The Beatles- Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967)

This is a really difficult album to review in 2025. With this more than any other Beatles album, historical context (especially when it comes to the technology, means everything. And likely goes much of the way towards explaining why, after traditionally topping those lists of best ever rock albums, it's now started to be eclipsed by other Beatles albums.

As a collection of songs, this is extraordinary. We have "She's Leaving Home"; "A Day in the Life"; "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds". Even deep cuts like "Fixing a Hole" and "Good Morning, Good Morning" are capable of burrowing their way into your brain. And yet... strictly as a collection of songs, is it really better than Revolver or Abbey Road, what with filler songs like "When I'm Sixty-Four" or "Lovely Rita, Meter Maid"? I'd say not. But that isn't the point.

A few years ago, I read of younger listeners criticising Abbey Road for what they saw as an awkward gap in the middle, not understanding that this was because of the need to change the record to Side 2! Context is everything. And this album, despite some earlier achievements with Revolver in particular, utterly revolutionised what a band could do in a studio, especially without the need to reproduce those studio effects live. In 1967, the soundscapes of "For the Benefit of Mr. Kite" and "A Day in the Life" would have utterly wowed people, whereas these days we take those studio effects for granted.

So yes, perhaps it is correct to use hindsight and judge this as a collection of songs- certainly great, but not quite the Beatles' best. But we would do well also to remember how utterly innovative this album was in shaping what could be achieved within a studio.

Theatre of Death (1967)

"But I didn't scream..."

I was expecting this to be a rollicking Hammer-style horror B Movie, with all the fun that implies. After all, it's a Grand Guignol-themed and horror-coded film in which Christopher Lee receives top billing. Instead... well, this is a deadly serious and rather clever Grand Guignol whodunit with a rather clever and impressive plot full of twists and turns. The direction is surprisingly ambitious with lots of hand held camerawork, and both Julian Glover and Christopher Lee really shine.

Lee, despite his billing, is not the star here. But he's a compelling, fascinating character, a genius. Philippe Darvas is the greatest of all duirectors of Grand Guignol, yet he's also a deeply controlling human being who can be as cruel as he is charismatic. Glover is the true leading man and carries the film throughout, with the two female leads being relative unknowns.

It is, perhaps, mildly disappointing that the film is set in Paris yet visually it doesn't feel like it. Yet the film is carried by the two main performances, the direction, and the devilishly clever plot, in which clues arew laid throughout and paid off satisfyingly, one by one, as the film reaches its climax.

This film may, I suspect, displease many as it isn't the type of film it appears to be. On its own terms, though, I found it most enjoyable and in no way deserving of the obscurity into which it seems to have fallen.

Doctor Faustus (1967)

 "Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it".

I fear that, much though I enjoy the deliciously irreverent work of Christopher Marlowe, I've only read two of his plays (The Jew of Malta and Edward II), and until now had never seen a performance of any kind. One may certainly say that this isan odd place to start- a mostly amateur production from students at Oxford University (including one Ian Marter!), directed by a don, and somehow not only starring Richard Burton but, oddly, featuring Elizabeth Taylor as second billing despite the fact she has no lines and hardly appears.

The play is witty, delicious, but also odd- theologically deep, reflecting an age of alchemy rather than science, where the nature of academia itself was utterly alien to the modern mind. Marlowe is riffing on an existing German tale here, where the eponymous doctor sellshis soul to Lucifer for a mere four and twenty years in return for knowledge and... well, not much else. Not love, power or happiness. This is a version shorn of the comedic scenes, but both the power and irreverence of the play will speak for themselves in any production.

I'll admit this version is no classic. Burton is far too old to play the younger Faustus and his performance, while good, does not inspire. Yet the haunting music and the bizarre Hammer Horror style sort of actually work. The Seven Deadly Sins portion is well handed, with the masks echoing classical Greek theatre. And Andreas Teuber is a genuinely compelling Mephistopheles. This film isa bit mad, yes... but that's rather why I like it.

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.

Carry On Doctor (1967)

 "Matron doesn't approve of banging in the ward..."

Agh. I hadn't seen this film for decades, but then last night I watched it... and suddenly it felt very familiar indeed. I suspect I've seen this Carry On more times than any other, albeit early in my life. And that probably shouldn't be surprising- it's one of the most highly regarded. But I probably enjoyed the film less than I should have done because of the memories flooding back as I watched it.

