I START COUNTING

David Greene, 1970

Starring: Jenny Agutter, Bryan Marshall, Simon Ward

The 14 year old Wynne (Jenny Agutter) realizes she is in love with her stepbrother, George (Bryan Marshall), who is in his early thirties, and her sexual awakening just happens to coincide with the emergence of a serial killer who is murdering young women in the area. Wynne comes to suspect that George might actually be the killer, thanks to his suddenly mysterious behavior, which includes lying about his whereabouts, scratches on his back, and a bloody sweater that he attempts to hide in the garbage. He also disapproves of Wynne spending a lot of time at their partially burnt-out old house, which Wynne and her friend Corinne (Clare Sutcliffe) pretend is haunted, because George’s fiancee died there in an accident years ago. But the more investigating Wynne does, she finds herself closer and closer to the killer...

Based on a novel by Audrey Erskine Lindop, I Start Counting is really more of a psychological thriller than a proper horror film, though it’s something of a spiritual successor to Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt (1943) — about a young woman with latent amorous feelings for her uncle, who she suspects is a serial killer — with shades of eerie Australian masterpiece Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975), though of course the latter wouldn’t come out until a few years later. But speaking of Australian films, this was an early starring role for the mesmerizing Jenny Agutter prior to her career-making performance in Walkabout (1971), which is also something of a coming-of-age film set in the Australian outback.

Walkabout, Picnic at Hanging Rock, Shadow of a Doubt, and I Start Counting are all concerned with depictions of teenage sexuality — specifically emerging female sexuality and the potentially violent effects of its repression. Like some of the other British psychopath films of the time, I Start Counting intertwines fantasy and reality, but with an interesting twist: from the perspective of a potential victim rather than the killer. It was apparently somewhat shocking for the time, but there is nothing graphic about the sexuality on display here and (outside of a sex scene that Wynne stumbles into, to her horror), there is not even much implied. That’s not to say that director David Greene’s (The Shuttered Room, among many other more mainstream titles) use of this theme isn’t impactful and, in a sense, the film also reminded me of Romero’s Season of the Witch (1973), where the film’s horror genre themes emerge from an unhappy character’s boredom with their dull homelife. For Wynne, this is compounded by puberty and I Start Counting is a compelling portrait of the jarring, notably melancholic shift from childhood into adolescence.

And this is actually the primary focus of the film: the undertones of sex and morbidity just happen to coincide with the off-camera actions of a serial killer. This figure serves less as a major plot point (or side plot) and more as a symbol for the confrontation of past trauma with repressed desire. There is a brief glimpse of a girl’s body under the water — perhaps a reference to Night Must Fall (1964), which also opens with the murder of a girl near a riverside — but, as with Shadow of a Doubt, the central characters are made up of a female “detective” and her family: a nagging, clueless mother and a male relative obsessed with the crimes. Wynne’s slightly older, teenage step-brother has a folder where he collects all the press on the murders. He utterly some (perhaps unintentionally) hilarious lines like “If he’s going to kill all these people, he could at least rape them, it seems like such a waste.”

It’s perhaps unusual to have what is essentially a film about a young psychopath — like the countless titles made in the wake of Psycho (1960) and Peeping Tom (1960) — told from the perspective of an even younger female protagonist. Though the basic script from Richard Harris — no, not that Richard Harris — is the only real flaw and it could have stood a bit more development, it makes great use of the fact that Wynne is still finding her way in the world and the agony she feels over her love for George is tangible. There are a few comical scenes, most of which involve her absolutely horrible friend Corinne, including one where she and Corinne discuss sex during mass and another where Corinne insistently shouts that she has had sex seven times. Seven times! If you’ve ever had a friend who was actually quite nasty to you (as teenage girls can often be) and was aggressively jealous, this captures that perfect. Corinne even tries to seduce George, which sets in motion the concluding tragic events, though I will restrain myself where spoilers are concerned.

I Start Counting has been almost totally ignored — particularly compared to other British psychopath films — and, as far as I can tell, it’s not yet available on a proper home video release, something that needs to be rectified as soon as possible. It deserves a restoration and a Blu-ray release with plenty of special features. If you’re a fan of Shadow of a Doubt, this would make an interesting double feature with either that or Picnic at Hanging Rock, and anyone who loves Agutter — and particularly in her early years, you’d have to be a monster not to — should seek this out immediately. Though I shouldn't give it all to Agutter, though she is phenomenal. Bryan Marshall (The Long Good Friday) has great chemistry with her and is perfectly used. Between the two characters, and especially in their interplay together, the film's stretches its legs and explores a profound sense of fantasy, longing, and emotional restraint that means that a lot of non-horror fans will also find a lot to love here.

