Carry On Cowboy (1965)

 "I know a horse backfiring when I hear one!"

When I first saw this film many years ago I was, perhaps, more impressed than I was this time around, but it's still one of the better Carry Ons. The sets, locations and costumes genuinely look great: everything truly looks like the Old West. Although...well, the accents? Let's not go there.

We've settled into the cast we know from the peak of Carry On. Kenneth Williams really shines in a role that allows him to give a different but superb comic performance as the strait-laced yet hypocritical judge. Jim Dale is perfect as the hapless hero, and Sid James is strangely perfect as the baddie. Angela Douglas, though,is superb as the daughter seeking revenge for her father's murder. Bernard Bresslaw and Peter Butterworth now seem to be core cast members, with Kenneth Connors no longer a mainstay.

Charles Hawtrey as the chief of the "Indians"... yeah, that's weird, but they he was a somewhat weird man so that's not surprising. The stereotypes are, naturally, all wheeled out- smoke signals, "how", scalping, "firewater".

The jokes land well, as ever, the best being when the Rumpo Kid goes to "get" some money from the bank: we know what to expect from a Talbot Rothwell script. But both the production values and the performances serve to make this, if not right up with the best, one of the better Carry Ons.

The Alphabet Murders (1965)

 "A A, eh?"

This is, I believe, by the creative team behind the Miss Marple films starring Margaret Rutherford who, indeed, gets an odd little cameo here. I'm told they're very good films, if apparently not particularly faithful to the novels. I intend to give them a chance. That is, despite the fact that this film is utterly unwatchable.

I'm not at all surprised that Agatha Christie herself loathed this film. It is rather difficult not to. I can't remember the novel (The ABC Murders)- it's been at least thirty years or more since the one and only time I read it. I read many, many of Mrs Christie's works in early puberty but rather went off her by my mid-teens. Still, I've no doubt that this is a far from faithful adaptation, not least because it scarcely pretends to be a whodunit. It is, rather, an embarrassingly unfunny attempt at "comedy".

It's trying to be a farce. A good farce is, of course, a very clever thing indeed. This is not. The cast, from the awful Tony Randall, surely the worst ever Hercule Poirot, with his ever-shifting accent, in one of the most cringeworthy leading roles ever, to a shockingly awful Robert Morley as an unrecognisable Captain Hastings, is either bloody awful or quite sensibly phoning it in for the money as there's no point doing otherwise for a script like this.

We get unfunny "comedy" setvpieces, one after another, and soooo much smoking.We get Anita Ekberg playing, well, the kind of tall blonde unattainable woman she invariably plays. We get a bit of psychological mumbo-jumbo. And we have a very unfunny conclusion in a train. And at no point is any of it remotely entertaining.

Be warned: ninety minutes of your one and only life are far too precious to waste on this drivel.

A Study in Terror (1965)

 "Mr Holmes is usually right..."

This is quite the obvious concept- Sherlock Holmes does Jack the Ripper- and one which, I suppose, succeeds or fails on the realisation.

There is, of course, something uneasy about the use of Jack the Ripper- of the brutal and sexualised murder of women- as entertainment, particularly in a film where men (and one woman, presented as the one "whore" not driven to the work by poverty). The male gaze, the Bechdel test, the sheer unthinking misogyny of it all- it can't go unacknowledged, much as we accept that such reactions were not common currency in 1965.

That said, though, this is a frustrating film. The script is, I think, first class- a superbly constructed whodunit, albeit cheating just a little with the final reveal of the killer not being earned, despite the neat cleverness of the other complex yet clear threads; good characterisation; a great deal of wit; lots of Sherlockian allusions in the script with frequent uses of Conan Doyle's dialogue. It's also a nice touch that the character of Dr Murray is a likely nod either to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself- a charitable man- or his mentor Dr Bell, or both.

And yet this excellent script is quite poorly realised. John Neville and Donald Houston are a pedestrian, superficial Holmes and Watson, failing to play their parts as actual characters rather than cyphers, wasting the nuanced lines they are given. The direction may be interesting in places- we get a rather odd shot of the final murder from the Ripper's POV, a disturbing riff on the male gaze- but the costuming (all the prostitutes wear symbolic red!) and sets are a little disappointing.

