, especially since there would’ve been colonies of these weird kids popping up elsewhere in the world--with more serious consequences, that the authorities give Zellaby a year to deal exclusively with the kids.

That’s a variation on the understand-the-alien-for-scientific-knowledge device used in many sci-fi films of the era. Predictably, then, the kids suddenly get dangerous; they start causing deaths here and there. That really amps up the plot, as the villagers get vigilant. It’s the 20th century equivalent of the 18th century (and earlier) peasant mob ready to burn down Frankenstein/Dracula’s castle. A ’civilian’ casualty ensues.

Zellaby’s solution is a sort of collective suicide. Since the ’tainted’ kids can read his thoughts, he wisely sticks to abstractions, giving his bomb time to detonate. The last image of the pairs of eyes soaring out of the wreckage (like so many bats) is very impressive. As others have said, this is ambiguous; are those alien ’souls’ free to wreak havoc again somewhere else? Maybe. Since we aren’t actually told of their exact nature and origin, then, logically, anything is possible. I’d rather have this sort of survivable- menace ending than the more simplistic and self-righteous ’we wiped ’em all out’ deal.

It is kind of disappointing that Zellaby turns out to not have had a hand in the Bad Seed kids’ germination. He’s essentially an outsider too; at most a connection between the kids and the villagers/authorities. That’s a bit of a flaw, as I don’t see why he’s the main character--this could’ve just as easily been the police officer’s (Michael Gwynn’s) story.

As I’ve indicated, ambiguity works well for the ending, but maybe some things might’ve been clearer. Put Zellaby in touch with some otherworldly folks who’ve presumably caused this juvenile delinquency. Otherwise, his role doesn’t quite makes sense; why does he feel obligated to deal with the kids (not just his own)?

Anyway, Village of the Damned works well as a tense, and largely original horror/sci-fi hybrid. I agree with many that the title is incongruous; no one is ’damned’. Maybe something macabre would fit, like Innocent Devils...As it is, a successful and entertaining classic-era sci-fi movie.

Carnival Of Souls, 1962.

********** 10

Mary Fails To Put Her Soul Into It

Macabre, haunting, and unique, Carnival of Souls is horrifying from beginning to end. It plays out rapidly, with Mary (Candace Hillgoss) slipping, after a brief respite, ever so steadily back into death. Due to the movie’s overwhelming visual and aural aspects, it’s good that the plot is kept simple.

Mary’s a reluctant participant in life; "It’s as though I didn’t exist...as though I had no place in the world" she reflects. She’s not really comfortable with anyone. "I have no desire for the close company of other people" she tells the doctor. These comments come in her more lucid moments, not when she’s hallucinating about the ghostly figures that pursue her.

Carnival of Souls explores mental illness and alienation, using the horror to illustrate what it might be like to live like Mary. Many have commented that everyone seems a bit off in this story. We can see that a delusional mind would see reality as skewed. To go along with the supernatural theme, either the other characters are ghosts too, so they act unnaturally; or, they merely seem otherworldly from her ghost’s perspective.

The scenes where Mary can’t hear anything, and is ignored by everyone else, would indicate that she’s really not there. At other times, she relates, however awkwardly, to those around her. Two scenes highlight her disconnect from society--at the roadhouse with John (Sidney Bergen), and at the beginning when she’s stuck in the car racing with the two guys.

Both are spontaneous situations, fun, but risky. In other words there’s no conventions of the workplace, home, or business to shield her. A drag race and a date are casual activities, but she’s incapable of acting casual, being herself. Hillgoss gives such a distant, uncomfortable vibe to her character that she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else but in that car and in that club.

At the same time, she’s right to want to avoid dangerous situations. After all, the race ends fatally; and, later, her date proves he’s the boring jerk he seems to be. The minister, from the other end of the spectrum, is nonetheless as judgmental as John. The landlady’s the most sympathetic character, but she has to deal with Mary’s descent into paranoia. She ultimately ’betrays’ Mary, as everyone else does.

Carnival of Souls works as a psychological drama as well as a ghost story. If the movie began with Mary leaving her hometown for the church job, so that there’s no car wreck, and no moon-faced ’souls’ bugging her, this would still be a interesting study of an isolated person losing touch with reality.

In a way, the creepy atmosphere masks the intensity of the psychological theme, entertaining the viewer with manifestations of horror, while relegating the actually more disturbing psychological stuff to the background. Most of what we see is nightmare, but we also glimpse the person who creates such a nightmare.

The decrepit amusement park is one of the greatest settings in all of the horror genre. The attention to detail with the zombie-like ghosts: their looks, behavior, movements, are orchestrated so well that they seem to belong to the setting.

There’s a bit of a continuity issue after the car wreck/drowning. If Mary dies in the river, then everything that happens up until the car is recovered couldn’t happen. One explanation is that this what we see is literally an example of life-flashing-before-your-eyes. The ’souls’ become more relentless and ultimately overwhelming because Mary is dying.

Carnival of Souls has unforgettable images and scenes. To explore all of its facets, it’s worth many viewings.

Svengali, 1931.

*******+ 7.5

An hypnotist tries to lure the object of his affections away from her lover in 1890s Paris. John Barrymore plays Svengali, the hypnotist. And Marian Marsh is Trilby; Billee (Bramwell Fletcher) is her boyfriend. With Carmel Myers, Donald Crisp, Luis Alberni, Lumsden Hare, and Paul Porcasi.

Known for its Expressionist sets, and a plot somewhat similar to The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1922), Svengali, based on a novel by George L. Du Maurier, is another example of psychological horror that occasionally seems supernatural.

Svevgali comes up with a couple of surprises: he gives Trilby an operatic voice, while faking her death to get rid of Billee. Before that, he has to practice his hypnotic/telepathic skills on other victims. Svengali is a musician, and gives singing lessons.

He looks like a slightly more fit Rasputin. His current student tells him that she’s left her husband; all Svengali wants to know is how much money she got out of him. Nothing, apparently. Disappointed, he glares at her; feeling creeped out, she runs off, and is later found drowned in the river.

Gecko (Alberni), reminds him that they’re broke. "Our English friends!" might be good marks, Svengali thinks. He and Gecko come calling on those folks: these jolly guys inquire of their visitor: when was the last time he took a bath? "When I fell in the sewer." Good one. Anyway, as some revenge for the Englishmen tossing him in the bath, he takes one of their suits, and finds some money in the pockets.

Trilby pops in, saying she’s a model. In order to mess with her, Svengali affects to be an artist who wants to paint her. Gecko says they should cut their losses and scram before the other guys get back. The Laird (Crisp), Billee, and Taffy (Hare) come up and meet Trilby, who flirts with them. She has to go back to work; Billee admits he’s really smitten with her. So far the tone is light, if not outright comical. That’s going to change...

Pretty soon, they all set about painting her. Billee proposes to her in a roundabout way. For some reason, Svengali comes back; he’s instantly jealous of them. He insists on helping Trilby with her voice. He actually wants to hypnotise her: with weird bulging eyes he moans, "you will see nothing, hear nothing...but Svengali."

He has her open her mouth, the inside of which looks like "the dome of the Parthenon." Billee is upset, and has Svengali waken her. Svengali leaves, but not without a solemn warning. At his place, Svengali looks out a window; the Expressionist cityscape quivers at odd angles. From rooftop to window and beyond, across the city, he commands Trilby with those luminous eyes.