THE CREEPING FLESH

Freddie Francis, 1973

Starring: Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, Lorna Heilbron In Victorian England, Professor Hildern (Peter Cushing) uncovered a very strange humanoid skeleton while on an expedition to New Guinea. It is very old and oddly developed, so he begins studying it. Meanwhile, his psychiatrist brother, James (Christopher Lee), runs an asylum where Hildern’s wife has been a patient for many years; James informs his brother that she has recently passed away and that Hildern will now have to fund his own research. The despairing Hildern begins to recklessly experiment with the skeleton, which responds strongly to water, allowing Hildern to develop a serum. He tests it on his own daughter, Penelope (Lorna Heilbron), hoping to find a way to prevent her from inheriting her mother’s madness, which sets in motion a violent chain of events... Tragically, The Creeping Flesh represented the death knell for Tigon. Producer and studio head Tony Tenser sold the studio not long after and though I believe they made a few more sex films, this was their last genre film. But at least they went out on a high note. Throughout the last few weeks, I’ve written a lot about my love for Tigon’s films; many of which defiantly bucked the more conservative, traditional paths Hammer and Amicus wandered down and, even at their worst, are always interesting. This one in particular benefits from two strong performances (as always) from Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee. I can’t help but wonder if the studio knew it would be their final horror film, as the script really went all out and combined a lot themes popular in British horror at the time: mad science, madness and/or someone being driven insane, a killer on the loose, and supernatural evil. The Creeping Flesh is definitely among the series of great Lee and Cushing collaborations made in the early ‘70s, which, for a variety of reasons, amount to some of my favorite British horror films: Scream and Scream Again (1970, with Vincent Price), Dracula A.D. 1972 (1972), Horror Express (1972), Nothing But the Night (1973), and even The Satanic Rites of Dracula (1973). Though the script has its fair share of issue and it can’t quite top the fun quotient of something like Dracula A.D. 1972 or the sheer gumption of Horror Express, this one is thick with atmosphere, there’s also loads of delightful scenery chewing, and Cushing, in particular, is obviously having a great time as the over-the-top doctor. It was really in these later roles that he pulled out all the stops and really stepped away from the grim, measured performances of the early Frankenstein and Dracula films for Hammer to churn out the kinds of dazzling roles that made films like Corruption (1968), Twins of Evil (1971), and Fear in the Night (1972) stand out so vividly. In the case of this film, both Cushing and Lee are bolstered by competent handling from director Freddie Francis. He’s one of my favorites in British horror and he’s one of the few who worked prolifically for all three of the major genre studios. Even though his name is sometimes overshadowed by people like Terence Fisher, he has left an indelible stamp on English horror. For Hammer, he made films like early black and white suspense outings Paranoiac (1963) and Nightmare (1964), as well as helming later entries in their franchises like Dracula Has Risen From the Grave (1968). For Amicus, he not only worked on some of their anthology films, such as Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (1965), but directed the more interesting single-plot efforts like my favorite, The Skull (1965), and The Psychopath (1966). He even had his hand in later horror from miscellaneous studios and ranged from the serious — such as Girly (1970) — to the patently absurd, like Trog (1970). This film was his only Tigon outing and though it’s their last, it’s definitely one of their best. The Creeping Flesh is one of those films that I just have to recommend, because I can’t imagine anyone being disappointed by the Cushing-Lee combo. And if you are, please don’t tell me about it. The film is available on DVD and I think at this point, I need hardly say how enthusiastic I am about the majority of these underrated Tigon films. I wish the studio had an opportunity to make more and, in a way, I feel like they’re poking fun at Hammer and Amicus a little bit with titles like The Creeping Flesh and some of their wilder, more out there films. The conclusion of this one in particular seems to acknowledge that: after spending the running time mashing together everything from mad science (I will never understand why he injects his daughter with the serum) to the dangers of arrogant British colonialism, Francis and company leave you wondering whether the events happened at all — as Hildern has presented them throughout via narration — or if he’s just totally barking mad and his brother (played with sublime disdain by Lee, who is a real cold bastard here) has been in the right all along.

NEITHER THE SEA NOR THE SAND

Fred Burnley, 1972

Starring: Susan Hampshire, Frank Finlay, Michael Petrovitch

An unhappily married woman, Anna (Susan Hampshire of Malpertuis), is taking some time alone to sort out her thoughts about her husband on the isle of Jersey, when she meets the brooding, handsome Hugh (Michael Petrovich of Tales That Witness Madness). They are drawn together and begin an affair, to the dismay of Hugh’s controlling brother George (Frank Findlay of Twisted Nerve and Lifeforce). To get some time alone, they take a short, romantic trip to Scotland, where Hugh suddenly falls dead of a heart attack on the beach. Anna is distraught, but it seems there was some medical mistake, as Hugh returns to her the next day, though he doesn’t seem quite right. As he becomes increasingly distant and strange, Anna begins to wonder if maybe he didn’t really die after all…

Essentially “The Monkey’s Paw” reimagined as a Gothic romance — though it is based on a novel by Gordon Honeycombe — Neither the Sea Nor the Sand once again belongs on the list of films from Tigon that everyone seems to hate but that I really love. It was also sadly one of their last, and is obviously representative of the kind of genre-bending weirdness that is impossible to sell to any kind of mass audience. Much like Doomwatch, it was unfairly marketed as a horror film and I think that’s the cause of much of the vitriol directed at it. For example, in the United States, it was renamed The Exorcism of Hugh and, though there is a scene where his brother declares that exorcism is the only cure for Hugh’s condition and they must go see a priest, throwing that in the title is grossly misleading.

The sole directorial effort from editor Fred Burnley, this strange romance has plenty of horror genre undertones — including some poetic but laughable philosophical musings between the two lovers, a first date in a tomb, and some Gothic trappings surrounding Hugh’s ancient family that are never fully addressed — and while I’ve seen it described as dull or slow-moving, it merely takes its time to develop a story that is at once simple and complex. In general, I dislike films that trip over themselves to deliver an abundance of exposition and explain away every element of the action. Neither the Sea Nor the Sand is absolutely not in any hurry to make rational sense, particularly when it comes to Hugh’s undead state. Burnley and company don’t bother to define or even explain the cause of this state, though it’s hinted that his obsessive love for Anna acts as sort of a supernatural force, one which has compelled him to resist the finality of death.