It's a shame that we end up with a film that's merely quite good; the script is better than that.

Gamera: The Giant Monster (1965)

“Gamera’s a good turtle!”

I’ve seen a few Godzilla films by now. so here’s a look at the first film in what for a time was a rival franchise. First impressions are that it’s, well, very silly indeed.

I mean that in the sense, in fact, of being far sillier than the Godzilla and related films. We have a giant turtle in the Arctic, revived by an atomic bomb from a mysterious plane, which can fly and looks like a UFO while doing so. We have earlier scenes featuring American airmen which contain possibly the worst acting in recorded history. We have a turtle obsessed kid who is upset at the very thought that this giant turtle might do bad things like, destroy Tokyo.

Speaking of which, the effects are very good, quite on a par with the other franchise, and the set pieces of Gamera destroying Tokyo are actually very good indeed. It’s nice to see the early appearance of the main monster, too, and just how much screen time it gets. Also good is that the film doesn’t attempt to outstay its welcome, and the very small amount of drama between the human characters is kept to a necessary minimum. More importantly, though, Gamera himself is well designed and works as a monster. Overall, while it looks as good, this is not so assured a production as its rival, but it’s a fun little monster film that’s just the right kind of silly.

Invasion of Astro Monster (1965)

"Glen, I cannot become an earthling..."

It's a week or two since I've seen a Godzilla film, and it's good to get back into the swing- especially with this little delight, a film that leans so much into its profound silliness that low camp always becomes high camp.

We begin with exposition telling us that "Planet X" was discovered in "196X", and that, several years later in a future that looks suspiciously like the '60s, two astronauts- Fuji and Glen-are on a rocket there. Glen is there as the token American leading man (speaking Japanese throughout), but this manned mission beyond Jupiter is mainly a Japanese affair, with mission control in Tokyo.

Even more impressively, Planet X is introduced- to the obligatory theremin fanfare- as it is revealed just beyond Jupiter, apparently immune to the giant planet's massive gravitational pull, but let's just run with it. On board this alien world (of course, the Japanese astronaut sets foot on it first) are a race of suspiciously humanoid and creepy shades-wearing aliens, apparently under threat from King Ghdorah and needing Godzilla and Rodan to help- but this is, of course, just the prelude to a sudden yet inevitable betrayal as, to no one's surprise, they turn out to be baddies who want to take over the Earth using all three monsters. Who'd have thunk it?

The personal drama is dialled back a bit due to sheer quantity of plot, and it's only towards the end that we get those satisfying scenes of monsters smashing Tokyo to bits yet again, but this film is splendidly entertaining right throughout. Eleven years on, and the franchise is in rude health.

Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (1965)

“An unfortunate misnomer for I am the mildest of men...”

This is the first of the Amicus portmanteau horror films from Freddie Francis and Milton Subotsky, and the pieces are already in place- a number of vignettes of varying quality, An overarching framework that looks gradually more sinister as the film progresses, a troupe of British character a tor’s including some quirky choices, and of course the ever-splendid Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee.

The overarching framework is that Dr “Schrek” (Nosferatu reference alert) uses Tarot cards to predict the bleak future of each of the very male occupants of a railway compartments. Yes, compartments and, indeed, a steam train; 1965 feels so very long ago sometimes. It’s an odd structure plot-wise, as each character is told their ghastly tale of what awaits them only for none of that to happen and all of them to die in a train crash, but it’s a suitably atmospheric framework and Cushing is superb.

The first vignette, a Gothic take of a werewolf in the Hebrides, is probably the weakest. But the second, where a vine takes over the world(!) features a rare acting role by none other than future Radio 1 DJ Alan Freeman. Not ‘alf, pop pickers. And we get the interesting sight of him interacting with Bernard “M” Lee as a vine threatens to kill them all.