She’s summoned to his digs. The interiors are as bizarre as the street scenes, with off-kilter perspectives, and generally, a constricted feeling; people look huge, as the ceilings are low. She breaks the trance he’s put on her, and leaves. The next day she poses nude for the artists (behind some barriers); Billee is shocked.

A bit later, Svengali visits the studio. He tries to tell her that "Billee is not like the others." In other words, he’s merely "kind" to her. "Are you good enough to face little Billee’s mother?" By that he means that because she’s a model she’s sort of ’a fallen woman.’ All this junk works, as she leaves Billee a note saying that she’s "not good enough" for him.

Her clothes are found by the Seine; the police presume that she’s drowned. But we know better--she’s been abducted by Svengali. There’s a rather abrupt change in tone; very few bits of funny business now. Five years later, the three artist gather for a concert, featuring Svengali, and, of course, Madame Svengali (Trilby). The impresario Bonelli (Porcasi) positively drools over her. Svengali, avaricious as ever, accepts a necklace for his ’wife’ from the Czar, but won’t acknowledge it.

Svengali presents it to her as though it’s his gift. Tribly comes on stage, Svengali s conducting. The Englishmen stand in a crowd, very far back; they can’t see her face. No opera glasses. When will Billee recognize her? After the performance, the guys try to meet Svengali. They find Gecko.

And there the Svengalis are. Trilby looks dazed, and doesn’t recognize Billee. Looking out from their carriage, just now she remembers Billee and the guys; one stare from Svengali, however, and she’s a stranger. Of course, the old guy’s jealous "Who gave you back your life?!" He demands. He knows that she really loves Billee, even after all this time. Svengali says he’s going to London to give those folks what for.

He goes on to say that she’s "my manufactured love." He realizes that he’s literally putting words in her mouth. Meanwhile, Billee vows to go after Svengali and win Trilby back. In Italy, a concert is scheduled, but the Svengalis are late. Actually, they’re backstage; but Svengali has some apprehension. He tells Bonnelli that he’s sick. An underling is afraid to tell the audience "They will kill me!" To which Svengali responds, in a sardonic tone "I will give you a military funeral."

Egypt’s the next port of call. In the opera house, Billee has himself a prime seat. Oddly, Svengali comes to talk to him--"now we can talk like old friends." He says that this is the last concert, and he offers, "to Trilby, and her freedom. Surely you will drink to that?" Yes. But what’s he really up to? We’ll soon see.

It’s impossible to tell what’s going to happen. Well, she does take the stage, and begans to sing. Svengali faints, though. She suddenly can’t sing (remember that it’s only through Svengali’s power over her that she can sing). She collapses as well. A rather sudden ending, as they both die.

Many viewers and commenttors are baffled by the admitedly sudden tonal shift from a sort of madcap romance to a desperate tragic struggle. It actually worked well enough for me, as it’s also a shift in theme from Svengali matching wits with the Englishmen to his serious obsession with Trilby. In a sense, the transformation compares to Dr. Jekyll’s shift to Mr. Hyde in that tale.

Of course, we began with Svengali more or less implicated in the murder of the singing student; so he’s already a Mr. Hyde. Defintely, his attraction to Trilby pushes him over the top. We might say that Billee is the Dr. Jekyll to Svengali’s Hyde. Just as Jekyll/Hyde meet their demise withough ’winning’ Millicent, here neither Svengali nor Billee wins out.

One theme then, is attraction v. obsession. Ironiclly, Svengali latches nto Trilby for five years; Billee has hardly had a date with her. Nonetheless, she’s merely a puppet to Svengail, as even he knows that the only way he can get her is to dominate her mentally. Svengali, for all of his faults, at least isn’t a Hyde-like rake. But it’s certainly debabable whether being kidnapped and basically brainwashed for five years, no less, is any better than Hyde’s more direct form of taking advantage.

It’s interesting that Trilby is a very independent, spontaneous woman; she’s out to have a good time. In some superficial ways, Svengali’s admonitions againt Billee are well-founded. Billee is very conventional; will Trilby be happy with him? Unfortunately, there’s no inbetween for her: the good guy is a bit of a milk sop, and the cool guy, well, he looks like a drunken wizard.

As noted, the sets are fantstic, all the more so for being just realistic enough so that we don’t think we’re in a fairy tale. But very much a twilight world. In the unfathomable way that horror works with the supernatural, we’ve got a vaguely surreal atmosphere, some off-base characters, and the hynptoc fpower itself, which really drives the plot. Who is to say how precisely Trilby just suddenly became an opera singer? Hypnosis? ok, but is that going to work, like...magic? Apparently so.

Strangely, no on seem to wonder much about her new-found skills. I’d say that’s because the power of hypnosis itself is taken for granted--meaning that the origin of that power is also. A strange world that we are immersed in here.

Marsh and Barrymore really carry this plot; the three artists aren’t very distinguishable (ok, Taffy and Laird aren’t milksops). The pacing gets us over the shift to the darker side efficiently, and Trilby’s five year career is suitably compressed.

Well put together overall, and a very original story, worth watching--if only for the sets.

The Uninvited, 1944.

******** 8.0

An old-fashioned, and by now, very old ghost story. Notable for its strong cast and witty dialogue. The Fitzgerald siblings Roderick ‘Rick’ (Ray Milland) and Pamela (Ruth Hussey) buy a sea-side house from Commander Beech (Donald Crisp). The great deal belies a bit of a secret: the old dark house comes with two feuding ghosts, the mother and step-mother of local girl Stella Meredith (Gail Russell). Sensing that Stella is in some danger, the Fitzgeralds team up with Dr. Scott (Alan Napier) to get to the bottom of the ghost business. Roderick, meanwhile, takes to Stella for good old romantic purposes.

Beech is overly protective of Stella; not wanting her to mingle with Rick and Pam; he’s fundamentally concerned that she keep her distance from Winwood. She eventually finds her way there anyway. Some spooky crying in the night “It comes from everywhere, nowhere” Pam asserts.

The light-hearted stuff (Stella hiding from grandpa in Rick’s car, Rick hiding under the covers after hearing the crying) is not relieving tension, just deflating preceding suspense. Once in a while candles flicker; the staircase in particular seems to be a touchy place. Stella almost hurls herself off the cliff after being spooked. Lizzie sees a ghost; Stella passes out in a lonely room upstairs. Then, just before dawn, the scent of mimosa. “Don’t you know who it is in your house, it’s my mother” Stella tells them. The crying comes back.

Rick has the quick idea to carry Stella away–from grandpa, Winwood, the ghosts–to London. Stella is upset “I can’t think about you, not while she’s (mother’s ghost) there!” They consult Dr. Scott and decide to have a seance. A tabletop has to make do for the Ouija board. Stella goes into a trance, speaking Spanish. All sorts of poltergeist stuff happening. They learn that her mother is guarding her from something. A ghostly figure starts to appear; but Beech bursts in, upsetting the mood.

Beech dismisses the doctor, in favor of Miss Holloway (Cornelia Otis Skinner); she was a friend of Mary, as well as Stella’s nurse. Holloway seems to have been obsessed with the departed one, invoking Mary’s portrait “The poor lady who went off the cliff” as the maid Lizzie (Barbara Everett) puts it. Meanwhile, Stella’s basically kidnapped by Holloway.

Pam and Rick look in on Holloway (not so surprisingly, her asylum is named after Stella’s mother, and also displays a copy of her portrait). More goofy stuff from a somewhat batty patient. Stella absconds from Holloway’s domain. Anyway, she refers to Carmel contempuously as “that Spanish gypsy.” She goes on to say that Carmel tried to steal Mary’s husband, followed her to England, killed Mary and tried to kidnap Stella. Carmel died soon thereafter from pneumonia.