While I could see some viewers being frustrated with these nonsensical elements, I found them to be oddly satisfying in a dreamy, poetic sort of way, but then I do have a wide berth of tolerance for utter nonsense. There are some genuinely eerie scenes, such as one where the undead Hugh violently does away with someone who attempts to come between he and Anna. The moment is both sudden and unexpected, and does mark a change in Hugh, one where his humanity truly begins to fade and he is introduced to the idea of violence to achieve his sole purpose: to be with Anna. To my dismay, the film sort of skirts around the issue of necrophilia, though there is a scene where a lingerie-clad Anna clearly has sex with a hollow-eyed, mute Hugh.

Granted, the film isn’t perfect. It goes on a bit too long in some parts and would probably have done better as a fifty to sixty-minute made-for-TV film or BBC teleplay. There is some genuinely laughable dialogue, particularly where it concerns Hugh’s brother. In an absolutely hilarious scene (unintentionally so), upon first seeing Hugh, he immediately jumps to the conclusion that Hugh has returned from the dead, explains the whole thing to Anna, blames her in the bitchiest way possible, and then demands that they go see a priest for an exorcism. The only plot element that genuinely bugs me is that fact that the couple travels from a foreboding beach in Jersey to a different foreboding beach in Scotland… and then back.

I’m not sure whether to recommend Neither the Sea Nor the Sand. Anyone who has read Wuthering Heights as many times as I have will probably want to check it out immediately (thank god Anna is not nearly as much of a bitch as Cathy). It’s available on DVD, and I suspect you’re either going to love this film or be totally bored by it. There are elements of Deathdream, Bob Clark’s masterpiece that I deeply love, and the ending — spoiler alert — involves the lovers giving themselves to the sea, sort of like Zuławski’s Mes nuits sont plus belles que vos jours, though admittedly the power of nature is depicted more violently here.

DOOMWATCH

Peter Sasdy, 1972

Starring: Ian Bannen, Judy Geeson, John Paul, George Sanders

Dr. Dell Shaw, a member of the environmental agency Doomwatch, travels to a remote Cornish Island known as Balfe to take some wildlife samples in the wake of an oil spill. But the secretive, sometimes violently unwelcoming locals accidentally reveal to Shaw that something is going on with their community and he soon recognizes signs of a hormonal disease, acromegaly, which causes pronounced deformities (and here, violent behavior). Despite their resistance — and with the reluctant assistance of a young schoolteacher who is also a newcomer to the island — he begins collecting research. He sends this back to Doomwatch and the teams learns that there may be a connection between the islanders’ deformities and an unauthorized chemical dump that may have spread to the local fish population…

One of the last films made by Tigon Pictures, Doomwatch was based on, and is sort of a spinoff of, a British TV show with the same name. I’ve never seen the show, which is perhaps why I was able to enjoy this strange and unfairly maligned little film that is compellingly made but straddles a number of genres, which made it difficult to market upon its release (and makes it somewhat difficult to recommend now). Much like the two Doctor Who films produced by Amicus, this is a baffling departure from the show and probably frustrated loyal fans. Not only are the show’s main characters relegated to supporting roles, but Doomwatch was misguidedly marketed as a horror film, whereas it’s better described as sci fi-tinged, ecological suspense.

Doomwatch is a bit of a mixed bag, because it’s roughly split into two parts. The first half is a bit reminiscent of The Wicker Man, in the sense that an investigator (in this case a doctor and not a police inspector) arrives on a strange, insular island and is instantly struck by a sense of claustrophobia, even paranoia, as the islanders manipulate him into ignoring their true purpose. And like The Wicker Man, events revolve around a dead or missing body; in this case, Shaw finds the body of a young girl or a child in the woods, but as soon as he draws the island’s lone police officer back to investigate, it is gone and has been reburied elsewhere.

The second half is a completely different beast. Shaw returns to the mainland to brainstorm with the rest of Doomwatch and they confront a naval commander, played by the always magical George Sanders, here in one of his last roles. This wasn’t the first time he appeared in a Tigon film, though I have to say that Doomwatch is a marked improvement over The Body Stealers (1969). But not even Sanders is given the screen time to do much to spice up the conclusion, most of which is largely concerned with three different kinds of conversations: either Doomwatch is wrapped up in scientific investigation (they’re trying to find who dumped some experimental growth hormones into the sea); Shaw is trying to convince the islanders that their problem is medical and not divine retribution/inbreeding; and there are many shots of British people shouting at each other over the telephone, as should be expected.

And yet, despite its sort of glum reputation, I really have a soft spot for Doomwatch. No, it’s not a horror film, though it does have some delightfully Lovecraftian touches and plenty of atmosphere. It’s not even really a sci-fi film, but straddles a pleasant line between the two genres, adding in a hefty dose of what I would describe as moral responsibility drama. And the cinematography from Ken Talbot — shot on actual Cornish locations and not on a soundstage — goes quite a long way, as does the moody score from John Scott. 

Finally, I have to admit my real, abiding love for director Peter Sasdy, who was an undeniably bright note in British horror with enjoyable titles like Taste the Blood of Dracula (1970), the mediocre but lovely Countess Dracula (1970), sleazy cheese-fest The Devil Within Her (1971) — about a bitchy exotic dancer who is being stalked by a Satanic dwarf, who may have possessed her unborn child (I could not make this shit up) — and classics like his masterpiece, Hands of the Ripper (1971), The Stone Tape (1972), and so on. I’m a little reluctant to recommend this, based on the rather intense hatred it seems to have experienced critically, but I really think you’ll be pleasantly surprised if you give it a shot and don’t expect The Wicker Man, Dunwich-style. Pick it up on DVD here.