The third tale, with Roy Castle as a jazz trumpeter, is much stronger, as musician Biff steals the time of a Voodoo god that he finds in the Caribbean, with ominous consequences. But the absolute highlight is Lee’s snobbish and conceited art critic who gets his revenge from being humiliated by an artist he dislikes by running him over so his right hand is lost, only to be pursued by the disembodied stop motion hand until, poetically, he loses his hand in a car crash. I suspect an influence on Evil Dead 2 here, but Lee’s very real performance hopes the main thing work. The silly last vignette, with a young Donald Sutherland and  a very Bram Stoker take on vampires and an interesting effect of a bar, can’t follow this but nicely rounds things off.

The vignettes are variable but the Roy Castle and Christopher Lee segments are particularly superb, and the whole thing is atmospheric, fun and entertaining in equal measure in spite of the plot holes and the variable quality of the vignettes. Worth a look.

The Night Caller (1965)

"And if that is an atom bomb, and you drop it, I'll 'ave you on a charge!"

Yes, the premise really is as said on the poster, if not quite as lurid. In truth, this is an odd conflation of Quatermass II and Alfie and very, very, mid-'60s. If that sounds like an extremely bizarre concoction, it is.

A very young John Saxon stars, and his acting is such that I'm not 100% sure whether he's trying to do a British accent or not. The predictable cast of British character actors add solid support, but the film feels oddly disjointed in spite of some good scenes- the dialogue between the parents of one of the missing girls is delightfully real and naturalistic, and the downbeat ending is deeply effective. Lots of the characters feel real yet, Saxon and Patricia Haines' characters aside, there's little continuity between the cast of the first part of the film in the scientific establishment and the police procedural which then ensues, and that means the film lacks a certain unity. It's also undeniable that, while this is certainly science fiction, for most of the film we see nothing of the alien but its claw, and the final reveal of its appearance is disappointing. It's all very odd, very interesting, but doesn't quite work.

It's also very much of its time, which adds to the interest. Everybody smokes, and Aubrey Morris plays a gay bookseller in those dark pre-1967 days, with his bitterly nuanced relations with the police. Worth seeing for those of us with a particular interest in these sorts of films although not, it must be said, for everyone.

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1965)

"She offered me free love. At the time it was all I could afford.”

Wow. That was bleak. More so, in fact, than the BBC’s superb version of Le Carre’s Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy which I am certain to blog at some point. And that Richard Burton is awfully good at this acting lark.

I was twelve when the Wall came down; I remember the Cold War. But the world of half a century ago seems a strange place in many ways. The leading man can sneeringly refer to a “queer”, labour exchanges advertise “jobs for men” and even a bibulous fellow like myself raises an eyebrow at the sheer amount of alcohol consumed. And Nan refers to her Hungarian goulash with Portuguese wine as a “Communist dish with a totalitarian wine”; no one seems to regard the tyrannies of the Eastern Bloc and Salazar’s fascist state as equally vile. It’s all a game and, as Control says, while one side supports freedom and the other does not, the methods used by both sides are equally abhorrent. No wonder it’s so easy to become burnt out and turn to drink.

(“Control”- I now get certain sketches from A Bit of Fry and Laurie more than I did...)

This is a thriller, of sorts, but one uniquely suffused with a profound sense of moral disillusionment and ennui. Leamas is younger than I am now but certainly doesn’t feel it. The final twist is clever but morally bankrupt and the unhappy ending, when it comes, is not unexpected. An excellently downbeat counterweight to the sort of spy film we usually see and a real acting triumph from Richard Burton.

Genghis Khan (1965)

"It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness."

Oh dear. This film is not very good, Where to start? Well, how about with the arse-clenchingly awful fact that all but a very few characters are played by white actors in yellowface, with James Mason's jaw-droppingly stereotyped performance as Kam Ling being quite something to behold. No amount of accounting for the different social mores of 1965 can let us escape from the fact that this is all incredibly racist.

Oh, the location filming looks impressive and epic, and you can tell that the film is trying to be Lawrence of Arabia. But this is somewhat undermined by the fact that this is a film about Genghis Khan that focuses mainly around inter-Mongol squabbling, the extensive interlude in China doesn't particularly involve him conquering the place, and there's a general lack of conquering going on. In fact, late on in the film, a quick burst of narration jumps smoothly over the conquests of China, Russia and India and jumps unconvincingly into the conquest of Khwarezm. Where's all the stuff we want to see in a film about Genghis Khan?