It's strange seeing this while watching all the films in order. After several films set in historical times and other places, here we are again in a contemporary British hospital, in a 1967 of the middle aged, rather different to the Summer of Love that was happening for a few rich young people. This is a time of strict matrons, the trope of the nagging wife, innuendo, "sex maniacs" and cold baths.

Indeed, this feels much like the earlier films in the series, including the style of the opening titles, which allude to Carry On Nurse. Yet we're much firmly into the more innuendo-based humour, with Barbara Windsor's, er, assets playing a large role.

The farcical, very silly plot, as well as some nicely witty lines, make this one of the better Carry Ons. I loved the Invisible Man gag. Frankie Howerd, in his Carry On debut, is excellent in a very prominent role, although the fact that the usual cast is very much present and correct means that some of the regulars are stretched quite thin. Charles Hawtrey, yet again, has a surprisingly small role- off-screen problems?

Excellent film. Although it has me wondering- at what point did we stop referring to "the National Health" and start calling it the NHS, colloquially?

Don't Lose Your Head (1967)

 "That's all very well, but that would never have happened under a Royalist government."

We're entering a stretch that represents the absolute pinnacle of Carry On. This, and the next couple of films or so, are the peak. It is, or so we're led to believe, all downhill, starting very soon. I'll keep an open mind, naturally, but let''s enjoy this purple patch while it lasts. And let's appreciate the irony that two of the films in this period, starting with this one, strictly speaking didn't have the "Carry On" prefix.

This film is bloody good, though. I've seenit many times over the years, but not for a while. And it didn't disappoint either this time or before. It's a simple premise: just riff off The Scarlet Pimpernel and pit Sid James' Sir Rodney Ffing ("Effing, with two f's") against Kenneth Williams as the inevitably named citizen camembert. Add in Charles Hawtrey as the Dic de Pomme Frities, and you have a filmthat cannot fail.

Add in a couple of contemporary references "It's the one thing the English are good at, striking", but otherwise just let the cast be themselves as we know the formula right now... and we end up with a film that never gets stale.

The deliberately, cheerfully crap jokes are a joy too. The Duc and Duchesse de la Plume de ma Tante. "I'm Camembert. I'm the big cheese". "But then, you've always had magnificent balls, and I wouldn't miss one of them". In fact, these gloriously awful puns are indubitably the best bit.

This is easily the best instalment up to this point. Can they top this one?

Carry On Screaming (1966)

 "May I blow it?"

It's October. The month of Halloween. The month of ghouls and ghost and things that go bump in the night... and the next film in my slow, chronological meanderings through the Carry On series turns out to be rather appropriate. Who'd have thunk it?

Just as recent films have been genre pastiches, this time we get a glorious taste on the British horror films from the likes of Hammer and Amicus, very much in their heyday at this point. The look of the film is perfect, as are the opening titles and song. Yet, as ever, the success of this film lies in the superb performances and the gloriously crap jokes... and yes, the innuendo about the whistle is absolutely the best thing in it.

No Sid James this time, but Harry H. Corbett is a more than adequate replacement in what is more or less a starring role. Fenella Fielding, too, is a wonderful new addition with perfect timing. But best of all, as so very often, is Kenneth Williams, hamming it up in the best possible way as the dastardly Doctor Watt (Doctor Who is his uncle, apparently...!).

Everything about this film is wonderful and utterly unafraid to be silly. Charles Hawtrey gets a surprisingly small role (was his personal life more than usually chaotic at this point?), but it says a lot that the absence of the great Sid James is hardly noticeable here.

Bedazzled (1967)

 "Good evening. I couldn't help noticing that you were making an unsuccessful suicide bid."

Peter Cook, possibly the funniest man who ever lived, had a glorious, if not always consistent, career. His personal problems, particularly with too much booze, meant he was never quite as prolific as we, his fans, would have liked. But everything he did touch turned to comedy gold.

Except, largely, in the sphere of cinema. It's a huge relief, then, that Bedazzled is one film at least (The Rise and Rise of Michael Rimmer is another) in which he gets the starring role and gets to showcase his talents playing the Devil, no less.

This is almost, but not quite, a portmaneau comedy in which Dudey Moore gets given seven wishes by the delightfully slippery Satan in which he tries to find happiness with the woman he loves, but there's always a devilishly clever catch that ruins everything. Yes, some material is recycled from sketches from Not Only... But Also, but who cares? Certainly not the BBC, who bloody junked most of it. And I don't care how gratuitous the Raquel Welch cameo may be, or how cheeky it may be to give her such high billing for five minutes.