Thanks to the doctor’s diligence with his predecessor’s records, the Fitzgeralds find out that Holloway exposed Carmel to the cold to make sure that she would die. In fact Carmel was Stella’s mother; Stella had been spirited off, so to speak, when she was an infant by her step-mother, Mary. That explains the origin of the ghostly dispute: Stella’s real mother wants her back.

The denouement back at Winwood is easily the best part of the movie. Beech had a bit of a stroke; Stella walks in on him “be afraid, for heaven’s sake” he tells her, as the ghost appears to her. Stella nearly pitches herself off the cliff again. Grandpa dies after seeing the ghost. Pam and Rick show up just in the nick of picnic to help Stella. Just as Stella starts to think she’s imagined the ghostly stuff, the poltergeist trappings begin…more reading of the notes indicates more info about Carmel and Stella.

Rick goes up those unhappy stairs to confront the most complete manifestation of the ghost. “From now on this house is for the living!” he declares as Mary’s ghost vanishes. On the door step, he and Stella embrace. In the distance, a clearing sky.

This is very entertaining. The special effects are well-realized; the ghost looks exactly like what we think a ghost would look like, it’s defined just enough to be both creepy and dreamlike. I wish it showed up more. In fact, with the long build-up to the supernatural happenings, the cheap bits of camp, and a few time-outs at the asylum, the great atmosphere of Winwood is underused.

The Woman Who Wouldn’t Die, 1965.

******* 7.0

Nothing like British ’60s horror. Driving this mysterious plot is the nice love triangle of Raymond and Ellen Garth (Gary Merrill and Georgina Cookson) and Raymond’s teenage niece, Alice (Jane Merrow). Adding to Alice’s allure is the Ellen’s (alleged) disabled state; Ellen’s other deficit is disgruntled secretary Dick (Neil McCallum). Ellen’s humongous wealth makes her a tempting target of dirty-old-man Raymond. So, it appears all three would be just fine without Ellen mucking up their lives, but she’s apparently more adept at nutty stuff than they ever imagined.

Well, Raymond’s jaw drops like a rock when he gets a load of his (all-grown-up) niece Alice. And, he doesn’t cease eye-balling her, doting on her, being suspicious of any stray thoughts she might have, etc. She plays along here and there, but she’s at the point of inventing boyfriends to keep Uncle Creep off the track.

His wife is doing a very promising Bette Davis/Joan Crawford ‘horror hag’ routine. Of course she notices that Raymond is taken with Alice “You want that girl? All right, take her!” Minus Ellen’s million pound business, that is. After a bunch of who wears-the-pants-in-the-family comeuppances from Ellen, Raymond goes over his options with Dick.

In other words, what’s the best way to get her gone. Well, opportunity comes knocking one night, as Ellen’s wants her lackey (husband) to get the soap out of her eyes. Aha! He doesn’t bother with that, but strangles her instead. Now, of course Raymond’s problem is disposing of her pesky corpse. Luckily, he’s got a coffin-sized metal locker in a handy potting shed.

Strangely, Raymond and Dick go ahead with Dick’s cunning plan to send a faux Ellen to Italy (as Ellen was scheduled to). The model posing as Ellen does a miraculous imitation of her. Alice has “the oddest feeling” that she won’t see her aunt again. The fake Ellen even sends letters to Alice. Also, Dick accompanies fake Ellen, literally as a chauffeur. It looks as though something fishy is going to happen on that Italian country road, though.

Oh, man, Dick is wicked. He kills the girl, and fakes an accident (ala toasted corpse). Back in England, Raymond gets the oh-my-God letter that Aunt Ellen has died in a car wreck. Well, actually, he knows that she’s already dead and buried under their feet. Her will leaves almost everything to Alice. Raymond, however, justs gets a granny cottage, as though he’s merely a somewhat trusty servant.

“It’s too soon” (after Ellen’s death) for he and Alice to…what? make out? marry? Anyway, Alice gets spooked by the curtains ruffling at night. Raymond’s sure that “in the cottage it’ll be worse.” Well, after hearing thumping noises, he goes down to the shed, but it’s peaceful. In the morning: geez, Alice out-and-out proposes to him.

But with Dick, Raymond discusses the life-after-death situation. That night, when Raymond gets back, Alice is freaking out. She knows that Alice’s death was fishy; that would explain the disturbances. They sleep in the same room. But, the mysterious shed door is ajar–and they hear footsteps coming their way. Downstairs, more creepy noises. The front door creaks. Then the backdoor; Ellen must be poking around. He finds on his bed stuff that he buried with her. Bad omen.

When Alice leaves in the morning, I think she might have an accident (but, no). Raymond goes to the shed to see what’s up with the grave. Hmm, how interesting, no corpse in the coffin. Another summit meeting with Dick; who rightfully suspects that she never really died. She could’ve put herself in a trance. “You fool!” says Dick, “She’s alive.” They do a stakeout that night. Dick’s idea is to ‘finish the job’ when they find her.

Dick reburies the coffin while Raymond heads back to the house. There’s lights on up there. More skulking around the dark house. What’s in that little bottle on the table? Hey, what’s this? Oh, just the wife’s corpse in bed…actually, getting up from her dirt nap. The following is predictable: she moves towards him, he shoots twice, then falls out the window to his death.

Dick hears him scream, and finds his body. He sees her coming down the stairs, he’s pretty scared. But wait, she was wearing a wig–it’s Alice. She and Dick are in cahoots (the gun Raymond uses only had blanks). Now the happy couple will have all the loot, along with their love.

Dick had faked the ‘resurrection’ by moving the body around. Still, they didn’t count on the nosy maid Christine (Rachel Thomas) suspecting foul play–both she and the Inspector (Frederick Piper) come calling. “Just to set the record straight, that’s what you’d like, isn’t it?” Sure, Inspector, no problem. That’s how it ends, with stunned looks on Alice and Dick’s faces.

Pretty good ending; sort of a double denouement. The movie changes focus from a romantic triangle (quadrangle as it turns out), to a horror-murder mystery. That’s quite an accomplishment. All of the principle characters have their own territory to protect, and are distinctly different personalities. Cookson is especially notable; it’s not for nothing that the other three despise her.

Actually, though, it’s Merrow’s character that things pivot on. It might be better had we suspected that Dick was something to her. Of course, that recognition would’ve required a different sort of ending. As it stands, though, it’s hard to see why she comes on to Raymond at all. Why not just deal with Dick, and cut Raymond out of the loop entirely? Alice might be more interesting if she’s truly choosing between Raymond and Dick; the two aspects of the plot require a complete reversal on her part, which makes her seem either naive or just manipulative.

In other words, if she does want her uncle, then ‘dead’ Ellen would come back to mess with Alice, not just Raymond. Another path not taken is the self-induced trance, resulting in the Poe-like premature burial. How about some actual (or hallucinated) supernatural stuff? Maybe Raymond falls to his death anyway, as he can’t kill a ghost–even with live(!) rounds.

It just seems too complicated to kill the actress to cover the first murder. Even given the fiery Italian interlude, suppose it’s only Dick’s idea, and then Alice gets cold feet going away with a murderer (unaware that the crash victim isn’t Ellen). So, she sticks with Raymond–who, unknown to her, is slso a murderer.

Having said all that, I’m nonetheless ok with the actual ending; especially as we’re left with the guilty party’s I-wish-I-wasn’t-here look. This is entertaining, and will keep you guessing until the very end.