I accept that a film like this has to show a certain amount of historical inaccuracy, but making the film mostly about the rival between Temujin and his Mongol rival Jamuga is such a waste. And so, ultimately, is the film.

Thunderball (1965)

"Sorry, old chap. Better luck next time."

I think I can put my finger on why this film is do rubbish: it's the direction. Oh, it's fancily shot with wipes, etc, but the director does a terrible job of telling the story clearly, especially as there are so many silent aquatic sequences. The result is a confusing mess. You have to blame the director for the performances, too: yes, Adolfo Celi is rubbish as the baddie on general terms (they had to dub his dialogue), but the performances are flat all round, and when that includes the likes of Sean Connery you just have to blame the director. The film is not only incoherent, but also charmless.

And it's a pity. On paper the film should have been good. It has SPECTRE, with an embezzling underling being buzzed beneath a trap door to his doom. It has a pool full of sharks. It even has Q, now already a fixture, supplying Bond with gadgets which end up being suspiciously and exactly what he needs.

The pre-titles sequence is good though; I love the jet pack. And Tom Jones' theme tune is superb. But I'm sad to say that this is one Bond film I've no desire to see again. Long, plodding, charmless and forgettable.

Next...

The Skull (1965)

"All I can say to you is to keep away from the skull of the Marquis de Sade!"

I haven't reviewed a film featuring the great Sir Christopher Lee since his sad and fairly recent death, which is remiss of me. So I decided, on a whim, that this rather interesting-looking Amicus film, directed by the ever-reliable Freddie Francis, might do the trick. Perhaps it isn't Lee's biggest role- he's very much the guest star to an extraordinary starring performance from Peter Cushing here- but he is, nevertheless, superb. The auction scene alone (a cameo from Michael Gough!) shows that.

The film is excellently shot and made and, while the effects at the end are a little dated, that's all part of the film's charm. The film isn't perfect- the only two female characters exist only to be imperilled, and the Bechdel test is well and truly flunked, as you'd expect, and perhaps the pacing could be improved- but it's carried by Cushing's extraordinary performance: the moment towards the end where, with facial acting alone, he shows himself being possessed by the skull- is extraordinary.

Yes, there are cliches aplenty- we even have a police inspector dressed exactly like Clouseau in his coat and hat- but this Poe-like tale, in which Cushing's Chris Maitland, a rich collector of macabre items who doesn't enquire too closely into the ethics of their acquiral, is slowly unhinged and turned to murder by the cursed skull of the Marquis de Sade, is suitably griping. We get a satisfyingly lurid account of Sade's life, and some rather nice use of flashback to show us the skull's deadly history. It's only the slight slowness of the admittedly well-directed climax that lets the side down slightly.

This may be a slightly obscure film, but it's worth catching on Netflix if you can and, at 82 minutes, doesn't outstay it's welcome. 

Dr. Who and the Daleks (1965)

“If they call us monsters…. What must they be like?”

I’ve reviewed every single episode of Doctor Who on this blog. Why on Earth did it take me so long to get round to watching this? Well, it was the lack of subtitles on the DVD, which is a pretty poor state of affairs for a DVD release. I’m not all that deaf, but lack of subtitles does tend to be something of a deterrent. Fortunately, though, the dialogue here is very clear and easy to follow.

Anyway, the film… Steven Moffat has recently given interviews in which he firmly (and clearly with the support of senior BBC bods; he wouldn’t be using words like “off-message” otherwise) squishes the idea that any hypothetical new film of Doctor Who might ignore the continuity of the television show, because that would “insult the audience.” I’m not sure he’s right for the right reasons, but I think he’s right to be wary of the idea; what if the film was successful and the new continuity came to obliterate the old? On the other hand, why make a two hour film based on the existing series when you could make thirteen episodes and a Christmas special? I don’t really see much sense in doing a film at all. We no longer live in an age where film is necessarily considered the superior medium, in any case.

