HYSTERIA (1965)

Freddie Francis, 1965

Starring: Robert Webber, Anthony Newlands, Jennifer Jayne, Lelia Goldoni

When he wakes up after a car accident, an American amnesiac dubbed Chris Smith by hospital attendees in England struggles to remember who he is or what happened in his past. A sympathetic nurse named Gina vows to help him, but he becomes obsessed with the only clue found on him: a picture of a beautiful woman that seems to have been torn from a magazine. He tracks her down and though the photographer says she was found murdered in a shower, Chris soon meets her and learns that she is the wife of the man responsible for the car accident Chris was in. But Chris begins hearing voices from the apartment next store and fears his sanity is slipping away from him…

Hysteria is the last of the black and white, contemporary set, European flavored suspense films written (and occasionally directed) by Jimmy Sangster for Hammer Films that began with titles like The Shadow of the Cat and (1961) and Scream of Fear (1961). I thoroughly enjoyed this relatively short run of Psycho and Les diaboliques inspired films, but I’m sad to say that the series goes out on a weak note with Hysteria and the most disappointing entry, though Sangster would continue to write strong Gothic horror scripts for the studio and would pen a few more unrelated thrillers in the upcoming years, like The Nanny (1965), The Anniversary (1968), and Crescendo (1970). 

Director Freddie Francis and cinematographer John Wilcox returned from two of my favorite entries in Sangster’s suspense series, Paranoiac and Nightmare, but can’t make up for an uneven script filled with non-sequiturs and strange plot holes. Sure, there’s an ominous bloody knife, a beautiful woman clearly up to no good, corpses that appear and disappear in the shower, and a couple reenacting a violent argument in an apartment next door that doesn’t exist, but there’s also a hilarious flashback sequence where Chris seems to be constantly on the run from the law — or from women he has scorned. Chris begins the flashback in the middle of an affair with a French woman who is actually conning him and sends a number of gangsters after him when he tries to reclaim the wallet that she stole. In a scene with an almost inappropriate amount of slapstick comedy, he jumps out the window and into the car of an unsuspecting British woman, who agrees to take him on a cross-country road trip with her like she picks up strangers all the time. They begin an affair and he stows away in her car during a flight to England — like you do — and then just as abruptly leaves her at a gas station and fatefully gets into the car where he will crash and lose his memory. 

Robert Webber (12 Angry Men, The Dirty Dozen) is likable enough, he just can’t get away with this kind of role. He’s far too much of an everyman and lacks the charm and charisma needed to keep this kind of film afloat. Lelia Goldoni (Shadows, Invasion of the Body Snatchers) steals the film as the sultry object of Chris’s affections and there are some nice supporting performances from Jennifer Jayne (The Crawling Eye), as the lovestruck nurse, and Maurice Denham (Curse of the Demon) as a salty private investigator. It’s a shame Hammer wasn’t able to supply one of their regular stars — even Oliver Reed would have made this more compelling, though admittedly a bit more hysteria-fueled — and the film’s low budget hampers a lot of areas where it probably could have succeeded. For example, Hammer regular Bernard Robinson was also not responsible for the set design, much to the film’s detriment. The look of Hysteria is surprisingly flat and largely sequestered to a dull penthouse apartment.

Hysteria only comes recommended to die-hard Hammer completists or anyone just obsessed with ‘60s suspense films. There are some nice moments, such as the jazzy score, an attempt at a psychedelic opening sequence, and a revolving series of bodies in the shower. Though the ending takes an amusing turn, it’s also frustrating. Somewhat bafflingly, we never learn Chris’s real name or identity, even though he admits that has memory has returned to him. The film is available on DVD if you’re so inclined.

NIGHTMARE (1964)

Freddie Francis, 1964

Starring: David Knight, Moira Redmond, Jennie Linden

A disturbed young woman, Janet, is sent home from boarding school after her nightmares — really memories of her father murdering her mother when she was a child — become uncontrollable. She is sent to her family home and put under the care of her guardian, Henry Baxter, the family attorney, and a pretty young nurse. Janet’s dreams begin to involve a woman with a scar on her face and a birthday cake — which culminates in a fateful birthday celebration, where Janet meets Baxter’s wife and is unable to control her violent impulses.

