Hedda Gabler (BBC TV Play, 1972)

 "Do it... beautifully."

This is my first experience of this particular Ibsen play, certainly one of his most admired, in any medium. And, whenever I'm blogging an adaptation of a play I've not previously seen, there's always going to be a certain ambiguity as to whether I'm blogging the play itself or this particular production. So be it.

Indeed, I suspect the fact that I was blown away by this subtle, nuanced tragedy, filled with so many deliciously subtle pieces of dialogue (especially that between the eponymous Hedda and Judge Brack), owes not only to Ibsen's sublime writing, which combines real psychological depth with a proto-modernist sensibility, but also to the cast and to Waris Hussein's restrained yet creative direction, never letting the play look so obviously cinematic as to take away from the play but using that restricted palette so very well.

But... well, I now begin to see why Hedda, as a part, can be seen as the female equivalent of Hamlet. On the one hand, she's an intelligent, capable woman trapped in the upper middle class society of 1890s Norway, where women have little agency of their own and have little opportunity to make their mark. On the other, she really is a monster- cynical, manipulative, hiding what looks to be something like narcissism beneath a pretty, feminine exterior. The last few scenes of the play pack quite a punch.

Janet Suzman is, of course, extraordinary here. Yet so are a very young Ian McKellen as George, the absent-minded academic husband, and especially Brendan Barry as the similarly monstrous Judge Brack. This production will linger in my mind for quite some time.

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeouisie (1972)

 "Unbelievable what they smoke in the army..."

It's about time I watched and blogged another of Luis Bunuel's extraordinary late run of films, made in his sixties and seventies, and this one in particular is as good as its reputation, irinically winning an Oscar while satirising the lifestyle it represents.

The direction is, as one would expect, both superb and multifaceterd. It's all very surreal, of course, but the surrealism is not quite meaningless here, and I suspect it would reward multiple viewings very well. The surrealism is constant, but it never crosses the line into something which could never happen in real life, just skirting that line between the unlikely and the impossible. An exception is in dream sequences, which abound here, revealed to be so at the end of the scene and dreams nested within dreams. The dream sequences at their modst absurd- the sergeant's night walk in the street, the lieutenant's childhood trauma, the dinner party suddenly revealed to be on stage before an audience- are truly dreamlike in how they feel, an extraordinary achievement.

Yet this is not simply surrealism for its own sake. The central conceit is of six wealthy individuals, one of them the ambassador of a fictional South American dictatorship, are repeatedly thwarted in their desire to have a dinner party. Snobbery is a constant theme, with constant commentary on how food should be cooked or carved, or how a spirit should be prepared or consumed- at one stage a chauffeur is mocked for not sipping his drink properly. These concerns are meaningless, existing only to add artificial meaning to the lives of the privileged who are apart from the cares of the world in their aloof world of affairs and dinner parties.

The film is a visual treat, but it is certainly no "difficult" arthouse film. It is darkly funny throughout and the perferct combination of art and enjoyment. Truly one of the greats of cinema.

Antony and Cleopatra (1972)

 "I must from this enchanting queen break off..."

I've read Antony and Cleopatra, but this is my first time seeing a production on either stage or screen. The play is, of course, magnificent, as are all of Shakespeare's later tragedies. It is at once a love story and a tale of politics at its most raw and brutal, with legendary characters including the young Octavian Ceasar, played superbly by John Castle as an upright, disciplined young man, exemplifying all that Rome stands for and who very much feels like a younger version of the future Augustus.

This is also a play about two worlds- masculine, martial, relatively puritan Rome versus the feminine weakness and decadence of Egypt and the east... yes, that dodgy trope is old indeed. But one can't deny it's handled well here by the Warwickshire lad.

The film is nicely shot, by Charlton Heston himself, on location in Spain. Half the cast are Spaniards, yet to their credit you wouldn't notice. This may not be right up there with the greats of cinematic Shakespeare, but there's little to criticise... although, superb though Roger Delgado may be as the soothsayer (sadly, one of his last roles), one has to wince at the obvious brownface.

Hildegard Neil is very good as Cleopatra, but Heston is magnificent as Antony, a difficult role. Yet he handles the duality of the character with aplomb, believable both as the great Roman general and the besotted lover of Cleopatra. This is a truly excellent film, one of surprisingly few screen versions of the play.