VIRGIN WITCH

Ray Austin, 1972
Starring: Ann Michelle, Vicki Michelle, Patricia Haines

Two sisters, Christine (Ann Michelle) and Betty (Vicki Michelle), hitchhike to London so that Christina can find a modeling job, which she does in record time, thanks to her secret psychic powers. Her new boss, Sybil (Patricia Haines), orders her to strip down for an inspection and then books her for a weekend shoot in the country at an estate known as Wychwold. Christine, Betty, and Sybil head out to the countryside, and though the house makes the virginal Betty nervous and paranoid, Christina fits right in. It turns out Gerald (Neil Hallett), the owner of the manse, and Sybil are the head of a coven of witches and Christine is eager to join. Unfortunately for the jealous, possessive Sybil, Christine’s hidden powers begin to emerge and a struggle for power begins.

If Tigon British Film Productions can be remembered for cornering the market on any particular horror trends, it’s probably satanic and folk-themed horror. In the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, they put out such classic titles as The Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968), Witchfinder General (1968), and my personal favorite, Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971). Virgin Witch (1972) is one of their more obscure entries and also one of their last — they would essentially only produce three horror films after this — and it was sadly their final satanic horror film. Though, to be fair, this one has far more of an emphasis on nudity than scares and it would be more fitting to describe it as satanic sexploitation, rather than strictly satanic horror. 

Though it is generally advertised as a satanic horror film, there is nothing particularly horrific or scary about Virgin Witch, and very little that is diabolical. It is really a tame, though enjoyable witchcraft-themed erotica film with not much in the way of plot, but loads of nudity from stars and real-life Michelle sisters Ann and Vicki. Certain comparisons can be made to Hammer’s Twins of Evil, in the sense that Virgin Witch loosely divides the pair into the good and bad sister. Christine becomes the evil twin in the sense that she wants to not only join the coven, but take it over and replace Sybil — a plot element that could have been really interesting had they done more with it. And anyone who has seen even in a single Satanic cult film should realize that the virginal Betty is set up to be some sort of sacrifice, but hilariously she is deflowered — per her request — in the middle of the woods after being chased by raving cultists… like you do. 

As for the sisters themselves, who can’t really be fairly compared to the Collinson twins of Twins of Evil, but Ann will be familiar to British horror fans for her appearance in Pete Walker’s House of Whipcord (1974) and Vicki was in the BBC’s popular ‘80s sitcom Allo Allo. Keith Buckley, who plays the boyfriend of Vicki’s character, will be familiar to horror fans for his role in Dr. Phibes Rises Again (1972), though he isn’t given a whole lot to do here. I won’t pretend that the acting is really a compelling reason to see this film, but the performances are serviceable enough to get the job done. 

Virgin Witch’s script and dialogue don’t do anyone any favors, but the Michelle sisters do spend most of their time scantily clad, though of course — and strangely I find myself writing about this subject a lot — this is yet another instance of a disappointing orgy. Here disappointing in the sense that it is implied, but absolutely none of it is shown. In general, the initial X-rating from British censors is baffling. Though there is copious nudity, some sleazy moments and a few tame lesbian scenes, there is no violence or sex. Despite these setbacks, director Ray Austin (The Saint) does a decent job with a patently ridiculous premise. Though his film is far from perfect, it is entertaining, beautifully shot, and boasts some Bava-like colored lighting. Not a whole lot happens, other than frequent disrobing, but the brief, 88-minute running keeps it from dragging too much.

Virgin Witch isn’t the best or worst Satanic horror film from the period. The film will undoubtedly appeal more to fans of exploitation cinema or Eurotrash than anyone expecting a riff on Hammer horror, or a vampire-free version of Twins of Evil. Kino Lorber and Redemption, following in their series of horror-erotica Blu-Rays that begin with the works of Jean Rollin, have rescued Virgin Witch from obscurity and presented it in a remastered edition. Chances are, you are going to spend a fair amount of time wishing this was either Blood on Satan’s Claw or The Wicker Man, which would follow a year later, but if you keep your expectations low, there’s plenty of fun to be had.

BLOOD ON SATAN'S CLAW

Piers Haggard, 1971
Starring: Patrick Wymark, Linda Hayden, Barry Andrews

In 17th century England, a man accidentally digs up a strange skull in a field. He contacts a local judge for help, but by then the skull has disappeared and a number of unusual occurrences take place in the village. A young woman goes mad, people begin sprouting claws, and many of the local children begin to behave very oddly, turning away from the pastor and his Christian teachings. Their group, led by a lovely young woman named Angel, begins targeting and killing non-believers. The judge is called back to deal with the supernatural evil that has gripped the town.

For my money, this is the single best film from Tigon British Film Productions, though I'm sure plenty of people will argue that Witchfinder General is superior. But, as I've said before, this smaller competitor to Hammer and Amicus have charmed me so much over the years, because they always sort of went their own way and did their own thing, often with mixed results — but they were never boring (hmn, maybe The Body Stealers has its moments). Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971) is an example of this creativity and stubbornly independent streak working out, and it represents some of the strongest satanic horror from that, or any, period. A blend of horror, exploitation, satanic cults, killer kids, religious repression, and Gothic moodiness, Blood on Satan’s Claw deserves far more recognition. 