Nightmare falls roughly in the middle of Hammer’s of suspense films penned by their finest screenwriter, Jimmy Sangster, and follows a loosely similar pattern to his earlier efforts like Taste of Fear (1961), Maniac (1963), and Paranoiac (1963), in the sense that each of these films is centered on an unstable damsel in distress. Once you’ve seen a few of these, the formula is clear: a tormented young woman is admittedly a little off her rocker, but is being pushed, violently, towards the brink of hysteria by some unknown antagonist. Much like Psycho — Nightmare’s most obvious influence — the film’s focus shifts about halfway through. Of course there’s a key twist, and as in all of these Hammer suspense films, it’s one that you can guess from pretty early on in the film, but doesn’t end exactly the way you’d expect. 

Thanks to Freddie Francis — cinematographer on The Innocents, The Elephant Man, and The French Lieutenant’s Woman and director of horror films like The Skull, The Psychopath, Dracula Has Risen from the Grave, Girly, Tales from the Crypt, and Tales That Witness Madness, among many more — this is one of the better directed entries in Hammer’s suspense series. There’s some dread-inducing black and white cinematography from DP John Wilcox, Francis’s regular collaborator. Francis makes Janet’s nightmares seem real, particularly in the film’s early scenes, and his directorial work emphasizes the wonderful blend of themes in Sangster’s script that include ghosts, nightmares, madness, and murder.

The reemergence of past, often childhood or family-related trauma is one of my favorite cinematic themes; another is the home as a place of terror. While these are often used in the earlier film noir movement or somewhat later giallo film subgenre, they don’t turn up very often in Hammer films. Nightmare, thankfully, has them both and makes use of these tropes in spades — in a strange way, it feels like the stepping stone between Gaslight (1944) and Deep Red (1975), which might be an odd comparison to make, but I can’t help and wonder if Argento saw this film. And like Deep Red, Nightmare has some subtle, possibly unintentional holiday themes; the wintry setting is particularly unusual for Hammer, but is lovely and leaves behind an enhanced sense of Janet’s profound emotional isolation.

The film’s hilarious original title was allegedly Here's the Knife, Dear: Now Use It, and while it never quite this campy, I wish a bit more had been done with Janet’s hysteria. Janet’s attempts to seduce her guardian — who she realizes she is in love with — and equally hysterical suicide attempts are waking acts that don’t quite measure up to her nightmares, but fortunately Sangster and Francis leave it it’s unclear if Janet is insane or, as in some of Sangster’s earlier suspense efforts, if what she is seeng is real, part of some malicious conspiracy against her.

Nightmare really benefits from some strong lead performances, particularly the sweet-looking Jennie Linden (Women in Love) as Janet. She apparently replaced Julie Christie (!), who wisely withdrew to appear in Billy Liar. Theater actor David Knight capably costars as her guardian, Henry, while the film really belongs to Moira Redmond (A Shot in the Dark) as Janet’s nurse. Keep an eye out for Peeping Tom’s Brenda Bruce as Janet’s sympathetic teacher and Clytie Jessop (The Innocents), who has an unsettling cameo as the woman from Janet’s nightmares. 

Nightmare might not be the best of these Hammer suspense films — that honor goes to Paranoiac — but this is a solid entry in the series and is well worth watching. Sadly it’s a bit hard to get ahold of for home viewing, but you can pick up the Italian DVD, at least until someone comes along and releases a deluxe Blu-ray box set of all these Sangster suspense titles. It’s definitely proof that the studio could carry on capably without either Peter Cushing or Christopher Lee to keep them afloat. 

THE MANIAC

Michael Carreras, 1963

Starring: Kerwin Mathews, Nadia Gray, Liliane Brousse, Donald Houston

While traveling through France, American painter Jeff Farrell breaks up with his girlfriend and winds up staying in a countryside inn owned by a beautiful woman, Eve, and her equally lovely stepdaughter, Annette. Jeff has some trouble warming up the two women, because of a locally infamous event that keeps them isolated. Years before, Annette was raped by an area man and her father got violent revenge, killing him with a blowtorch. He has since been imprisoned in an asylum and — after Eve steals Jeff away from Annette and takes him as her lover — she convinces Jeff to help her break her estranged husband out of the hospital… but her intentions are not all that they seem.