The dialogue sparkles with wit and hilarity, and the central dynamic of Pete 'n' Dud shines throughout. This is one of the real greats of comedy cinema- too coherent to be a portmanteau, cleverly and hilariously scripted, well made and cinematic in scope while remembering that its purpose is first and foremost to be very, very funny. And it bloody well is.

The Torture Chamber of Dr. Sadism (1967)

 "The blood is the life..."

This is a cheap German film which, like many of its ilk, happens to star Christopher Lee who, while phoning it in by his standards, cannot help but ooze charisma. It is, I must observe, a splendidly lurid translation in English, despite being essentially a version of Poe's The Pit and the Pendlum, as becomes quite obvious at the end... with said pendulum clearly positioned at crotch level. Ouch.

I don't know any of the other actors; Lex Barker is apparently a former Tarzan. But this is a well made little film, with locations and sets evoking nineteenth century Germany superbly, if less expensively than Roger Corman. Karin Dor is extremely attractive. 

Yet let us not pretend this is anything other than a B movie cashing in on Lee's name. It is corniness itself, splendidly soo. The "priest" character is very silly. Lee only gets moderate amounts of screen time. The plot is risible. The butler is hilariously violent. The opening seqence with the Count's execution is not so lurid as promised, what with his supposedly being quartered by four horses, which it appears we are going to graphically see untilthe camera cuts to what os undoubtedly a lurid shot, but equally undoubtedly a shot of a painting. This film is not one for torture rubberneckers. Nor is it unmissable for Christopher Lee fans. It's nothing special. But it's a fun little B movie.

And we love those, don't we?

The Producers (1967)

 "Deutschland is happy and gay...."

I haven't blogged much in recent days because I'm cramming for a big interview on Wednesday morning for a potential promotion at work, after which normal blogging will resume. Tonight, however, is my night of rest, with good Cornish ale and entertainment of the strictly relaxing kind.

It's absurd that I should see this film for the first time at forty-four, but there are so many seminal films I still haven't seen, even having blogged more than 750 of them over the last ten years. It is, of course, no less brilliant for the fact that I haven't been living under a rock all my life and am very much aware not only of the concept (if not the precise accounting subterfuge) but of the signature song.

It's surprsing, I suppose, how long it takes to get to the theatrical performance, but this is a surprisingly linear film, plot-wise, setting up and executing the conceit with very little deviation. Yet it's very Mel Brooks somehow, even if his films don't usually show such focus. This very Jewish comedy about Nazis is full of grotesques, not least Max and Leo themselves. I knew that Gene Wilder was a good comedy actor but Zero Mostel, whom I've never previously seen in anything at all, acts him right off the set. We also have the parade of randy old ladies, the Nazi scriptwriter, and the camp director and his associate who perhaps show us how far we've come in LGBT+ representatives in cinema over the past half century.

This was 1967, though. I suppose it was somethging to have LGBT+ representation at all. And this film is a comedy triumph. Just the thing to prepare me for three whole evenings of soul-destroying interview prep...

Quatermass and the Pit (1967)

 “You realise what you’re implying? That we owe our human condition to the intervention of insects?”

I thought, after all this time, that I'd better get roumd to the last of Hammer's cinematic adaptations of Nigel Kneale's Quatermass serials. This, an adaptation of the best of the three serials, is entirely unlike- and better than- the previous two, both of which were among the earliest Hammer horrors in the early '50s, to the extent that their right to that label may seem somewhat tenuous. But this is 1967, the very height of Hammer Horror...and much more clearly a horror film.

The film does not, of course, match the TV original in quality, necessarily truncated though it is. Much is excused, including Quatermass’ concluding monologue, although the script, by Kneale himself, is a superbly done adaptation. The story is one of mood, theme and character rather than cinematic visuals, but the cinematic medium allows for the building of a feeling of dread towards the end, and a much more visual ending.

Andrew Keir, although good, is no Andre Morell, but both Barbara Shelley and Julian Glover are first rate, and James Donald slowly grew on me. More so than the excellence of the cast, though, the film works superbly well as an old school horror film built on suspense and ideas rather than spectacle, keeping the subtext but moving things in a different direction from the original. And it really, really works.

This, I think, is absolutely one of the finest Hammers.

Batgirl: 1967 Pilot

"You are no longer alone, Caped Crusaders!"