An Alien Heat by Michael Moorcock

My first novel of 2022 is, predictably enough, by Michael Moorcock. Apologies for the fixation of late; I tend to go through phases with fiction, and it seems to be Moorcock at the moment. So, after a few weeks' detour into non-fiction, which I don't tend to blog, it's time for another Moorcock, this time the first instalment of his Dancers at the End of Time sequence, the rest of which I'm going to have to acquire.

This is an odd, surreal read, set amonst the decadent few inhabitants of the last few millennia of the univderse, who live lives of unchallenging ease and hence of empty decadence, where science has been perfected in order to become, as Atrthur C. Clarke so famously put it, "indistinguishable from magic", where the only kind of suffering is boredom, yet pleasure is shallow and empty, where culture is diluted through the endless gulf of time since it was last produced, where achievement is impossible. Moorcock, somehow, finds prose to understand such a world, and the minds of those who inhabit it.

And into this world he places a woman from Victorian Bromley, whose prim decorum is not mocked but certainly contrasted with the world in which she finds herself.

The experimental and wild ideas reminded me, to an extent, of The Final Programme. Yet there is a fascinating seriousness and coherence here, a maturity which points towards the later novels I have read. This is a novel that will stay in my mind for some time.

The Guns of Avalon by Roger Zelazny

 I found this novel, the second instalment of the Amber Chronicles, as I believe they are called, quite as enjoyable as its predecessor. By now I’m used to Roger Zelazny’s deceptively Chandleresque prose, which is more poetic than it seems on first glance, and the fruitful admixture of fascinatingly imaginative fantasy worlds with hard-boiled reality. Here we have magical beasts, superbly sketched impossible worlds, and a sequence about gun smuggling in Brussels and end user certificates that could almost have come from a Frederick Forsyth novel if the prose were not far too good for that.

Just as good is the world itself, with the world building allowed to emerge naturally and organically from the skilfully constructed narrative. Various of the nine Amber brothers- especially Benedict- are sketched out some more, and I’m left eager to read the next novel.

I did have a criticism, that the ageless Corwin seemed to shag his seventeen year old great-niece, which is icky now to say the least and must have been so in 1972. But I’m relieved to see that all is hopefully not what it seems and that Corwin, and Amber, have a new and fascinating nemesis.

This is a superbly told and constructed tale, and I want to jump deeper into this universe. I’m hooked.

Asylum (1972)

"Never turn your back on a patient..."

I've seen a far few Amicus portmanteau horrors by now; I know the score: three or so flashback segments, each a suitably camp little horror story before the framing sequence becomes a story in its own right, with a twist at the end.

This film fits the template exactly and, while there are better examples among the other Amicus anthologies I've seen, this film doesn't disappoint in following the template to perfection while giving us some enjoyably camp body horror and some gleefully insentitive attitudes to mental heath, the camera lingering early on over some lurid old James Gilray cartoons set in a Georgian asylum.

The first sequence, starring a delightfully gruff Richard Todd, is splendidly bonkers, with body parts wrapped up in parcels attacking an adulterous couple in order to exact revenge. The whole concept starts out serious and sinister but soon dissolves superbly into farce in the best way possible.

The second story is a bizarre tale involving a tailor, Jewish stereotypes, and a great deal of fairytale logic. This one is genuinely creepy and arguably the best tale of the lot, with the dark fairytale quality and the presence of Peter Cushing elevating it somewhat, although it is of course as camp as a row of tents.

The third sequence, with Britt Ekland and Charlotte Rampling, perhaps drags a little and is slightly lacking in camp, although Rampling's evil laugh is a thing of magnificence. But the fourth sequence, with its little murdering doll, is just pure weirdness, but you have to admire the decision to actually proceed with something so stark raving bonkers. This is where the framing sequence comes into its own, with a strong performance from Robert Powell and a superb one from Geoffrey Bayldon.

Not every sequence is brilliant. But the whole film is enormous fun throughout.
 

The Asphyx (1972)

 "I've failed!"

This film was, apparently, not a success on its original release, a serious horror film not dependent on spectacle was not wanted by the public in 1972. There's a lot to like about the film though, despite its flaws.

