Torture Garden (1967)

 "Did you know that there are ways to raise the dead...?"

This is, I believe, the only one of the Amicus horror anthologies that I still had to blog until now- do let me know if I'm wrong. The format is much as we'd come to expect, though- four lurid tales of grand guignol with an overarching narrative.

What separates this film from the norm is its more than usually transatlantic cast, with Burgess Meredith chewing the scenery in the best possible way as the delightfully devilish(!) Dr Diabolo. Even the opening titles, with the background of a creepy old amusement park at night, set the scenes superbly, and the framing device does its job to perfection.

Not all the tales are equally good, but all are entertaining. The third, in which a lady's pursuit of a desirable man leads to her death at the, er, hands(?) of a jealous piano, is hilarious. The first two, concerning a black cat and the secret reason why Hollywood stars never seem to age, are nicely and evilly gothic and lurid.

Yet it's the final story, with the unusual pairing of Jack Palance and Peter Cushing, that lingers in the mind, as two men bond over a shared enthusiasm for Edgar Allan Poe. This is a delightfully effective warning of the dangers of the more toxic sides of fandom,with deliciously absurd revelations leading to a perfectly melodramatic ending.

This is grand guignol at its best.

The Treasure of Abbot Thomas

 "Christianity isa ratiional system of belief, Peter."

Once again we have one of the BBC's once annual Christmas ghost stories based on various short stories by M.R. James, this one from 1974. And my God, it's superb. This is the BBC, so the early Victorian period with its bonnets and mutton chops is evoked to perfection. The deliberately slow pace gives us tension of a kind that the television of recent decades cannot provide.

And at the centre of it all is a masterfdul performance from Michael Bryant as the calm, rational, scientific Revd Dr. Justin Somerton, an Oxford don of the very old school, dismissive of superstition- he puts short shrift to a couple of seance mongers-

He is, at first, far too rational to be taken in by the enthusiastic young Peter'd enthusiasm for the buried treasure on a 15th century abbot, rumoured to be an alchemist carried away by the Devil. Yet events ptroceed fascinatingly and inexorably to his temptation and doom, the Abbot and all things supernatural seen only in yerrifying glimpses.

Of all the M'R. James adaptations of the '70s... this may well be the best I've seen so far.

The Stone Tape

“A ghost is a mass of data waiting for a correct interpretation.”

I usually do films on Saturdays, but I suppose a one-off television play will just about do. It’s appropriate for the time of year, too; this was originally commissioned in 1972 as a Christmas ghost story. It’s the first drama by Nigel Kneale that I’ve reviewed on this blog, but it certainly won’t be the last. It’s also the first thing I’ve watched without subtitles for this blog (I’m a little hard of hearing) since those episodes of Doctor Who which had yet to get a DVD release. I don’t need them, exactly, but I’ve become used to being spoiled and not having to miss any lines of dialogue, so it’s become very annoying to have to suffer that here, at times. For a DVD release to neglect the subtitles is unforgiveable.

There’s something about the culture shock inherent in watching older dramas that makes them particularly interesting to write about. Here we have a bunch of characters who smoke all the time, drink whisky while they’re working, and wear… interesting clothes. The entire concept of a recording medium to replace magnetic tape is, of course, ancient. Peter’s attitude towards Jill is frequently quite eye-poppingly sexist. The vicar has an old-fashioned and incomprehensible Rowley Birkin-style way of speaking. We even get a full-on racist impression of a Japanese person which made my jaw hit the floor. The past is indeed a foreign country.

Aside from the fact that it’s dated, though, it hasn’t dated. The performances are great, with an extraordinarily intense Jane Asher putting in a superlative performance, and Michael Bryant convincingly playing a gradual descent into obsession. Peter is one of those men who seem to belong in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s; forthright, intelligent without being posh, meritocratic, a little bit bohemian, and dressed very much of the era- a bit of a cross between Alfie and Roger from The Great Escape. The direction is great, too; this doesn’t look at all like the static, multi-camera ‘70s stuff you’d expect.

But the main star here is Kneale’s script, which lets the characters breathe and gives us moments of humour while gradually building up the tension towards the incredible climax. The central concept is great; ghosts are in fact recordings, in stone, of emotionally intense moments. But there’s a twist, of course, and the revelation that there is in fact something ancient and malevolent behind this phenomenon is brilliantly shown just by the use of red lights. The final twist- that Jill takes the place of the erased ghost- is amazing.

As I’ve mentioned before, I haven’t any belief in the supernatural whatsoever, and some amount of such a belief is pretty much a precondition for being scared by this sort of thing. So it’s no criticism to say that I wasn’t scared, exactly. But I was riveted by the tension and the inexorable sense that things were heading towards an inevitable and horrible conclusion. Kneale may be a little dry as a writer (I found it very hard indeed to come up with an opening quote), but he’s an absolute master of storytelling.