And Now The Screaming Starts, 1973.

******** 8.0

A new bride brought to the family mansion runs afoul of an old curse. Gothic ghosts, shifty paintings, and unsettled ancestors fill the plot. As for the cast, the bride and groom are the Fengriffens, Catherine and Charles (Stephanie Beacham and Ian Ogilvy). Then there’s Charles’s grandfather, Henry (Herbert Lom ), and the good Drs. Pope and Whittle (Peter Cushing and Patrick McGee). Also, we have Maitland (Guy Rolfe) and a Woodsman (Geoffrey Whitehead). The Woodsman’s wife is Sarah (Sally Harrison).

Very convincing setting and atmosphere. First order of business at the castle is eye-balling the ancestral paintings. Cathy is somewhat taken aback when a bloody hand bursts through one of them; of course, with a second look back, it’s just a regular painting. Somehow though, a dismembered hand scuttles across the upstairs floor.

In her bedroom, Cathy appears to settle in for the night. (Nothing like candlelight supported by unseen electric lighting, but, whatever). The candles get blown out (now it’s sorta dark), and that hand is right up in her face. Charles has trouble getting in to help her.

He finds an ax to bust in. She’s pretty freaked; get a bigger ax next time, bro. Charles fixes up his will to make Cathy the sole beneficiary. Won’t do her much good if that face with the bloody eyes doesn’t get her first. It nearly does, an incarnated ancestor emerging bodily out of a painting.

She hastens outdoors; rather unwisely ending up in the graveyard. That means she bumps into the groundskeeper–who keeps morphing into the ghoulish dude in the painting. So far the action is relentless; plus, we don’t know how much is ‘really’ happening, and how much Cathy is ‘just imagining.’ If all that stuff isn’t bad enough, the dogs don’t even like her.

She duly comports herself to the woodsman’s cottage; to put him in his place, it would seem. She’s startled, as it first looks like he’s missing a hand. Ah, just foolin’! The real discovery, though, is that he’s really connected to the Fengriffens. At dinner, Cathy asks Charles about his grandfather. Then she asks Maitland about ye olde Woodsman, but mum’s the word with him.

The hand is on a window sill–or is it? Later, out on a ride, Maitland gets thrown from his horse. Out of nowhere we see a figure–the woodsman?–with an ax. Charles goes to check up on Maitland, finding only his horse. But then he comes upon the guy’s bloody corpse leaning against a tree. Meanwhile, Cathy is comfy at home reading Milton. Not for long, though, there’s that corpse-like guy; materializing through an open window.

Of course the window that the thing burst through wasn’t even blemished when Cathy looks back at it; likewise the bloody hand that grabs her as she flees for the door is just her husband’s gentle mandible. She feints, and the doctor’s summoned. Well, she’s pregnant. An heir!

Charles discusses ye olde family curse with Doctor Whittle. The worthies then grill Silas about Maitland’s killing. Back in bed, Cathy is afraid of having the baby–will it be a slow reader? No, but we still don’t know anything about that pesky curse. The maid seems to be jiggering with a thingie behind a bookcase; it’s just a huge book.

The portraits start getting nutty on her–the gory ghoul guys keep popping out again like so many Chuckie Cheese puppets. At least this shows that Cathy is not the only victim of the apparitions. The severed hand is up next, basically causing the maid to fall down the stairs to her death. Anyway, Cathy takes a gander at the mysterious book: unsurprisingly, it’s of the family tree.

One branch of the family’s obscured and sort of dead-ends, obviously, a name’s been tampered with. When she gets back to her room, Cathy discovers that she’s being sent back to London–to have the baby, I guess. This chaperone isn’t very well-chosen though; as soon as she goes downstairs that intrepid hand chokes her. The help should get hazard pay in this place.

Charles wants to get rid of the woodsman he “disturbs my wife.” But the guy won’t leave for any lot of filthy lucre. That night, Cathy isn’t in bed, and it’s indeed dark and stormy out. She’s going up the staircase with one heck of a knife. Meanwhile, Charles is reading up on the curse; Cathy is slashing the nasty portraits.

She collapses on the staircase, having apparently been roused from a trance. Next day she’s fine, picking flowers. But one of the dog’s attacks her; only the quick intervention of the woodsman prevents serious injury. More nutty stuff ensues, as she throws away the medication (most likely containing laudanum, an hallucinogenic), only to find it undisturbed upon returning to her room.

Dr. Pope, a specialist, comes on board. He and Charles discuss her “dreams.” Pope settles in, but notices the woodsman outside toting an ax (well, he wouldn’t have a waffle iron, would he?). He looks around a bit more, discovering the conspicuous portrait-slashing knife. Finally, he looks in on Cathy.

“Charles thinks I’m insane” she says by way of greeting. Pope is a sort of proto-psychiatrist. She describes her otherworldly experiences. He then finds a book on sexual relations with demons (?!). Whittle is still reluctant to talk about the curse; when he mentions the woodsman to Pope, the hand creeps up and strangles him. Well, down to one doctor again.

Naturally, Pope goes to see the woodsman. That old boy says that if anything happens to her ladyship’s baby, he, Silas, will dispose of Dr. Pope, forthwith. Now the secret comes back to Charles; he claims to not believe the curse. But, nonetheless, Pope is on-the-money that they have convince Catherine that there’s no curse.

So, Charles relates the story of Henry, his ‘legendary’ debauched grandfather. We go back fifty years to such a scene: a bunch of craven peasants in a drinking game. Looks like fun–for the guys anyway. Silas (the present Silas’s father) wins the, err, trophy girl. Silas gives her a bath–but the gentlemen want to have a look too. Actually, an upper-class bullying game; they’re voyeurs, then just sickos.

Henry asserts his right to have his way with her, regardless of Silas (didn’t the guy win her fair and square?). Well, we can see where this is going…first Sarah comes at Henry with a knife, then Silas grazes him with his trusty ax. Looks as if Silas might get shown his place. That is, the place beside his freshly-severed hand. Well, hey, they let him wash his stump.

The outcome of all this is that Silas cursed the house of Fengriffen. Apparently, Sarah survived, but her child died, and she went mad. Silas’s son keeps the curse alive. Back in 1795, it looks like something similar is happening to Cathy; she tries to stab herself, but Silas’s wayward hand gets between her and the blade. The point (!) is to have an heir born, to avenge the loss of Sarah’s son.

Charles talks Pope into staying for the childbirth. That seems to go well, but that pesky ghoulish face returns to bug Cathy. We’re reminded that the curse (involving Silas’s vengeance of Henry) is not the same as the legend (involving the Demonic sexual act). Obviously, there’s a ghastly congruence of both. That is, the birth is the link–but will the baby merely be a baby?

Once again, a dark and stormy night, and, again, Silas looking in from the outside. Well, the birth occurs…but Charles gets the heebie-jeebies. What? Dr. Pope follows Charles to the lair of Silas. The Woodsman congratulates Charles on the birth of an heir. But he’s shot for his efforts. Is Silas the demon? Pope finds his corpse–yes, Silas is our bad guy, but he just hung out with the wrong crowd. Did he know that he was possessed?

Why is Charles in the graveyard, madly trying to open grandpa’s coffin? Nice skeletal remains, made slightly less recognizable by Charles bashing the bones to dust. The only remaining mystery is the baby itself. It’s ok, but a spitting image of Silas: gigantic birthmark and stump arm included. Ok. Sort of makes some sense. We see, from Scripture the connection: “Visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the sons” for generations.