And yet… it has been done before. And it seems to have done no harm to the TV show, wary though I am of taking this as a precedent. It’s not the best film ever made (mainly because the TV story on which it was based, Terry Nation’s The Daleks, isn’t the greatest story ever told), but it’s utterly fascinating to watch. I first saw this back in 1988, aged eleven, when I rented it from my local video shop. I’d become a Doctor Who fan just weeks earlier, catching the broadcast of part two of Remembrance of the Daleks, and I wouldn’t see The Daleks until Christmas Day 1989. I hated the film; it didn’t seem like Doctor Who at all. In hindsight, the reasons for this are rather interesting.

To begin with, this is bound to offend those with an excessive regard for “canon”. It simply doesn’t fit our conception of what Doctor Who is. The Doctor is a human scientist, who invented the TARDIS (which seems here to have mislaid its definite article) himself, and our four time travellers are not heroes but bumbling travellers. And yet, in 1965, neither of these things (perhaps the second, but only up to a point) was in any way inconsistent with what the audience had seen on their TV screen.

It’s rather difficult to judge Peter Cushing’s performance as the Doctor- or, rather, Dr. Who, as I shall have to get used to calling him; I’m usually the first to start winding up people who insist that “Doctor Who” is not the name of the character, but nevertheless it’s an assumption I tend to make for everyday purposes. Cushing is not playing a new version of the character, as per Troughton, Pertwee etc; he’s playing a version of the character Hartnell was playing on television, and that’s an important distinction. The concept of recasting the lead- regeneration, renewal, rejuvenation, whatever- had at this point occurred to no one, except possibly John Wiles. Cushing is playing the Doctor exactly as Hartnell did, albeit the cuddlier side of the character, with most rough edges removed. That makes it rather difficult to evaluate his performance, but he certainly has the charisma, even if he’s necessarily unable to put his personal stamp on the role, not being given the freedom allowed to Troughton or his successors.

The other three regulars are very different, too; Barbara (Barbara Who?!) is Dr. Who’s granddaughter, alongside Susan (Susie Who?), meaning that Dr. Who looks rather young for someone with a granddaughter in her twenties. Susan is very clever; Barbara, sadly, has no particular character traits. Ian is an accident prone Yorkshireman, here essentially to provide the comic relief. He isn’t so much the leading man as is his TV equivalent.

Oh, and TARDIS (no definite article, remember?) seems to work by disassembling particles and re-assembling them. This means, of course, that all four leads are instantly killed within the first five minutes, with copies of themselves having all those adventures on Skaro (although the planet isn’t named?), until they in turn all die at the end, and some second generation copies watch some stock footage of Romans.

The whole thing looks glorious in its Technicolor mid-Sixtiesness. It’s dated enormously, but that’s part of its charm; who can fail to be enchanted by the sight of Dr. Who reading The Eagle? There’s a sense of scale, too; the sets look much larger at Shepperton Studios than they did at Lime Grove, where most of them seemed about the size of the room I’m typing this in. The Daleks are also huge, impressive-looking, and there are loads of them, with nary a cardboard cut-out in sight. Admittedly, they do rather tend to spend all their time telling other Daleks things they already know for the benefit of the audience (something which, I believe, is known over on TV Tropes as “As You Know, Bob”), very…..very…..slowly….

Still, the cinematic scale also removes some of the coolness. The Dalek city doesn’t look anywhere as cool as the Expressionist original (although I like the moving eyestalks) and the orchestral score isn’t a patch on Tristram Cary. And other things are just different; the Thals look much, much gayer with all that make-up, and Antodus doesn’t die after falling down that chasm, as Milton Subotsky is rather more forgiving to his characters than Terry Nation. Mind you, the chasm looks far scarier than it did on the telly.

The climax is a bit sudden and dodgy, I suppose; this must be the slowest countdown ever, and the mighty Daleks are essentially defeated by a bit of pushing and shoving. This isn’t a great film; it’s rather formulaic and lacking in vim. But it’s entertaining enough.

Incidentally, a very Merry Christmas to all of you at home!