This is an excellent collaboration between first time director Piers Haggard (who would go on to helm the fucking bonkers Venom and the Quatermass mini-series) and prolific cinematographer Dick Bush, who regularly worked with Hammer studios and director Ken Russell. The tense, rapid pace, claustrophobic shots of the lovely English countryside, and careful mix of sex, scares, and violence make this one of the best British films of the ‘70s. Though Blood on Satan’s Claw has some silly and campy moments, it is a genuinely creepy film and is one of the best examples of the British pagan horror subgenre. Aside from some wonderful performances, the cinematography and score are some of the finest from this era of horror. The utter weirdness, weirdness in the definition “relating to, or suggestive of the preternatural or supernatural,” is one of the film’s strongest points and it thankfully doesn’t fall back on a rational explanation.

Linda Hayden (Taste the Blood of Dracula, Madhouse) absolutely steals the film and gives a wonderfully sexy performance and the ringleader of the satanic gang. Aside from Hayden, there are a number of other familiar faces here: Patrick Wymark (The Skull), James Hayter (The Horror of Frankenstein), Michele Dotrice (And Soon the Darkness), Barry Andrews (Dracula Has Risen From The Grave), Tamara Unstinov (Blood from the Mummy’s Tomb), and others, with many of the actors appearing in Hammer and Amicus horror films and episodes of Doctor Who. 

There are some issues with the plot, due to the fact that this was originally intended to be an anthology film. The stories were woven together seemingly at the last minute and some of the characters can be difficult to keep track of. The weakest link is the final confrontation with the judge, who deserved to be a more developed character. After the careful subtlety exercised throughout most of the film, the conclusion that involved sword fighting and what appears to be a papier-mâché demon are unfortunate at best. The dialogue and accents are often annoying and overwrought, but the powerful atmosphere and eeriness overcomes this. Though the film is occasionally over the top, there are some genuinely terrifying scenes that push taboo lines much harder than other horror movies from the period, such as scenes of a young girl’s ritualized rape and murder. 

There are a number of very nice extras that make this Blu-ray superior to previous releases. There’s a brand new 2012 interview with director Piers Haggard, a featurette about Linda Hayden, An Angel for Satan, and also included is the excellent 2004 making-of documentary, Touching the Devil, which came with the previous DVD release. The two audio commentary tracks are well worth listening to and make this release worth picking up for all fans of ‘70s horror. The first track is with director Haggard, star Hayden, and write Robert Wynne-Simmons. The second track, my favorite thing about this release, includes commentary from horror lover, Doctor Who writer, and Sherlock creator Mark Gatiss, along with Jeremy Dyson and Reece Sheersmith, his costars from League of Gentlemen. Gatiss previously discussed Blood on Satan’s Claw alongside Wicker Man and Witchfinder General in his excellent documentary A History of Horror. Finally, there’s a theatrical trailer and a stills gallery. 

Though it has some flaws, Blood on Satan’s Claw is one of the finest rural/satanic horror films of the ‘70s and deserves to be seen by a much wider audience. I’m not sure why it mostly faded into obscurity, but it should be known alongside the only slightly superior Wicker Man and Tigon’s other masterpiece of witchcraft and pastoral repression, Witchfinder General. 