Just one in a series of Hammer suspense films from their most consistent screenwriter, Jimmy Sangster, The Maniac boasts some typically enjoyable twists and diverges from Hammer’s standard formula of colorful Gothic horror films set in Victorian times and chock full of vivid blood and plunging necklines. This more sedate, understated effort is in keeping with the other suspense films in Sangster’s series in the sense that it was shot in black and white and makes the most of a contemporary, seaside setting like almost all of Sangster’s curiously European-flavored crime thrillers from the ‘60s. This stands out a little because there are a number of French extras and side actors in the film, the opening sequence is shot entirely in French, and the two primary actresses have thick, appealing accents.

The Maniac’s director, Michael Carreras, was actually more often in the role of producer for Hammer and his few directorial efforts are a mixed bag, such as The Curse of the Mummy’s Tomb, with most falling under the fantasy/action umbrella rather than horror, such as The Lost Continent. I can’t say that The Maniac is one of the studio’s best films, particularly from a directorial standpoint, but it has a certain charm and makes use of a rural French setting with actual locations in southern France. Unlike the other films in the suspense series, it makes use of plenty of exploitation, horror, and film noir elements. There’s a particularly surprising opening sequence for Hammer, where a young girl is raped — albeit offscreen — and her father kills the perpetrator… with a blow-torch.

Like some of the earlier suspense films, this is clearly in the same tradition as the groundbreaking Psycho (1960), but even more so, Clouzot’s suspense masterpiece Les diaboliques (1955). Sangster seems to have been particularly absorbed by the latter — and why shouldn’t he, it’s amazing — and this has some of the same themes: a romantic threesome involving a violent husband, a weak and impressionable female character, and a dead body sunk into water that later reappears. Like Les diaboliques, the center twist revolves around one character telling another a series of facts that wind up not to be true, facts also readily absorbed by the audience. I’m going to avoid spoilers this time around, but the closing act’s strength lies in a number of tightly wound twists, most of which are unveiled in the last ten minutes. And, unlike most other Hammer films, the police have a surprisingly large role in the film’s series of deceptions, neatly sidestepping any need for concluding exposition.

Though Hammer’s major stars are absent from this production, there are some decent performances. Lead Kerwin Matthews has sort of a gruff, Americanized look in the same vein as Alain Delon — though of course nowhere near as ravishing — and at this point he was hoping to expand his career beyond The 7th Voyage of Sinbad. Romanian actress Nadia Gray (La dolce vita) steals the film as Eve, the sultry stepmother who whisks Jeff away from her own stepdaughter, played by French actress Liliane Brousse. Though she barely had an acting career, she did appear in two Hammer films (this and Paranoiac), but is disappointingly flat as the innocent Annette. I’d like her to have at least tried to reach a more convincing depth of hysteria, as she is abused plenty throughout the film. She’s not even mad when her stepmother steals her boyfriend, which pretty much made all my sympathy for her go out the window. Hammer had something of a problem with these milquetoast damsels in distress who could do literally nothing for themselves other than squeal or seem mildly outraged.

I don’t know if I would recommend The Maniac, but it is definitely entertaining for suspense enthusiasts. You can find it on DVD in the Icons of Suspense collection alongside Stop Me Before I Kill!, Cash on Demand, The Snorkel, Never Take Candy from a Stranger, and These Are the Damned. The main problem with the film is that certain key sequences are missing — not in the sense that the film has been lost, but that they were simply never filmed in the first place — such as the scene where Eve’s husband escapes from jail and another where she and Jeff must dispose of a body. Granted I was a little tired while watching the film, but some quick cuts made it necessary for me to go back and watch two or three scenes so that I could be really sure of what happened. A little sloppy, but overall not a big deal if you’re looking for some stylish suspense popcorn.

PARANOIAC

Freddie Francis, 1963

Starring: Oliver Reed, Janette Scott, Sheila Burrell, Alexander Davion

Wealthy siblings Simon and Eleanor Ashby live an isolated existence in the family estate with their Aunt Harriet and a few servants. Neither sibling has recovered from the deaths of their parents in a plane crash or the subsequent suicide of their older brother, Anthony. An out of control alcoholic, Simon tries to drive the depressed Eleanor insane, but must wait until he is entirely of age to inherit the family fortune. Unfortunately for Simon, a man shows up claiming to be the long lost Tony. Eleanor falls hard for him and is nearly driven to suicide by her incestuous desire, while Simon pretends to be sympathetic, but silently plots Tony’s death.