I should really have blogged this before I started Season Three of Batman, but it’s only since I started that I became aware of the existence of this interesting little seven minute pilot. It seems the second season of Batman had been shedding viewers and that Batgirl was the proffered solution to its ills- and this was made to highlight the undoubtable awesomeness of Yvonne Craig.

It’s only a quick little vignette, really, and made for a very specific purpose; I’m not going to review it as such. The plot is simply to introduce us to Barbara Gordon and have her assist the Caped Crusaders in dealing with a crime taking place in the library which doesn’t overly stretch the budget.

Yvonne Craig’s performance is fully-formed, as is the character. The secret costume changing room is in the library, though, rather than in Barbara’s apartment, and her mask looks different, and rather less comfortable.

The only thing worth mentioning, of course, is the fairly rubbish villain: Killer Moth. The format doesn’t exactly allow this briefly seen baddie to shine, but there’s one more baddie from the comics to have appeared on television, sort of, although we don’t get to see his modus operandi as a kind of Batman for criminals.

This is a very interesting little novelty if you can hunt it down, and takes only seven and a bit minutes to watch.

Son of Godzilla (1967)

“The smell of a story attracts me...”

Another Godzilla film, I thought, thinking I knew what to expect. Imagine my surprise. No Godzilla destroying Tokyo; indeed no Tokyo at all, as the entire film takes place on a fictional island on the South Pacific. None of the co-star monsters like Mothra or King Gidorah. Just some big preying martises, a massive spider, Godzilla, and... a cute baby Godzilla who looks bizarrely as though he's been animated by Jim Henson.

And yet... silly though it is, with most of the baby Godzilla sequences being accompanied by music to inform us that this is supposed to be comedy... it somehow works. It certainly starts well, with an intrepid reporter, and our POV character as so often before, stubbornly parachuting on to the island to get a story, and discovering sci-fi weather control experiments to solve world hunger by making "waste areas" fertile. I'm sure that won't harm the ecosystem in any way whatsoever.

We get the usual quotient of human drama, a mysterious girl, an unnerving disease with a high fever (interesting whenever one comes across such themes when quarantining) and an egg, almost pecked to death bu praying manises. But none of that is the real point of the film. No, that's to see Godzilla as we've never seen him before, looking after his Muppet Baby of a son, teaching him to roar, to emit ray beams and to fight giant spiders. And we end with Godzillas Senior and Junior embracing in the face of an unnatural cold, both surviving.

This is not your usual Godzilla film. It's utterly mad. But it's actually refreshing to see something a little bit different, and the whole thing is just absurd enough to work. I'm not sure I should have enjoyed this, but I did.

Belle de Jour (1967)

"What you need is a firm hand..."

I've done lots of geeky films lately and, yes, I love geeky films, but it’s time now for  subtitled foreign film from a big name director, I think. And it’s about time I tried one of Luis Bunuel’s later films, you know, the ones that actually have sound and didn’t inspire any famous songs by the Pixies.

This film is, of course, superbly directed, with a magnificent central performance by Catherine Deneuve, and very much comes across like a literary novel but with camerawork instead of prose. The film is of course about Severine- 23, newly married but still a repressed virgin but who has deeply sexual and indeed kinky fantasies- I like how horsey men with riding crops have a symbolic use throughout. A well-off woman with a maid, no less, she nevertheless ends up working in a brothel out of sheer sexual desire.

Importantly, I think, it is recognised that most women in such a position are forced into sex work by economic necessity; the character of Charlotte is there to represent this. Nor is the dark side underemphasised- customers are violent and dodgy (although, as with Marcel, bad boys have their attractions) and, most disturbingly, a client shows a deeply perverted interest in thevmadam’s visiting school age niece. But for Severine, with no economic need to do this, it’s all about the rough sex and rough treatment she needs sexually and isn’t getting at home from a husband whom she loves but who does not understand her sexual needs. Importantly, though, the film emphasises that sex is not necessarily always about men dominating women but can be the other way around by showing us a client who likes to be dominated himself. But all this takes place in a world which remains misogynistic, with Husson as an important mouthpiece for this entitled misogyny.

It would be silly, I think, to deny that this film could be very much criticised on male gaze grounds, and there is inevitably a whole host of unexamined misogynist assumptions. This is not a feminist film, and while it treats its women as three dimensional characters it presents a very male point of view. But it is, nevertheless, an extraordinary piece of work.

The Sorcerers (1967)

"Intoxication with no hangover. Ecstasy with no consequence..."