That adds up. In fact, And Now The Screaming Starts! might as well have been called: Just Scream! It indeed starts strong, and hardly lets up enough to allow Catherine can catch her breath (to continue screaming). That’s not to say that her character is hysterical; we see someone desperately trying to cope with an impossible situation. Only Dr. Pope has a handle on what might be troubling her–and most of the movie elapses before he’s available.

This movie succeeds in the most fundamental way–it’s consistently entertaining. The two plot threads (the curse and the legend), though joined a bit awkwardly, nonetheless combine to build depth into what is, after all, a rather simplistic plot.

My only quibbles, other than a slight slowing in the middle-portion are visual. For all the excellence of a genuine (looking) gothic castle, it’s far too tidy inside. And other than the nicely-scruffy flashback scene, everyone looks a bit too fresh–especially Silas. The orange-ish blood is the weakest prop–most of the movies if this era seem to incapable is showing a simulated blood that’s even close to red.

None of these elements distract from the overall spooky, thrilling feel. Well worth a look.

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.

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. 8.5/10.

Devils Of Darkness, 1965.

****** 6.0

Vampires under a cemetery; gypsies under the forest canopy–sounds like a good horror mash-up premise. A bat floops out of a broken grave, darkening tbe festivities at the gypsy camp. They bury a girl as the bat looks on. So, it’s Count Sinistre/Armond Moliere (Hubert Noel) brooding over the corpse of Tania (Carole Gray).

Back at a French country chateaux, Paul (William Sylvester) is hanging out with Madeleine (Diane Decker), while Keith and Dave (Geoffrey Kenyan and Rod McLennan) are fixing to explore local caves. That evening, there’s a religious procession to the graveyard. Paul goes with Madeliene to check it out. Meanwhile, there’s someone/thing nabbing Keith from behind; sure enough, he soon turns up dead.

Then Armond/Sinistre tries to comfort Anne (Rona Anderson) that Keith’s death had nothing to do with “gypsy legend” stuff. But then, he attacks her. The police talk to Paul about Keith, and Paul discovers that Anne’s dead too. Armond presides over a “pledge of allegiance to our devil master” ceremony, with Anne and another woman chilling in coffins, until, that is, Anne is taken out and apparently burned. Basically Sinistre puts a price on Paul’s head for his snooping around.

Back in England, Paul confers with a scientist friend, Dr. Kelsey (Eddie Byrnes) about witchcraft. The corpses have vanished–aren’t they still in France? (not exactly). Anyway, all the lab animals are going nuts, freaking out Paul. Time out for a swingin’ party.

Paul looks too old to be there, but Madeline introduces him to Karen (Tracy Reed). When he gets home, his place has been ransacked. The police show. Little bats keep popping up, kind of voodoo doll–like. Paul continues to research the supernatural; Karen is modeling for Sinistre, Tania is displeased “you didn’t tell her you had a wife!”

Paul wants to talk to Karen. A book (The Power of Magic) goes missing from the library; guess who has it? Sinistre and Tania, along with assorted coffins, and other devilish paraphernalia. Not surprisingly, the book is about Sinistre’s life–his 16th century life, that is. Karen seems to be under Sinistre’s spell. Meanwhile, a cult-like Little Red Riding Hood group tote some coffins around. Tania takes to burning Sinistre’s book. She wants Sinistre to get rid of Karen. But, no, Karen’s in the penthouse.

Paul discusses Sinistre/Armond with the Inspector. Kelsey’s been killed. Hmm, at Paul’s, Tania, as a vampire, is intent on slashing Karen’s portrait (which bleeds). The Inspector wants to look into our 16th century Frenchman. They go to the antique shop where Madeleine lives–that is, the loft where the vampires have been hanging out. Karen collapses, because of the daylight? A crucifix amulet burns her. Madeleine tells the others that they’ll sacrifice her that night.

Party No. 2. Another murder. Madeleine and Tania compete to doll up Karen. Underground, in the catacombs, the Red Riding Hood procession goes forth; “prepare the circle” says Master Sinistre. Human sacrifice in the offing. If they get through the mumbo-jumbo quick enough, they might get the thing done. But the police have enough time to show up and intervene. Actually, the burn mark of the crucifix helps too.

For some unknown reason, the catacombs start falling apart and burning up. Last scene: Sinistre is dumb enough to waltz through a graveyard just as the sun shines directly behind a huge cross. He’s disintegrated, Karen’s saved by Paul.

This was fairly entertaining. There’s some nice horror touches, especially at the beginning and the end. The middle part is somewhat reminiscent of 1957’s Curse of the Demon, with its emphasis on occult manuscripts and the odd goings on associated with them.

I didn’t see the point of the two settings; the gypsy scenes are pretty cool, and the caves in the French setting, but all that is left behind when things relocate to England. It makes sense for the English characters, but why does Sinistre and his retinue follow? Both settings are workable–but it feels like two different movies. The mod party scenes are pretty cool from a nostalgic angle, but they just underscore the disconnect between the more traditional French and more avante garde English phases.

Karen becomes a major character, but she doesn’t even appear until the first party scene. A consequence of this dual plot is the relatively long run time. The middle part isn’t focused well; who cares about Sinistre’s biography when we could be have more scenes of him with Tania and Karen? Anyway, this is worth a look, but I wouldn’t stay up too late to watch it.

The Vampire Bat, 1933.

******* 7.0

Nice cast for a ‘B’ grade horror movie: Lionel Atwill, Fay Wray, and Melvyn Douglas. Atwill is Dr. von Niemann, a mysterious, suspicious big-wig in Kleineschloss. Wray is Ruth, Maude Ebern is her Aunt Gussie, Douglas is Police Inspector Karl Brettschneider who, along with the Burgermeister (Lionel Belman) tries to figure out why bloodless corpses turn up in the village. There’s even a village idiot, Herman (Dwight Frye).

A wolf-like cry, and bats flitting around on a dark (withal, not a stormy night). The Burgermeister hosts a meeting at which notables discuss the local murders, which look suspiciously like the work of vampires and/or vampire bats. “This unseen, unsightly death” has them unsettled.

Meanwhile, Karl meets Ruth in Von Neiman’s basement lab. Back in the Mueller household, Von Neiman treats Martha Mueller (Rita Carlyle) for a bat attack, while the ghoulish Herman skulks about. He not only likes bats, he even carries one his pocket.

Karl meets von Niemann in his lab, but the Dr. brushes him off. The next day, Martha’s dead; the villagers think maybe Hermann is the vampire/murderer–given his odd behavior, and his fondness for bats. Kringen (George E. Stone) thinks he’s in imminent danger, as Herman creeps him out. Also, Ruth’s Aunt Gussie (Maude Ebern) fears a few dozen ailments. Herman seems to be everywhere–offering Gussie his bat for an apple.

As Niemann, Karl, Ruth, and Gussie discuss vampire history, the Burgermeister bursts in with news of more killings and disappearances. Now Niemann’s assistant Emil (Robert Frazer) becomes a suspect in Martha’s death. Poor Herman is on the run, hiding from a lynch mob in a cave. He leaps to his death to avoid capture.

Looks like Niemann has a sort of psychic control over Emil; he directs him to kidnap his housekeeper, Georgianna (Stella Adams), for his lab experiments. Sure enough, she’s soon discovered dead. “It passes all belief” says Karl. Conveniently, Martha’s incriminating crucifix is found near Georgianna’s corpse, exonerating Emil and everyone else except Herman–except of course that he’s dead.