Out of all writer Jimmy Sangster’s suspense films for Hammer — including titles like Maniac (1963), Nightmare (1964), Hysteria (1965), and The Nanny (1965) — this film based on Josephine Tey’s 1949 novel Brat Farrar is my absolute favorite of the bunch. This is likely due to a young Oliver Reed in the starring role as the totally bonkers Simon. The character starts the film as a sort of parody of Reed himself (or at least what Reed would later become) — raising hell, driving like a maniac, seducing women, and drinking wildly — but eventually twists into a fascinating, very ‘60s version of the charismatic yet raving Gothic villain more often seen in Hammer’s colorful horror films with Victorian, rather than contemporary settings. 

And that’s another one of my favorite things about Paranoiac: despite the fact that it is definitely a suspense film and not a horror offering — and has a contemporary setting — it’s one of the finest examples of Gothic melodrama in all of ‘60s cinema. The opulent family estate might as well be Otranto’s ghost-ridden castle and there’s — incredibly — even a family chapel where Eleanor hears phantom organ music at night. The grounds are heavy with the psychological specter of dead parents and family trauma, there’s more than a hint of incest, and the almost constant threat/reminder of suicide. Like some of Hammer’s other suspense films, seaside cliffs factor into not only the visual world, but into the plot as well.

Speaking of plot, it’s pleasantly nuts and hits some of the notes you would maybe expect — such as murder for profit and family trauma — but also has plenty of pleasant surprises. SPOILERS: It’s revealed that Simon has become completely unhinged because he actually murdered Tony all those years ago and forged the suicide note. The real Tony’s body has mummified in the family chapel and Simon regularly enacts a strange ritual — playing organ music to accompany a recording of Tony singing, while a cloaked, masked figure stands nearby with a meathook (!) — to preserve the shreds of his sanity. But the fake Tony’s emergence has caused him to have a full mental breakdown. This pushes him over the edge and he attempts to kill Tony and Eleanor, and succeeds in a killing a few others.

This is yet another case of every character — except the fragile, unstable Eleanor (played by a sort of forgettable, though well cast Janette Scott from The Day of the Triffids) — being absolutely terrible. Alexander Davion (Valley of the Dolls, Plague of the Zombies) is remote but compelling as “Tony,” though of course he winds up being an imposter so Eleanor isn’t stuck falling in love with her brother and so that he can rescue the damsel in distress. The family lawyer’s son — who wanted to steal the Ashby fortune — has hired the fake Tony, a con artist, but his feelings for Eleanor force him to come to her aid.

Fast paced and chock full of red herrings, tightly wound suspense, and some spectacular scenery chewing from Oliver Reed, Paranoiac comes recommended, particularly for those who appreciate unusual thrillers. It’s fortunately available on Blu-ray, and should especially appeal to those critical of Hammer’s reliance on colorful Gothic horror. This is an early example of the assured work of director Freddie Francis, who got his start as a cinematographer on films like The Innocents — which Paranoiac look astonishingly like thanks to great camera work from Hammer regular Arthur Grant — and Night Must Fall before progressing to The French Lieutenant’s Woman and work with David Lynch like The Elephant Man, Dune, and The Straight Story. Francis also directed a number of other horror films, including The Day of the Triffids, Dr. Terror's House of Horrors, The Skull, The Psychopath, The Deadly Bees, and more.

Andrzej Żuławski (1940–2016)

Mark: “For me, God is a disease.”
Heinrich: “That’s why, through disease, we can reach God.”
--Possession (1981)

Early this morning, the great Polish director Andrzej Żuławski passed away at the age of 75 after battling with cancer, like several other artistic greats this year. Here are some personal remembrances of his highly original, unforgettable career.