THE BEAST IN THE CELLAR

James Kelley, 1970
Starring: Flora Robson, Beryl Reid, John Hamill, Tessa Wyatt In a small English village near a military base, soldiers are being gruesomely murdered by what at first seems to be an escaped panther or some sort of animal. But when the killings escalate, it becomes clear that they’re looking for a human perpetrator. Meanwhile, two sweet old ladies, Joyce and Ellie, have a dark secret hidden in their cellar: they’ve kept their brother penned up for decades and believe he may have broken out and might be responsible for the crimes. When one sister has an attack and must be put under bed rest with a nurse by her side, their carefully controlled routine begins to unravel and they fear their secret will get out... Embarrassingly, The Beast in the Cellar is one of those films that I had heard about for years, but never got around to watching until relatively recently, despite the fact that I had already seen nearly every other horror film made by Hammer, Amicus, or Tigon before I began this British horror series. And I really don’t know what I was waiting for, because The Beast in the Cellar is amazing — though be forewarned that most people seem to not agree with me. Also known as Are You Dying, Young Man? (come on) and Young Man, I Think You’re Dying (seriously), this very strange, unsettling film often works despite itself. It’s very dialogue heavy and is primarily set in the parlor room of two old ladies, the controlling Joyce (Flora Robson) and her batty sister Ellie (Beryl Reid). Plenty about the film is unbelievable, but the two women deliver such strong performances that you come to take everything at face value, or at least I was able to. In a sense, this reminds me of some of the films of Pete Walker, who I will explore later in my British horror series. Parallels include aged protagonists, definitely a rarity in genre cinema with the exception of older, white male doctors, family issues that include abuse and dark secrets, repressed sexuality, and the result of what happens when moral concerns are allowed to progress to their most psychotic extremes. The love the two sisters feel for their father and brother has something of an incestuous tone, something else loosely in common with a few of Walker's films, and notably his final horror film, House of the Long Shadows (1983), with Vincent Price, Peter Cushing, and Christopher Lee, involves a brother boarded up in the family home by his fearful siblings. At its heart, this is an antiwar film, weighty subject matter for a low budget horror film. It becomes obvious quite early in the film that the “beast” is their brother, who they have horrifyingly locked in the cellar for decades, but this revelation doesn’t actually take away from the film’s effectiveness or from the impacting conclusion, which reveals several twists in a row. They are essentially trying to save their brother, Stephen (Dafydd Havard), from the same fate as their father, who returned home all wrong from WWI. Called shell shock then but now known as post-traumatic stress disorder, their beloved father was transformed into an abusive monster. “Daddy was strange,” is how Ellie describes him, clearly viewing the world through rose-colored glasses that her more canny older sister does not share. This idea of hiding away or trying to uneffectively deal with a psychotic relative can be found everywhere from Shadow of a Doubt (1943) to Arsenic and Old Lace (1944), but takes on an interesting connotation around this period specifically in terms of war-themed films. It’s a bit of a stretch to connect The Beast in the Cellar with Vittori de Sica’s earlier The Condemned of Altona (1962), but both involve a sister (or sisters) with an incestuous love for their brother who they hide away in the family home. In the case of the latter, more of a dark psychological drama than a horror film, the brother in question was an SS officer and his aristocratic family is hoping to spare him from prosecution (and an implied execution). They convince him that the war is still raging outside the walls of the family estate, a disturbing theme also found in the much later Polish film In Hiding (2013). Again, it’s a bit of a stretch to really compare this film with something like The Condemned of Altona or In Hiding, as it has a number of issues that separate it from more serious arthouse fare by several thousand miles — not that that stops me from loving it in any way. The attempts at “flashback” make absolutely no sense and are seemingly shots of nonsensical stock footage that was within budget, and while I want to say that there are some eye-popping effects (a joke that you will have to watch the film to understand), the gore is very, very low budget and generally is just represented by sprays of fake blood. There’s an unintentionally comic sequence almost straight out of Arsenic and Old Lace where Joyce forces her sister to bury a body they find in the garden, just as a nurse (Tessa Wyatt) shows up to care for the injured Joyce. This shoehorns a clumsy attempt at a romantic subplot into the film, as the sisters’ loyal friend, Corporal Marlow (John Hamill), is obviously sweet on the nurse. But the real crown jewels of the film are the murder sequences with ridiculous electronic music (additionally, everyone seems to have theme music in this film for some reason) and the camera shakes so violently that you can’t really tell what’s happening. Words cannot possibly do it justice. Though it’s available as an all-region DVD, I really hope someone restores The Beast in the Cellar and gives it a proper Blu-ray release sometime soon with plenty of special features. I have no actual idea whether or not I should recommend this film, because I think, like some of Tigon’s more questionable efforts (The Blood Beast Terror, anyone?), most people will not share my giddy enthusiasm for it. One of the things I appreciate so much about Tigon is that they really made an effort to do something different than either Hammer or Amicus and, in particular, broke away from period settings and polite, often literary explorations of sex and violence in favor of examinations of contemporary themes that were often quite grisly. And The Beast in the Cellar is a particularly noteworthy example of this, whether you share my love or think it’s a dull waste of ninety minutes. (You’re wrong.)

SCREAM AND SCREAM AGAIN

Gordon Hessler, 1970

Starring: Alfred Marks, Vincent Price, Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing

“TRIPLE DISTILLED HORROR... as powerful as a vat of boiling ACID!”

Based on Peter Saxon’s novel The Disoriented Man, this film is a bit disorienting and I’m not sure if a brief summary can really do it justice. There are essentially three plots that eventually converge: the first involves a man jogging in London who collapses and winds up in the hospital. Throughout the film, every time he resumed consciousness, he is missing a new limb, but the nurse attending him refuses to explain. The second plot involves a military official returned to London from some maybe fascist (?) country. He kills a number of superior officers by doing what appears to be an inspired interpretation of the Vulcan death grip. The final and loosely central plot is focused on a violent serial killer and rapist who preys on the city’s women and drains them of their blood. A detective hunts him down and investigates the deaths, which horrify the city’s police officers and morgue workers. The detective consults a strange doctor who runs an organ and limb transplant clinic... 

This co-production between American International Pictures and British studio Tigon is a huge mess and is indicative of the kind of bumbling interference on the part of AIP that also made complete messes of films like The Haunted House of Horror and, to a lesser extent, The Curse of the Crimson Altar. While The Haunted House of Horror was horrifically saddled with Frankie Avalon and The Curse of the Crimson Altar was blessed by the aged, wheelchair-bound presence of Boris Karloff (still on top of his game despite little to do in the film), Scream and Scream Again is nearly saved by the presence of the great Vincent Price, though he seems just as confused by the plot as I was.

And yet... as with Tigon's earlier lovable disaster, The Blood Beast Terror, I know it's a mess, I can explain to you why — and there's just really no reason to avoid the honest truth — but that doesn't stop Scream and Scream Again from being incredibly entertaining. The script does it absolutely no favors, as the three plots randomly stop and start and careen into one another, but despite that and a number of other flaws, it’s just so much fun. As with my thoughts on The Blood Beast Terror, I will fully admit that I'm just not trustworthy where this film is concerned. Though there are a fair amount of stylish sets and costumes, the movie has an undeniably grungy feeling — which feels strangely out of place and which I love — and is populated with unlikable characters and some very nasty violence. And what the hell is with the Nazi subplot? It’s actually very difficult to fully describe the plot without giving things away, as scene after scene reveals more and more ridiculousness. Personally, I don't care a bit about spoilers and usually dole them out with no warning, but it just seems wrong in this case.