The concept is, in theory, interesting; a Victorian gentleman scientist discovers the secret of immortality, but discovers it has a terrible price. The immortality in question comes from capturing a supernatural "asphyx" (my subtitles said "ass fix"...), a tortured soul which looks quite terrifying) via a type of oh-so-Victorian pseudo-science. I love how very steampunk it is that reality obligingly behaves just as these Victorian "scientists" expect it to.

There's a strong cast, headed by Robert Stephens, but the characterisation very much takes second place to the ideas. And it feels weird that a film like this, based on a very horror concept and which requires an atmosphere of increasing foreboding to be at its most effecive, should not be shot like a horror film at all but just like a costume drama, with no attempt made to use the camera to create unease.

The cast is impressive on paper, but Robert Powell is fairly stiff and Jane Lapotaire (more recently seen as Prince Philip's mum in The Crown) doesn't have much of a character, The whole thing looks plush and expensive, but there are embarrassing moments: when Sir Hugo films his son's death, the resulting footage looks identical to the scene on the film, right down to the close-up.

Ultimately the film, a parable about the curse of immortality, is not quite so profound nor so deep as it thinks it is, and it would have been both much more enjoyable and, frankly, better, if it had been shot more like a Hammer-style high camp horror film by someone like Freddie Francis. This isn't a bad film, but there are reasons why it remains fairly obscure.

Godzilla vs Gigan (1972)

“Only Godzilla has a chance..."

Time for another Godzilla film, and it's not as though this one isn't pretty much the greatest hits. Again, aliens that look like humans and act secretly (these ones are cockroaches from a world environmentally despoiled and, in a nice touch, we see their shadows). Again, we spend the first half of the film un layering a mystery while the second half is all monster set pieces.

But there's no getting away from how much fun this is, especially with the nicely metatextual theme of comic books (the hero is a comic book artist) and heroic Godzilla and Angilas talking via speech bubble(!) as they swim from Monster Island to save the world. Just let's not dwell on how they're suddenly able to escape its waters.

The baddies are a suspiciously depowered King Ghidorah and a new partly metal monster, who has a cool chainsaw but, surprisingly, isn't really all that prominent for much of the film. The set pieces are awesome, but go on a little too long, and I love the blatant use not only of models but of toy dolls.

Yes, it's derivative and no, it's not the best film in the franchise, but there's no denying how much fun it is. It's also nice to see an environmentalist message, although I suspect we shouldn't look too hard to find a subtext in the people behind a fashionable '70s kids' adventure playground being evil aliens. This is, well, another Godzilla film. But we know what we're getting, stock footage and all, and it doesn't disappoint.

Tales from the Crypt (1972)

"Who's next? Perhaps... you?"

At last I get to see a proper Amicus portmanteau film; I’ve been meaning to for ages. And this one certainly doesn’t disappoint. The format means the film never flags, and the top notch cast and direction make for a superbly unsettling experience.

I’ve never read any of the EC comics upon this was based (although I certainly do know that Dr Fredric Wertham smelled of poo, and was a quack to boot) but I get a distinct impression of the lurid style here, and highly entertaining here. The framing device is simple; a bunch of tourists get lost in a crypt and accosted by a sinister monk, who speaks with the actorly tones of none other than Ralph Richardson, who is having enormous fun here. We hear their sinister stories one by one until the conclusion gives us a delightful twist.

All of the stories are compelling, although some more than others, and there are standout performances from the likes of Peter Cushing in one of his best roles, but the segments are carried well by the likes of Joan Collins, Ian Hendry and an unrecognisable Richard Greene, too old for Sherwood Forest. There are powerful moments- the Balentine’s Card scene is heartbreaking- and the comeuppance of the mean major by the blind men he’s been mistreating is glorious. I’m not sure it’s an obvious leap from EC Comics to a film directed by Freddie Francis and crammed with British character actors, but it really works.

Horror Express (1972)

"Monster? We're British, you know!"

Well, that was unexpectedly good. I watched this in expectation of a bizarre Euro-twist on Hammer horror, with Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee but a Spanish director and a very international cast. Instead I found something rather classier.