It was until relatively later in my life — at least compared to when I first began obsessively watching cult movies — that I discovered Andrzej Żuławski. Almost exactly ten years ago, I was 22 years old, had just dropped out of grad school, and moved to Philadelphia. After years of hearing about it, I finally went to the now defunct but much beloved TLA Video and rented Possession. Except I didn’t realize that Żuławski’s Possession wasn’t yet available on DVD and what they gave me was Neil LaBute’s absolutely banal romantic melodrama of the same name starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Aaron Eckhart. I film that Żuławski, had he seen it, would likely have hated it as much as I did. It is, in every way, the complete opposite of Żuławski’s perfect film of the same name.

When I was finally able to track down the proper Possession a few weeks later, my expectations — unreasonably high at that point — were completely exceeded. A lot of horror genre fans are drawn to the film because, like much of Cronenberg’s output, it seems to be an uncomfortable, almost incomprehensible work of body horror. In the midst of marital disintegration, mutilation, and hysteria, a woman (Isabelle Adjani in one of her best performances) births a Lovecraftian cephalopod creature in a squalid Berlin apartment just a stone’s throw from the Wall, while her estranged husband (Sam Neill, also at his best) attempts to patch together their relationship. Sort of. But like another great director of his generation, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Żuławski was never beholden to genre and always shaped it to his own needs, weaving in historical, literary, artistic, and (less frequently) cinematic references.

And while Possession has stayed with me since the day it finally came into my life, in a variety of unexpected forms, I don’t think cinema fans should consider it to be Żuławski’s ultimate film, but rather a gateway into his catalog. It contains what I believe are the four cornerstones of his work: characters defined by hysteria and excess, a central plot that involves doomed or painful love, an abstruse political allegory, and a restless if immaculate sense of visual style. Regardless of genre — horror (Possession), science fiction (On the Silver Globe), war-time period piece (The Third Part of the Night, The Devil), crime film (L’amour braque), romance (L’important c’est d’aimer), and more — the way into Żuławski’s films is often through love and passion. Regardless of the surrounding plot, there is often a tortured central relationship — generally a woman who must chose between two men — that swerves rapidly between the extremes of romantic passion and abject cruelty. Love, in Żuławski’s films, is all consuming, an irrational but inevitable force that is inexplicable and totally unavoidable.

My favorite of his films, to my constant surprise, is L'important c'est d'aimer, his first feature film made in France — after leaving communist Poland — and the work that immediately precedes Possession. A struggling photographer (Italian crime film sensation Fabio Testi) has a chance meeting with a failed actress (Euro-art house goddess Romy Schneider) on the set of a porno film and falls in love with her. He secretly funds a production of Richard III (costarring Klaus Kinski, no less) to get close to her, but he realizes that her pathetic husband (French pop singer Jacques Dutronc) is the only thing keeping them apart. This is Żuławski at his most sweeping and melodramatic — partly thanks to a sob-inducing score from Georges Delerue — this beautiful, brittle film follows the relationship between art and pornography, love and possession, and fantasy and reality.

And though it is largely concerned with a tragic romance, even L’important c’est d’aimer includes a subtle political subtext, something that would wind its way through all Żuławski’s films, whether he was discussing the effects of WWII (The Third Part of the Night), communist Poland (The Devil, On the Silver Globe), or contemporary Poland (Szamanka). And it is maybe this ability to weave together so many disparate threads that makes Żuławski such a giant of 19th and 20th century cinema.

His loss is a profound one, though I can’t help but feel more like celebrating his work rather than lamenting his absence. If you’re a stranger to his work, or are only familiar with Possession, there’s no time like the present to explore his catalog. He’s capable of a depth of feeling nearly unparalleled by any director of his generation, as well as plenty of warmth and humor amidst the chaos and hysteria. I highly recommend picking up some of his films from Mondo Vision (or Kino Lorber or Arrow later this year) and not shying away from the special features, particularly the thoughtful commentary tracks he provided for a number of his films. I listen to these embarrassingly frequently and they stand as a testament to the fact that he had an exacting, brilliant mind with an enthusiasm for art, culture, and human life.

For my part, I just happened to spend Valentine’s Day weekend watching L’amour braque (aka Mad Love) and L’important c’est d’aimer (aka The Most Important Thing is Love) and in two days I’m heading to New York for the Lincoln Center’s retrospective of his Polish films, along with the New York premier of his farewell to the cinema, Cosmos.

Originally written for Diabolique.