Karl and the Burgermeister realize the vampire theory doesn’t hold water. But “why should anyone want human blood?” Karl wonders aloud. Niemann tries to poison Karl. Someone is on the roof, and sneaks outside Karl’s room. It’s Emil, under Niemann’s control. Unfortunately for Niemann, Ruth hears him commanding Emil.

“Life, created in the laboratory!” Niemann exhorts. Obviously, she’ll be the next victim. Emil shows up carrying Karl’s limp body. But it’s actually Karl carrying Emil. Karl has a gun on Niemann; but there’s a scuffle, Emil and Niemann kill each other. All’s well.

The Vampire Bat came off pretty well. It’s fairly obvious from the start that von Niemann is up to no good, but the mystery involves just exactly what he’s doing that causes the murders. The atmosphere really sells the vampire theme; the bat motif enhances this. Herman embodies all the creepiness of Renfield from Dracula.

There’s a lot going on, and, though the plot’s simple, the pacing deftly shifts among Niemann, Karl/Ruth, and Herman, with plenty of slideshows featuring Aunt Gussie and the villagers. There’s a thick comic layer as well. In a macabre sense, Herman is a great send-up of the ‘harmless madman’ type whom no one takes seriously until everyone else goes nuts and blames him.

A running joke (maybe also a comment on the scientific genius characters common in this sort of movie) is the medical terminology tossed off by Gussie and Ruth. No one really listens to them, probably because they seem smarter than anyone else.

One thing I couldn’t figure out is that at least half the characters seemed to live at von Niemann’s. Except for some visits into the village, they’re cloistered around Niemann. Another thing, Karl is not very convincing as a policeman–plus, he doesn’t do much investigating until nearly the end

Farmermouse thought the bats were about as scruffy as he is, so he gives The Vampire Bat seven little bats.

The Devil Doll, 1936.

******** 8.0

mix one horror cube and a taste little of everything else...

Very bizarre horror/sci-fi fest. Lionel Barrymore, as the wrongly-convicted escaped prisoner Lavond, teams up with his partner’s wife Makita (Rafaela Ottiano) to exact revenge on the bankers who framed him. Sounds like a film-noir plot; but there’s much more than simple crime going on here.

His partner Marcel (Henry Waldhall) is a (very mad) mad scientist; shrinking critters and people for a sort of pre-New Age utopia. He croaks at an inopportune time. But that’s just plot: Ottiano is so spooky, her eyes bulging out like a 1950s alien, weird hair, the whole Pandora’s box of horror. Not to be outdone, Barrymore segues into a cunning female disguise, as he has to fool the Parisians and glom onto his intended victims. Carrying on Marcel’s people-shrinking process, he/she quickly establishes a legitimate doll-making business with Malita.

With these archetypal characters, the story takes on the exaggerated tone of a folk tale. A witch-like woman, a man who pretends to be a woman, little people controlled by them, three evil guys, and a happy young couple Lorraine and Toto (Maureen O’Sullivan and Frank Lawton). They’re Lavond’s daughter and her fiancee; the only ones here with a relationship that isn’t fractured or strained in some way.

The weirdest bit is the devil dolls’ (Grace Ford’s and Arthur Hohl’s) slave-like telepathic manipulation by Lavond and Malita. The special effects are very clever and well-thought-out for the most part. Particularly the scene where Radin (Hohl) pretends to be an ornament on a Christmas tree; following orders from Lavond, he sidles from his perch to sneak up on bad guy Matin (Pedro de Cordoba). Some sort of paralyzing serum is the little minion’s weapon.

Having neutralized his antagonists (without actually killing them), and been exonerated by the police, he’s pretty much in the clear. But Malita doesn’t want to give up their (live) doll business. The ol’ exploding flask deal takes care of both her and the evidence (their lab).

Still, this denouement doesn’t tie up the father/daughter subplot. Toto, somewhat surprisingly, keeps secret the knowledge that Lorraine’s father is alive and well. Lavond again pretends to be someone else (his dead partner Marcel) to her; he’s too ashamed of what he’s done to tell her the truth. This tidbit is taken as a hint that Lavond doesn’t want to live.

Other than a few slow spots, the only problem I have with Devil-Doll is this intrusive domestic subplot. That’s not to say that O’Sullivan and Lawton don’t give good performances–they do; but this stuff seems to belong to another movies altogether.

The Devil-Doll is greatly entertaining for Barrymore’s and Ottiano’s performances alone; the horror and sci-fi stuff adds to the brew. Recommended.

The Unknown, 1927

******** 8.0

Very creepy film. Anything with Lon Chaney is creepy, but The Unknown concentrates a lot of psychological terror into a short run time. I agree with those who sense that a Hitchcock flavor here; I’m also reminded of Poe’s style of terror.

Lon Chaney’s Alonzo will do anything to win Joan Crawford’s Nanon. That he ends up killing her over-bearing father (to cover his criminal tracks from the police) and tries to kill her fiancee shows how desperate and unhinged he is. The role of fate and deception, again Poe-like touches, destroy Chaney’s relationship with Nonon.

Once he gets his arms amputated–instead of keeping up his circus ruse that he’s armless–he thinks he’s the perfect mate for a woman who doesn’t want a man’s hands on her. It never occurs to him that Nanon will get over this inhibition. He’s a victim of his own obsession.

When he discovers that she’s engaged to Malabar, Chaney is at his best; he gives an excruciating portrayal of regret. He sacrifices himself in the subsequent scene, realizing that revenge against Malabar isn’t worth letting Nanan be crushed by the horse.

In a very dramatic way, he sees how she will sacrifice herself for Malabar; she loves Malabar, all that Alonzo can do is respect Nanon by accepting that fact. His death is his one act of love. It’s fitting that a totally unsympathetic character not be allowed to survive.

The atmosphere has a claustrophobic feel; the opening view of the circus has a surreal flatness, as though we’re entering a dream world. The hospital scene is also bizarre. It’s the only time we’re let outside the circus, to an urban, antiseptic place of confinement. The Spanish setting, along with the conceit that the circus performers are gypsies, adds a few exotic, folk-tale aspects.

Alonzo starts off doomed, as he can’t break loose from his past. He thinks Nanon can save him and make him happy; but she’s wisely looking out for herself. The title aptly describes Alonzo as one who doesn’t know himself.

The Unknown is a haunting experience–both visually and for Chaney’s masterful performance. 8/10.

A Bucket of Blood, 1959.

******** 8.0

This is a superb send-up of the Beatnik era “swim on, you maudlin, muddling, mad fools…” the coffee house poet Brock (Julian S. Burton) drones. He’s talking about blind fish (the bourgeois masses, I guess) who the artist baits, etc. Soon we have “Get a good night’s sleep, you fink” and that’s a detective, an obvious ‘square,’ talking to his undercover guy.

Even without our poor protagonist Walter (Dick Miller) and his lonely quest for recognition, this would be thoroughly entertaining. Actually, the premise of man’s search for meaning through art really goes to the core of the Beat movement, and the contemporary existentialist movement that propelled it.

Just as fate has its touchy influence on life, Walter’s accidental cat-stabbing jump-starts his art career; his criminal career too. He’s taken “the clay within/that he might form an ashtray or an ark”, according to Brock. Walter kind of splits the difference in value between the extremes that those two images conjure up. Or, rather, he splits the skull of the undercover cop sent to arrest him for drug possession.