Director Gordon Hessler made some lesser known films that built on Roger Corman and Vincent Price’s Edgar Allen Poe series, such as The Oblong Box (1969), Cry of the Banshee (1970), and Murders in the Rue Morgue (1971). While I genuinely love all of these, despite their flaws, Scream and Scream Again is certainly his wildest and most interesting ride. Thanks is due in no small part to Peter Cushing, Vincent Price, and Christopher Lee, all of whom appear in this film, though not necessarily together and, much to my dismay, none of them really have a significant amount of screen time. While Cushing and Lee obviously had entwined careers and developed quite a beloved partnership — one that shaped the face of British horror — Price and Lee had only just worked together for the first time in Hessler’s previous film, The Oblong Box, where they also only shared one scene. Price and Cushing worked together on a handful of titles, namely the wonderful Madhouse. The three would work together again only once more over a decade later in Pete Walker’s unexpectedly delightful House of the Long Shadows (1983).

There are some other familiar faces, many of whom are quite welcome additions to the film, including Judy Huxtable (Die Screaming Marianne, no relation to Bill Cosby’s TV family), Yutte Stensgaard (Lust for a Vampire), Peter Sallis (Taste the Blood of Dracula), Christopher Matthews (Scars of Dracula), and British TV actor Alfred Marks. Marks is basically the star of the film and is quite likable as the head inspector. I don't know what it is about these Detective Inspector characters — perhaps a combination of watching British TV comedy and repeatedly reading Conan Doyle stories as a child — but I can't get enough of them. Marks is not quite on the level of John Williams in Dial M for Murder or Donald Pleasence's character in Death Line (who is, really), but he's a solid force within the film.

One of my favorite elements is the great score from David Whitaker, who used the kind of wild jazz much more frequently found in continental horror, such as the films of Jess Franco. Whitaker also scored Vampire Circus and Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde — imagine what a triple feature that would make. Although, as much as I love the score, it makes a lot of the film seem even more ridiculous, namely a lengthy scene where the police chase the killer, first by car and then on foot. They capture him and handcuff him, but he gets away by ripping off his own hand, and the chase continues. I’m not making this up.

Scream and Scream Again comes highly recommended and I love the film, but it will really only appeal to a certain audience. Open-mindedness and a certain irrepressible joie de vivre is key. The film is available on a double feature, single disc DVD from MGM’s Midnite Movies along with Hessler’s more conventional outing with Price and Lee, The Oblong Box. (Though it's still pretty bananas, at least compared to more straightforward British horror fare.)

THE BEAST MUST DIE

Paul Annett, 1974

Starring: Calvin Lockhart, Peter Cushing, Marlene Clark, Michael Gambon, Charles Gray, Anton Diffring

Tom Newcliffe (Calvin Lockhart), an eccentric millionaire and big game hunter, has called together a number of unusual people to his isolated island home. He tells them that they are all connected by one thing — death — and that he believes one of them to be a werewolf. His plan is to use his hunting prowess and an elaborate surveillance system to force the werewolf to reveal him or herself, so that he can kill it once and for all. He uses a number of methods to induce this, including exposing them to silver, wolfsbane, and moonlight, but things don’t quite go as he expected…

This fucking movie. I am both horrified and delighted that my series on Amicus’ genre films will go out with this incredibly strange — and not entirely successful — werewolf film by way of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None and Richard Connell’s The Most Dangerous Game, though the script is actually based on the short story, "There Shall Be No Darkness,” by James Blish. It’s gimmicky, thanks to something describes as a “Werewolf Break” (I wish I was kidding) and the opening the following declaration in both voice over and text: “This film is a detective story — in which you are the detective. The question is not, ‘who is the murderer?’ but ‘who is the werewolf?’ After all the clues have been shown, you will get a chance to give your answer.” And, no joke, there is really a break at the climax of the film that cuts to the faces of the various suspects and asks you to name the killer.

I really might be The Beast Must Die’s target audience, as it’s a horror-mystery hybrid and I am an absolute junky for mystery/crime fiction (and films), whether they are well-made or are just entertaining garbage. This falls somewhere in the middle and I have to admit to finding the “Werewolf Break” to be a really fun idea, even though director Paul Annett apparently hated it and it was inserted after the fact by producer Milton Subotsky. It reminds me of a little bit of a forerunner to something’s like Clue’s alternate endings, though it is of course no where near as entertaining or successful as that example.

Admittedly, the film is a bit schlocky. There’s absolutely no way to know who the werewolf is, so there’s not even a point in having the break. Hilariously, the mythic beast is actually a dog wearing a fur coat, because of budgetary constraints, though there is some decent gore on occasion. It’s easy to make fun of, but the film really does have a few interesting moments. First and foremost is the fact that a successful black character is, quite unusually, the protagonist, played with charisma by Calvin Lockhart (in everything from Predator 2 and Wild at Heart to Coming to America and Twin Peaks; Fire Walk with Me). He sort of inadvertently winds up becoming the hero, when he makes an ultimate sacrifice at the end of the film. He could have easily become an antagonist, but the film curiously doesn’t go in this direction, though it also doesn’t give any of the other characters much motivation or direction. 

A primary issue is that the script veers much too far from the course of both its source stories. On one hand, there aren’t enough murders or red herrings as in And Then There Were None, so the group isn’t forced to band together for survival. They wander sort of aimlessly for the majority of the film. And though they’re all introduced as having some sort of dark past, very little is made of this (with the exception of one character who is a cannibal and has exceptionally hairy hands and arms). Secondly, The Most Dangerous Game pits a desperate protagonist against a malevolent genius driven mad by power — and this film instead tries to combine those two figures loosely into one, which just does not work. 

The real delight, at least for me, is in the casting of some of England’s finest genre actors: Peter Cushing as an eccentric doctor who happens to be a werewolf expert; Charley Gray as a snooty diplomat, who has sneering down to a fine art; and Anton Diffring as a sort of security consultant that hides out behind the scenes, keeping track of all the cameras and monitors (at least until he is bumped off). Creepily, none of the other guests know of his existence and also do not learn of his death. And let’s not forget Michael Gambon (!!) as a sickly, suffering musician and the heavenly Marlene Clark (of Ganja and Hess ), who really shines as the impatient wife, at least when the script allows her room to do so.