Oh, there's some dodgy science- apparently our brains are ridged rather than smooth because of the impressions of our memories, folks- and the whole thing is pure base under siege melodrama, but the whole thing is done both intelligently (it's 1906, and the era is recreated and reflected in dialogue with historical accuracy) and well. It's superbly directed, with the monster killing by making your eyes and face bleed. If that wasn't enough, there's a little tribute to Bunuel and Dali with a scalpel and an eyeball. By 1972 standards this is as gory as it gets. And there's even an ersatz Rasputin. What's not to love about this splendid tale of an alien possessed missing link in pre-revolutionary Russia?

Lee and Cushing are, as always, superb as leads, and the whole thing is a gripping little claustrophobic thriller with a splendid cast- Telly Savalas gets a small but memorable role as a delightfully overplayed bastard; he's enjoying this role- that looks great and keeps you entertained. I also think, in its international environment of a train from the Russian concession in Shanghai through Siberia to Moscow, that it has something to say about nationalism, gently mocking the British chauvinism of our two heroes but showing Russian nationalism to be rather dark. An underrated gem, I think.

Fists of Fury (1972)

“We are not sick men!”

This is my first ever Bruce Lee film, and only my second martial arts film not directed by Quentin Tarantino, unless you count all those straight-to-video ninja films I saw as a kid in the ‘80s, so go easy on me!

I enjoyed the film, although it will never be one of my favourites; it’s a mildly entertaining revenge melodrama/tragedy with a token romantic subplot, but Hamlet this ain’t. The fight scenes are first class, but I’m not hugely engaged by fight scenes, much though I appreciate Bruce Lee’s skills, and he can act too.

What struck me was the surprising tone of Chinese nationalism; the film is set in, I think, 1910, during the Century of Humiliation with the Japanese as antagonists and constant emphasis of how the international city of Shanghai is no longer truly Chinese territory, although the brief shots of westerners with their very contemporary cars and clothes destroy the eff t somewhat. But this is nicely handled, the grievances of a “small” country, and does not come across as overly aggressive.

I’m not sure when, or if, I’ll try another film in this genre. But at least it’s light, easy viewing, just the thing for a knackering week like this.

The Godfather (1972)

"He made him an offer he couldn't refuse..."

There's a school of thought, one I'm sympathetic too, that says this is the greatest film ever made, and that's a heavy burden to bear. Can any film survive such expectations? Best to ignore the whole question, I think, and just say that the film is superb.

Few films are as well directed as this, with every shot framed beautifully, and incredible cinematography. Marlon Brando and Al Pacino are both, of course, sublime. And the script is the perfect take of both the Mafia and of the Italian (or Sicilian) immigrant experience in America.

There are so many iconic scenes, from the infamous horse's head to the moment when the murders of all Michael Corleone's enemies are juxtaposed with him affirming his Catholic faith at his nephew' christening. But the scenes hang together perfectly in a tale of how war hero Michael, at first intended to be kept away from the business of the family, is slowly drawn in and takes over from his imposing yet declining father and his fatally hot-headed brother Sonny. The change is convincingly and carefully shown, with a brilliantly inscrutable performance from Pacino. The film pretty much centres on the tension-filled scene with Michael slowly retrieving the gun from the restaurant toilet, ready to Kill for the first time out of family revenge. A film right up there with the very best.

So, yes- this is quite the contrast from Barbarella!

Blacula (1972)

"You shall be... Blacula!"

Oh my God. The hair! The clothes! Must be the early '70s. Great fun, though. This is my first Blaxploitation film but it certainly won't be my last.

On reflection I should probably have watched Dracula: A.D. 1972 first: it's not unlikely that it was an influence. But I loved this. Oh, the plot was generic Hammer-style stuff and there's not a star in sight, but the very moment I heard the line above being declaimed by Dracula I knew I'd love this film.

This is, plot wise, a modern Dracula with '70s black American vernacular and an arrestingly frequent use of the word "faggot" we have a Van Helsing in the form of s detective, and even a Lucy. We have an early '70s depiction of a gay couple. We have an unlikely doppelgänger of Blacula's beloved. And we have a showdown, a final tragic suicide by sunlight, and a genuinely impressive concluding visual effect involving maggots. 