So, “murdered man” is his next piece; and it’s hideous alright, according to Carla (Barboura Morris). In fact, it’s quite a bit scarier than the run-of-the-mill movie monster. Soon Walter’s more or less a celebrity, indulging in ‘light Yugoslavian white wine.’ A Marilyn Monroe lookalike, Alice (Judy Banner), tweaks him off, so she’s through. But not through modeling…

The reaction to Brock’s tribute to Walter “Man, like that was the greatest gas I ever heard!” kind of sums up the prevailing opinion. The only dose of reality comes from the coffeehouse proprietor Leonard (Anthony Carbone). He’s figured out Walter’s deal. So, Walter wants to junk everything, and marry Carla.

She not only spurns him, but makes a ghastly discovery as well. He starts to hallucinate that his victims call out to him during a noir-like chase through the shadowy streets and alleys. At this point, all the funny stuff is long gone–it’s straight horror until the end.

Although I did mention that a cool movie could’ve been done without the macabre elements, I’m also thinking that the opposite tack could work. Keep the Beat trappings as a backdrop, darken the tone (to resemble the last sequences here), and develop Walter’s character with some psychological depth.

As it is, A Bucket Of Blood makes its own mark on the horror genre.

The Tingler, 1959.

********* 9.0

This is Vincent Price in his element: psychological terror, with psuedo-scientific and supernatural trappings. For once, Price deals with a contemporary setting; not only that, but an original story as well.

Price is Dr. Chapin, who, in true mad-scientist fashion, makes a creepy discovery: we have a huge insect-like parasitic creature that materializes on our spine as soon as we experience fear. If that’s not gross enough, this Tingler also paralyzes it’s host. If you were of a certain age when seeing this for the first time, it almost makes sense--and it’s a frightening premise.

Chapin gets a non-speaking victim scared literally out of her wits so he can harvest a full-grown Tingler. The thing gets loose in a movie theatre, which ironically neutralizes it, thanks to the ensuing screamfest (by letting our fear show itself, the thing’s powerless).

In the time-honored way in which horrow/sci-fi doctors care more about research than actual humans, Chapin hatches the cunning plan for harvesting the Tingler from the unwitting Martha. Meanwhile, Chapin’s wife is fooling around, and plotting against him. It seems that she’s sitting on a fortune, which she’s unwilling to share with her nice-girl younger sister.

Among the players, we’ve got the victim, Martha Higgins (Judith Eveyln), Chapin’s wife, Isabel (Patricia Cutt), plus Ollie, Martha’s husband (Phillip Coolidge), Isabel’s sister, Lucy Stevens (Pamela Lincoln), Lucy’s boyfriend and Chapin’s assistant, David (Darryl Hickman, and, remarkably, even the director, William Castle, as host/narrative.

The gimmick factor cannot be overlooked: the original ’tingler’ effect in theatres, Castle’s direct address to the audience regarding it, the macabre scene that Martha faces when she triggers the Tingler, and, amazingly relevant, Chapin’s LSD trip. The props for Martha’s nightmarish experience could’ve come from that same year’s House On Haunted Hill, also a Castle creation that featured Price.

A relative, Ollie, the in-law of an executed man, comes into Chapin’s examining room while he’s doing an autopsy on the corpse. Chapin coins the term the Tingler to explain the actual cause of death--a snapped vertebrae. Strangely, Ollie invites Chapin to his home; Chapin also meets Martha, and he figures that Martha faints when she’s frightened because she can’t vocalize fear by screaming.

At his place, Chapin’s greeted by Lucy; they chat about David. When he shows up, he gives Chapin a vial of a drug (LSD) that produces "weird effects". The two guys talk about Martha and the Tingler. Seeing his wife return home with another man, and watching them make out as well, Chapin stuffs a revolver in his pocket. Isabel disdains David, and doesn’t approve of Lucy marrying him.

He wants her to give half her fortune to Lucy; she refuses. Then he pulls the gun on her (he implies that she’d poisoned her father to gain her fortune). His ultimatum: give "that stupid child" Lucy the money or Isabel commits ’suicide’. By default she chooses option b. Aha! He’s faked it! He had just fired blanks. You see, her Tingler was activated when she thought she’d been shot. The thing shows up on x-rays he’d taken of her. "Could the Tingler be actually alive?" wonders Dave.

Now we see how the LSD comes into play--it could induce enough fear to activate the Tingler. So, Chapin guinea-pigs himself with the drug. David and Lucy watch through a small window in the locked lab. Chapin narrates his feelings into a tape-recorder. He starts to freak soon enough. He more or less blows the experiment by screaming when he sees the handy skeleton displayed for anatomical reasons.

Next move, as we might suspect, is a trip of a different sort: to see Ollie and, of course, Martha. Chapin surprises her alone. He talks her into an injection of barbituates to "rest" (has he really given her some LSD too?). She wakes up to an apparently haunted house, expertly done. The gloulish corpse with the knife is better than anything in house on Haunted Hill. Then, in the bathroom, we get the lurid red blood in the sink and tub; our Nosferatu-like corpse emerges from it’s literal bloodbath. She’s done--dead, that is.

Back home, Chapin has another sarcastic talk with his wife. Ollie’s at the door; with his wife’s body. These days, we’d say malpractice--didnt the doc last treat her? (Trick or Treat more precisely). Covering his tracks very well by asking if anything looked unusual at home; he’s pleased to learn that his elaborate con game worked flawlessly. Time for an autopsy.

With clever use of light and shadow, we see indirectly chapin remove the Tingler from her body. He shows it to Ollie. Only Chapin’s scream keeps it from pinching his arm off. Weirdly, Isabel seems to sense an opportunity when she sees it. Ollie, ever discreet, leaves with Martha’s body. "Let’s celebrate finding the Tingler" What? is Isabel nuts?! Yes and no. She’s drugged or poisoned his drink.

Now, here’s a surprise that makes complete sense. It was Ollie who played ghoul and frightened his wife to death; that explains his entirely complacent demeanor the whole time. Naturally, Isabel turns the Tingler loose on her husband while he lies in a stupor. Only Lucy’s arrival saves him--her scream weakens it and brings Chapin around. Now Chapin has a sea change; he wants to stick the creature back in Martha’s body. He figures it will die because it’s original host has died.

In a weird reversal, Ollie’s become the bad guy. Chapin surprises him, and discovers all the horrific props that frightened her to death. While they argue, the Tingler gets loose. And gets a free pass, via a loose board, to the theatre below. It emerges from behind the curtain. Now it’s in the seats. As the movie reaches a climax of sorts, Ollie and Chapin look frantically for the Tingler. Eek! There it is! "There’s no cause for alarm" (except that all the viewers could get killed). Or the projectionist. Tingler on screen. "The Tingler is loose in the theater!" Well, it almost gets the projectionist. They stuck it in a film can, and pack it off like a lunch box.

That pesky Ollie tries to blame Chapin. He manages to pull a gun on Chapin, who has just finished putting the Tingler in its place. Now another turn-about: the same horrific stunts that Ollie pulled on Martha begins happening to Ollie. We end with a tantalizing Price warning us about the Tingler against a black screen. Great stuff, this Tingler business.

There’s a few parallels with House On Haunted Hill’s plot: the bickering between Price’s character and his devious wife, and both the faked supernatural stuff, and the implicit actual supernatural ending. the main diffrence is that Price’s character isn’t the ultimate villain in the Tingler. What’s left unsaid is that Chapin might’ve known what Ollie was up to with Martha, or more likely, abetted her suicide as well. Something else that ties them together: both guys had a financial interest in eliminating their wives.