CAPTAIN CLEGG aka NIGHT CREATURES

Peter Graham Scott, 1962
Starring: Peter Cushing, Oliver Reed, Yvonne Romain, Patrick Allen, Michael Ripper

A group of sailors, led by the arrogant Captain Collier, invade a small English town on the coast in order to investigate reports of smuggling activity. They are also met with strange rumors of phantoms who ride through the marshes at night, killing stragglers and terrifying the locals. A local leader, the domineering Reverend Blyss, has unusual control over the townspeople and every seems to have something to hide. Will Collier and his companions be able to find the smugglers? And will they survive a run in with the phantom riders?

Also known as Night Creatures to American audiences -- a title I actually prefer, despite how nonsensical it is -- Captain Clegg is a blend of classic Hammer horror and traditional pirate/smuggler fare. And I do love pirate films, even landlocked ones. Captain Clegg is based loosely on the Doctor Syn novels by Russell Thorndike, about a reverend who happens to be a smuggler, scholar, swashbuckler, and an all around hero to his community.

This is not a subtle film eager to withhold its mysteries until the final act. It's almost immediately apparent that most of the townsfolk are in on the smuggling scheme, which is headed by the good reverend, played with aplomb by Cushing. He is in top form as both the droll minister and the coldly calculating Clegg, and though Cushing doesn't slap anyone in this film, he sure as shit swings from a chandelier. While Hammer made a few pirate/adventure films -- such as The Stranglers of Bombay, The Sword of Sherwood Forest, and The Secret of Blood Island -- this is my absolute favorite and, thanks to the presence of the effectively creepy "phantoms," it's likely to be the only one of interest to horror fans.

It stars Hammer regular Yvonne Romain, a beauty so buxom she gives Valerie Leon (Blood from the the Mummy's Tomb) a run for her money. Romain appeared in Corridors of Blood with Karloff and Christopher Lee, as well as Circus of Horrors and Devil Doll. Captain Clegg is her second pairing with Oliver Reed, the first being Curse of the Werewolf, where she plays his unfortunate mother. A young, sober Oliver Reed is great here as the romantic lead, though he could stand to have a little more screen time -- and perhaps sometime to descend into full scale hysteria. The bulk of the film's running time goes to Patrick Allen's (Dial M for Murder) Captain Collier, who bears an upsetting resemblance to Captain Crunch. Most of this is due to his enormous chin and awful hat. If you pay attention to any of the sailors, they have the most slapdash, dreadful hats that appear to have come from a party supply store and not a props department.

I assume most of the budget went to the awesome skeleton make up, which is both impressive and scary, if somewhat underused. There are also a few creepy shots of a scarecrow, who later plays an important role in the plot. Overall there is less swashbuckling than I would have liked and this plays out like more of a costume drama, though it is still plenty entertaining. Captain Clegg does manage to keep a few secrets till the end, allowing for a few unexpected twists and turns. It is also frequently funny, occasionally descending into slapstick.

In addition to the cheap costumes, there are a few flaws. The script has a particularly ham-fisted way of making the smugglers likable and pigeonholing the sailors as cruel brutes. Nearly all of the smugglers are depicted as smart and funny, and are probably best symbolized by beloved Hammer regular Michael Ripper's character, the coffin maker and Clegg's right hand smuggler. He's kind, honest, and absolutely loyal, giving the sailors a run for their money at every turn with almost Scooby Doo levels of ridiculousness.

This unfortunately neglected film is entertaining and definitely worth watching thanks to its likable cast. Fortunately it is finally available on DVD in part of the two-disc Hammer Horror Series collection, which unfortunately has double-sided discs, but includes Brides of Dracula, Curse of the Werewolf, Phantom of the Opera, Kiss of the Vampire, and Evil of the Frankenstein. Despite a lack of extras, the print looks good and sounds great. The Night Creatures title was originally meant for a failed Hammer adaptation of Matheson's amazing novel I Am Legend, where it actually would have made sense. Couldn't they have called the film The Marsh Phantoms? Or at least something topical?