I can’t help but recommend The Beast Must Die, which you can find on DVD. As I said, it’s not perfect, but it’s a lot of fun, especially if you’re a sucker for any of the elements that hooked me in: the incredible cast, nonsensical werewolf elements, and a murder mystery that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense — not that that slows anyone down in this case. 

FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE

Kevin Connor, 1973

Starring: Peter Cushing, Ian Carmichael, Donald Pleasence, David Warner, Angela Pleasence

The very last in Amicus’s series of eight horror anthology films, From Beyond the Grave takes a bit of a different approach and introduces some new talent. While the most frequent writer-director pairing was that of American genre writer Robert Bloch and cinematographer-turned-director Freddie Francis, this film served as the directorial debut for Kevin Connor, who went on to direct a few more Amicus efforts — like The Land That Time Forgot (1975) and At the Earth’s Core (1976) — as well as a slew of made-for-TV films and even Motel Hell (1980). The film’s four stories were based on tales from British horror author Ronald Chetwynd-Hayes. Though pretty much unknown to American audiences, his most famous book is probably The Monster Club, which went onto be a lone post-Amicus anthology film for producer and studio head Milton Subotsky.

Admittedly, I really love this film, partly because it has such an exceptional cast full of some of my favorite British actors from the period, and primarily because it features Peter Cushing in one of my favorite of his roles. He appears in the framing segments, which all take place at an antique shop called Temptations Limited — the kind of place I fantasized about finding old books with sinister magic powers as a kid. Cushing plays the grizzled proprietor, who sort of sits back and observes as a number of unsavory characters attempt to scam him out of valuable — albeit cursed — items. This trope of bad things happening to bad people can be found in nearly all the Amicus portmanteau films, as well as some of the stand-alone plots, but is used particularly delightfully here.

In the first tale, “The Gatecrasher,” a man named Edward buys a very old mirror from the shop at a reduced price, after he insists it is a fake (though he knows it’s quite valuable). It inspires he and his friends to hold a seance one night during a dinner party. Unfortunately for him, the mirror is possessed by a murderous figure who encourages him to kill young women. After a number of deaths, the figure materializes in the flesh and murders Edward, so that Edward can take over guardianship of the mirror. Gleefully macabre, this would probably be a fairly average entry if not for David Warner, who stars. He has that sort of stern, but appealing and almost uniquely British brand of charisma where the look on his face says that he disapproves of you and all your life choices. Ah, David Warner, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

He is, perhaps unsurprisingly, one upped in the second tale, “An Act of Kindness,” by the father-daughter duo of Donald and Angela Pleasence, playing a bereft former serviceman and his strange, adult daughter. They come into the frustrated life of Christopher (the delightful Ian Bannen of Gorky Park, Eye of the Needle, The Watcher in the Woods and roughly 800 other films), after he steals a war metal from the antique shop. Christopher hates his job and is relentlessly bullied by his wife (Diana Dors at her most shrewish, which is saying something). He befriends the serviceman and begins an affair with his daughter, Emily, but soon realizes that Emily possesses a diabolical power that will change his life…

If you need one reason to watch From Beyond the Grave outside of Peter Cushing’s glorious presence or David Warner’s somnambulistic yet effective turn as a serial killer, then let it be the two Pleasences together, looking eerily alike and playing so well off each other that I wish they had done not only more films together in general, but particularly more genre films. Angela, generally forgotten alongside her more famous father, has had a steady, productive career, particularly in British crime television (one of my guilty pleasures), though her starring role in Larraz’s Symptoms, made the same year as From Beyond the Grave, is not to be missed.

My least favorite of the bunch is the still enjoyable episode, “The Elemental,” where a businessman (comic actor Ian Carmichael) has a chance encounter with a witch (stage actress Margaret Leighton) on a train, who tells him that an invisible creature called an elemental is attached to him and is dangerous, even homicidal. He doesn’t believe her until the thing tries to murder his wife and he reaches out to her for help. Thanks to the combination of Carmichael and Leighton, this is the most comedic tale — with a really great exorcism sequence — but it has a grisly twist at the end. I actually think that’s part of why I enjoy From Beyond the Grave so much; it’s more consistently macabre than Amicus’s other anthology films, less tongue-in-cheek, and isn’t afraid to be unpleasant or even violent at times.

The final tale, “The Door,” has my favorite premise of the bunch: a writer (Ian Ogilvy of Witchfinder General) buys a beautifully carved door from the antique shop, one that was apparently once the entryway to a totally blue room. His wife (Lesley-Anne Down of Countess Dracula) seems to have a strange psychic connection to the door and soon the writer becomes obsessed with it, learning that it actually a portal to another, far more dangerous dimension. This surprisingly beautifully-shot episode borrows a bit from The Skull, but is a pleasantly Gothic spin one of the horror tropes most beloved to me: the maniacal occultist who has returned to terrorize a susceptible artist/writer.

From Beyond the Grave is available on DVD and it comes highly recommended for anyone who enjoys anthology films — particularly those of you fed up by trite storylines or the insistence on a tongue-in-cheek approach to genre cinema. It also makes me happy that the portmanteau film was able to go out on such a strong note and this film remains a fond farewell to an interesting, entertaining (if somewhat short-lived) trend in British horror cinema.