I've been wanting to see this hard-to-find film ever since I first saw Michael Reeves' Witchfinder General. And it didn't disappoint. Thank you, Keith Richards and BBC4.

Boris Karloff, in a rare British film appearance towards the end of his life, is Professor Marcus Montserrat who, with his equally elderly and bitter wife Estelle, seeks to use his invention to take control of someone young and feel their experiences, vicariously but literally, in what looks awfully like a metaphor for hard drugs and how they can harm others and not just the user. Ian Ogilvy's bored Mike is an ignorant but willing victim, casually submitting to Montserrat's very psychedelic machine and all of its terrible consequences.

And terrible those consequences are; Mike suffers the destruction of his relationship, his friendships and his life in indulging the increasingly Grand Guignol-like excesses of Estelle, whose deliciously evil nature emerges from the facade of a nice old lady. The film is both enormous fun and very much of its time- the Sixties of Alfie rather than rock 'n' roll, of ordinary '60s youths who are not particularly cool and listen to, ahem, Cliff Richard. Highly recommended, if you can find the damn thing.

You Only Live Twice (1967)

"Well, at least he died on the job..."

Well, it's quite the contrast. Thunderball was a pile of pants, an incoherently directed film with little in the way of charm or entertainment, whereas You Only Live Twice is superb, and easily the best Bond film so far. What went right? Well, the straightforward direction by Lewis Gilbert helps; Thunderball may be much artier (It has wipes, for Christ's sake! In a James Bond film), but it fails to make the narrative clear. Here we have no such problems. What we do have is a well constructed and paced film courtesy of a script by the great Roald Dahl. Yes, that Roald Dahl.

Even the opening sequence is innovative-the image of a NASA space capsule being eaten by another spacecraft is delicious, as is Bond's apparent death before the titles. And the image of a spacewalking astronaut drifting helplessly through space to what he knows will be his death has all the existential horror of the late David Bowie's "Space Oddity" a couple of years later.  All this before we even get to the theme song from Nancy Sinatra, who gives the great Shirley Bassey a run for her money.

We then move straight to the Americans blaming the Soviets for the swallowing of the spacecraft, with both of them portrayed as squabbling juvenile warmongers, leaving the British (naturally) as the voice of reason. This is a little uncomfortable to watch from a distance of fifty years, however. In the wake of Dean Acheson's famous comment Britain is being portrayed here as a "Greece to America's Rome", which smacks very much as a consolation prize for a wannabe superpower. Even this film, which portrays the clever British as in control and saving the world, can't hide the fact that the Americans and Russians of 1967 are sending people into space and we are not.

The fact that M and Moneypenny are in a submarine is brilliant, as is the recognition of Bond's naval rank. The two superpowers are at loggerheads and world war beckons if all this is not sorted out before the next spacecraft is launched. Fortunately, there's a lead pointing to Japan. Also fortunately, Bond took a First in Oriental Languages at Cambridge.

It's interesting that the film's inevitable misogyny (as ever, women are seen through the eyes of a fifteen year old boy) is somewhat obscured by the presentation of all this in the context of what Japanese culture is supposed to be like. There's also the question of ethnic stereotyping, and while this can't be dodged the film gives a broadly positive image of Japan, perhaps remarkably so less than a generation after the War. We get Sumo wrestling, geishas and, of course, ninjas. The tropes are all here to play.

Is impossible at this point not to mention the cute and willing Aki ("I think I will very much enjoy serving under you") who is killed, while Bond's initially more modest "wife" is not. Hmm. Still, this Japan is cool, and I love Tanaka.

The bit with "Little Nellie" looks suspiciously as if it was just crowbarred into the film to give Desmond Llewelyn something to do, but it isn't long before the Russians launch a rocket of their own (Norse pagans will be either pleased or outraged that the Russian for "three" is "Odin"), which is duly swallowed again. Cue more recriminations and a reminder of the stakes, although it certainly makes me wonder how credible it is that a criminal organisation like SMERSH could have the resources to send a rocket into space capable of doing this. Best to banish such thoughts.

This film is possibly the most influential Bond film in popular culture and certainly for Austin Powers: the volcano base is brilliant, and Donald Pleasance's splendidly hammy performance as the now-revealed Ernst Stavro Blofeld is blatantly the inspiration for Dr. Evil. And the piranhas, and the collapsible ramp above them, are perfect.

This is an incredible film and easily the best so far. I'm genuinely unsure if anything will top it.