TASTE OF FEAR aka SCREAM OF FEAR

Seth Holt, 1961

Starring: Susan Strasberg, Ronald Lewis, Ann Todd, Christopher Lee

Penny, a paralyzed young woman, travels alone to her family home after the death of her mother. She hasn’t seen her father in many years and is apprehensive, but her anxiety only grows when she is told that her father has suddenly gone away on business. She’s left alone with her stepmother, the mysterious Dr. Gerrard, and the family chauffeur, Bob. He becomes her only ally when she has a midnight sighting of her father’s corpse and nearly drowns to death in the family pool, though everyone else thinks she’s just suffering from nervous strain. But has someone murdered Penny’s father and are they trying to do away with her too?

Though more of a psychological thriller than an outright horror film, this early Hammer entry is one of my favorites from the studio and will likely appeal to anyone not impressed by their colorful, Gothic horror period pieces. Set in present day and shot in gloomy black and white by Douglas Slocombe (The Lion in Winter, Raiders of the Lost Arc), Taste of Fear is one in a series of suspense films penned by regular Hammer screenwriter Jimmy Sangster, along with films like The Snorkel (1958), Maniac (1963), Paranoiac (1963), Nightmare (1964), Hysteria (1965), The Nanny (1965), Crescendo (1970), and Fear in the Night (1972). Obviously influenced by Clouzot’s Les diaboliques (1955) — and perhaps less so by Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) — Sangster makes great use of a tried and true mystery plot, murder for profit, and a few of the films twists and turns are genuinely surprising.

There are some elements that obviously come right from Les diabolique, such as a dead body that suddenly appears and just as rapidly disappears, a murky swimming pool that serves as the physical base for a character’s seat of psychological terror, and an unstable female character who is known to succumb to frazzled nerves, frail health, and occasional bouts of hysteria. It doesn’t hurt that there’s a French location — a lovely seaside home that would be wholly picturesque if it wasn’t for the foreboding cliffs — and a thoroughly European feel to the film. There is also something about Taste of Fear that reminds me strongly of Patricia Highsmith’s work; her own The Talented Mr. Ripley had only come out six years before. The isolated, damaged, but somehow slightly sociopathic protagonist is in line with many of Highsmith’s lead characters and the eerie clues — an abandoned cottage that is occupied late at night, a car that shouldn’t be there — are other common features. There’s also an underlying thread suggesting mental illness in Penny and several of the other characters. Her father is a sick man who suddenly disappears, while after her mother’s death in Switzerland, Penny’s nurse/companion Emily mysteriously drowned in a lake, giving the family swimming pool a much more terrifying weight.

The underused Susan Strasberg (Kapò) is perfectly cast as Penny and looks radiantly beautiful in the film. With her dark, Audrey Hepburn-like looks, Strasberg was great at playing vulnerable yet not totally helpless characters and she is cut from quite a different cloth than the majority of Hammer’s stereotypical “damsel in distress” female characters. The casting is pretty spot on across the board and makes excellent use of actors who are all fairly ambiguous. Ann Todd of Hitchcock’s The Paradine Case is convincingly sweet as a stepmother who might be trying to hard because she has something to hide, while Christopher Lee — allegedly in one of his favorite films for Hammer — nearly steals the film as a stern doctor who might not have Penny’s best interest in mind. Lee is delightfully creepy and ambiguous, in a way that he rarely repeated throughout his career.

SPOILERS, sort of: But it’s Ronald Lewis (Billy Budd, Mr. Sardonicus) as Bob who really steals the film. Lewis wasn’t a familiar face to me — unlike someone like Lee or Strasbourg — and as a result, he’s something of an unknown quantity throughout the film. His character first works to enhance Penny’s sense of unease and anxiety, then later becomes her touchstone and even her lover. It would be hard to believe in a sunnier, more air headed actress that the family heiress would take up with the rather plain, if convincingly manly chauffeur, but Penny is so alone and defenseless that it becomes plausible. I won’t totally give away the ending, but it gradually becomes clear that Bob is not exactly what he seems.

Taste of Fear comes highly recommended, particularly for anyone who likes psychological terror. It’s available on a region 2 DVD from Sony, though I’d love it if someone would release a Hammer suspense series box set, preferably restored and on Blu-ray. Lee fanatics will love a chance to see this great man in a role not dissimilar from his turn in City of the Dead aka Horror Hotel, though director Seth Holt brilliantly uses Lee’s inherent sternness and imperious manner to his own ends, with great results. And if you weren’t a fan of Strasbourg (or even aware of her presence), you will definitely be after watching this.