I enjoyed this muchly. Next time I see a blaxploitation film, though, I want Pam Grier!

Dr. Phibes Rises Again (1972)

"What kind of fiend are you?"

"The kind that wins, my friend."

What a disappointing sequel, especially as The Abominable Dr. Phibes was so damned entertaining. How can what is pretty much the same bunch of people come up with such a desperately disappointing follow-up?

Part of the problem is that the set-up is not so much fun- instead of a series of amusingly outre murders we get a plan to use Egyptian mumbo-jumbo to rejuvenate the good doctor and his wife- yes, undiscovered ancient secrets in an early '70s film. Erik von Daniken, anyone? There's a trope for you right there.

On top of this the celebrity cameos are dull. Yes, the splendid Beryl Reid gets to chew the scenery for her brief scene, but Peter Cushing (prominently billed) gets a dull and functional cameo role. Still, at least we get to see a young John Thaw being horrifically killed.

The relationship between Peter Jeffrey's  Inspector Trout and his apoplectic boss, so funny in the previous film, is taken too far here- why should a police superintendent follow one of his inspectors on a jaunt to Egypt?

I suppose there area couple of entertainingly grossly deaths, the best of which involves scorpions, but this really is a film that can safely be avoided.

Vampire Circus (1972)

"They play no games. They are death."

I love old Hammer movies, especially vampire ones. The combination of camp humour and genuine creepiness is such fun, and there's such fun to be had with the subtext, too. Take the opening sequence here, for example. It's your typical Hammer setting: somewhere vaguely Mittel-Europa-ish in what looks like Napoleonic times, and everyone has vaguely German or Slavic names. Yet there's a nasty old Count, living in a suitably gothic castle, who's cuckolding the local gentry by stealing their wives, which has mediaeval droit de seigneur overtones, and drinking the blood of their daughters, which has paedophile overtones. Oh, and he's a vampire. Naturally. There are all sorts of sexual and class subtexts here already.

We also have lots more of the usual tropes- mobs with burning torches, sinister forests, even the music. (Incidentally, does anyone know whether the David Whitaker who composed the music here is the same chap who script edited Doctor Who? It's not a common spelling of the surname so I wonder…). Most obviously, of course, there's a very direct equivalence of vampirism with sex; every single scene of necks being bitten in the whole film is so wonderfully erotic. Anna's lust for the Count probably implies that Albert, her husband, is a bit rubbish in the sack. Of course, being a woman who is seen to enjoy sex, she has to be punished by all the men, by being whipped. Which, er, obviously has no sexual overtones whatsoever.

All of this is just the set-up, though, in a pre-titles sequence, something surprisingly rare in films. A lesser film would have this as its main plot, but here it's a mere preamble to establish a curse and get on with the films main purpose; scaring us, titillating us and reminding us that circuses, and not just clowns, are the creepiest things ever. Because they are, aren't they? The mysteriousness, the feeling of a closed world, the highly dodgy treatment of animals and, yes, the clowns. I'm a little worried to see the treatment of a dwarf as "other" and therefore scary, and also the overtones of Gypsies being sinister ("Hey, woman! Gypsy woman!"), but circuses are well creepy. A circus like this would, I suppose, have been recognisable in 1972 but now, thankfully, it isn't.

The plot is wonderful and satisfying, although it's not at all clear why the townsfolk keep going to the circus if they all suspect it of extreme dodginess! There are some nice touches and some nice set pieces. I like the way the strongman (Dave Prowse, no less!) is unaffected by a crucifix as he's not a vampire, and that the quick-thinking (if wet!) Anton is able to use a crossbow as a crucifix. It all looks gorgeous (particularly the large quotient of beautiful young ladies!) and the direction, by Robert Young, is excellent, with lots of particularly brilliant shots. The film is let down by a lack of charismatic actors, however. The cast is mainly competent, or better, but there are no real lead actors to be seen. The exception is John Moulder-Brown, who is eye-poppingly awful and, unfortunately, in a very major role. With a better cast, this would have been a much better film.

Still, there's not a lot wrong with the script or the look of the film. I'm surprised that Robert Young doesn't seem to have done much else. The later Hammers certainly tend to be a lot more erotic, but there's some very good stuff.

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.