Another difference is that while Chapin and Isabel’s dislike for each other endangers both of them, the Martha/Ollie part of the plot is really the focus. In Haunted Hill, the guests are really secondary to Price’s scheme to murder his wife; but here, without the other couple, there wouldn’t be much of a story.

We could see Ollie (to get closer to Jekyll and Hyde territory) as the passive side of Chapin, who ’takes over’ in the latter part of the film. chapin realizes, almost too late, that he’s become a monster--objectified by the Tingler, but also by Martha’s death--and ends up integrating Ollie back to his more rational side. Ultimately, Ollie is doomd when keft to his own devices.

We might say that the supernatural manifestations are literally Ollie’s feelings of guilt coming back to haunt him. for Chapin, the props found in Ollie’s trunk are simply that; the tools of a charlatan who uses them to decieve his mark. Chapin can smugly disdain that junk (as Price’s character with similar props in Haunted Hill), but Ollie has to live with the consequence of bringing such things to life, so to speak. Chapin messes with his wife by scaring her; Ollie actually scares Martha to death.

I hadn’t seen The Tingler in decades, and it was quite a bit better than I remember. Ok, I wan’t as spooked as I was at age 10, but even much later on, I’d forgotten the rather complex plot and the twists that energized it. Only near the middle does it lag a bit, becoming a talk-fest, as there’s so much going on.

It might be easily overlooked that Price doesn’t have the only good performance here. In fact the casting is excellent. Coolidge in particular plays an Elisha Cook, Jr. role very well. Definitely recommend for Vincent Price and William Castle fans, or those who like ’50s-early ’60s horror generally.

The Four Skulls of Dr. Drake, 1959.

********+ 8.5

Four Skulls Is Par For This Curse

Now this is a premise: a tribal curse, shrunken heads, and a zombie enforcer. It seems that the Drake family has incurred the wrath of native Ecuadorans--for messing with them in some way, I suspect. So Jonathan and Kenneth Drake (Edward Franz and Paul Cavanaugh) have to dodge these pesky heads and various misfortunes. Aside from the mummy-like Zutai (Paul Wesley), there’s some doctors and cops poking around, while Jonathan (Eduard Franz) has to worry about his daughter Alison (Valerie French) as well.

One head in hand, and three others floating in front of Jonathan; Alison tells her dad "you have to stop these experiments." Uncle Ken has seen a certain Tsantas, that is, a shrunken head. Next thing we know, at Ken’s, a Tsantas swings to and from outside a window, while Zutai enters, and pokes Ken with something that kills him. Drs. Bradford (Howard Wendel) and Zurich (Henry Daniell) are at hand when the police, Lieutenant Rowan (Grant Richards) shows up. Zurich explains to Rowan about the Tsantas.

Zutai is hiding outside as the hearse pulls up. Proving his worth as a burglar, He sneaks into the viewing room--but we don’t know exactly what he’s up to with the coffin. The butler welcomes Jonathan; Bradford insists that Ken had a heart attack, Johnathan ain’t so sure. As if to underscore that, the body has literally lost it’s head. Well, it’s Jonathan who’s a suspicious character now: he’s actually got a witch’s caldron going in a basement lab, and gets Zutai, his underling, to fetch his brother’s head for the brew.

Now the cops are really interested--because of the beheading. Using some reverse logic, Jonathan professes to be doing something positive with his experiments: this grisly bobbing of the heads is meant to lift the curse. He and Alison go to the family burial vault. Apparently the indigenous tribe was wiped out by the Drake ancestor--but the witch doctor survived to throw the curse on the Drakes.

Jonathan shows Alison a couple of skulls in a vault niche. Rowan talks with Alison about the entire curse situation, and implies that her father will die next. Eerily, when she goes to show Rowan the skull cabinet, there’s a new one. Uh, oh. Here’s Zutai, entering Jonathan’s room, intending to kill him. But he’s surprised, and splits. Rowan shoots Zutai, but if course he just keeps going. He’s dying. Coulter (Frank Gerstle) analyzes his blood: he’s been poisoned.

The two cops now notice that symbols appear on the skulls. Well, Jonathan’s reviving once he gets the antidote, but he hallucinates the four skulls again. They read about a ’cult of the headless man’. That creature can attain immortality, according to the legend. Now we see a bizarre ritual in the house: a witch doctor prophecies while Zutai accompanying on a drum. "Nothing can save you now!" the masked and robed figure states.

Well, with Bradford and Alison looking in on Johnathan, they find that he’s gone into shock. Who is the witch doctor? Zurich? Bradford? Conveniently, these two meet up. Well, Bradford is on the level; it’s Zurich who has Zutai lingering nearby. Zurich lets on how knows what happened to both Ken and Jonathan. Before we cut away, it’s obvious that Bradford’s done for.

Rowan goes in search of Zurich; ironically, it’s more of a consult than an investigation. "Have you considered the supernatural aspects?" He asks Rowan. This doc knows a little too much about beheadings. There’s a tell-tale blood stain on the carpet. They discuss the curse: strangely, Zurich professes not to know about that. By now, Rowan’s suspicious; he calls Coulter to get the low-down on Zurich. Zurich needs to use the hit man Zutai once again to finish off Jonathan.

Rowan finds a secret trap door in Johnathan’s place, even as Zutai enters the house. Rowan gets down to the lab, finding a Tsantas and the still-bubbling cauldron. He looks further, and reveals Ken’s head. The butler tells Zurich that Jonathan’s been taken to the hospital. Rowan talks to Coulter again. He tells Rowan "that guy’s (Zurich) a ghost!" Rowan leaves, giving Zurich a chance to hoodwink Alison.

He convinced her that Jonathan is in worse shake, and takes her back to the hospital. Coulter reveals that Zurich himself us the original Drake ancestor, now 180 years old. That is, with suspension of disbelief in gear, means that he’s immortalized by absorbing dead spirits. "Dr. Bradford has achieved a certain immortality, as your father has" says Zurich to Alison. Jonathan has recovered sufficiently to return home, find out about Zurich and Alison’s whereabouts. Rowan finds the group but is attacked by Zutai.

Thanks to the handy caldron, the ol’ zombie literally explodes. Jonathan and Rowan chase Zurich out of the lab. Outside, with the poisoned dagger, Zurich us finally killed. Then we see that Zurich’s head is on a different body. Jonathan completed the deal by beheading Zurich: the fourth skull is all that’s left. The end.

This starts of quickly, and never lets up until the end. Though not much of a mystery, it succeeds rather as a horror movie. How many films have we seen where even the police believe the supernatural stuff? Thanks to its own well--presented logic (of the curse, and the immortality legend) the plot sticks together quite well. On top of that, it’s very original.

Jonathan’s role is the mystery here: initially he seems to be responsible for all the mayhem; but he really has no choice. Zurich’s character , on the other hand, is obscure and more or less shadowed by Bradford for a while. What’s surprising is not so much that he turns out to be the fiend here, but that he’s actually the original Drake as well.

Without any distracting excursions to Ecuador, the atmosphere is plenty spooky, even exotic. The key is Zutai, who is never off camera for long. This is one film that doesn’t stint on creepy characters and effects. Rowan’s character is stalwart enough, but seem rather stiff throughout. All of the other performances are fine.

A couple of times I got confused as to which mansion we were in Drake’s place or Zurich’s, and that police car seemed to go through the gate to Drake’s a hundred times, but otherwise, this was much better than I expected. A very creepy hour and so of horror; not to be missed.

Next Chapter: Barons of Horror