Jack the Ripper: The First Two

 "A middle class Ripper...?"

Yes, I know, this is a fantastically obscure bit of telly. It's a drama, not a documentary, from 1973. It's a spin-off of a spin-off. Two popular detectives- Detective Superintendents Barlow and Watt from Softly Softly, a spin-off from Z-Cars (and no, I'm not going to blog those very old, mostly missing series!) spend the whole episode just investigating and discussing this very cold case, the documented statements from witnesses, police surgeons and the like being nicely dramatised. The effect is something that feels very much like a documentary, and a good one. But it isn't.

Stratford Johns and Frank Windsor are awfully good, excellent actors with loads of charisma. Even just the two of them intrelligently discussing the case is splendidly entertaining in itself, and that's before we get to the dramatised bits.

This is deeply engrossing. It doesn't neglect the social context of 1888- a time where women and boys are sent out of the room at the inquest as the Ripper's incisions to poor Annie Chapman's genitals are described, yet there are 80,000 prostitutes. There's a scene where Charles Booth describes the poverty of Whitechapel. And impressions begin to emerge. A left-handed killer, middle-aged. One with anatomical knowledge and the decidedly middle class of luxury to dispose of the blood from his clothes and so on. Yet a middle class man who would not look out of place in Whitechapel.

The format works brilliantly at acquainting us with details: instead of a dry narration, we get two senior detectives dicussing, debating, questioning the evidence intelligently. Why, for instance, was Annia Chapman killed at 5.25am, when day was well into the process of dawning, rather than earlier? Why such intricate ceremony, taking quite some time after each murder? I know not. But I'm already engrossed.

Don’t Look Now (1973)

 “The one who’s blind. She’s the one who can see.”

This film has a reputation of one of this country’s famous horror films, despite the fact that it’s largely set in Venice, and one of its two co-stars is Canadian. I am, I’m sure you’ve gathered, blogging this because it’s Halloween weekend. Yet this isn’t the film I was expecting.

The direction is filets and full of nice little tricks and juxtapositions. The whole directorial grammar is that of a horror film. Nicolas Roeg, whose I work I have never previously, to my fault, seen, excels. Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland are excellent. There’s a lot of cleverness here, from the echoes from John’s job being to restore the murky and faded past, which is awfully gothic, to the whole presence of Venice here in this very British yet also very Italian, Giallo film.

Venice is so very present- reminding me of nothing so much as Siouxie and the Banshees with their video for their cover of Dear Prudence- but has never been more dark or creepy.

And yet, good as the film is, it somehow doesn’t particularly impress as a horror film until it’s too late. This film is seen as a classic of the genre, yet beyond the considerable style, I must confess, I find little substance beyond the obvious.

However, the film is very well shot, and Venice is. Wry pressure. I just wish I’d enjoyed this more.

The Creeping Flesh (1973)

 "That is why I shall have to employ someone for whom eythics have no significance..."

This is (SPOILERS, even if I remain vague) a film which relies entirely on a last minute twist, upon which all relies and about which I;m not going to be able to say much. I'm not generally strict on spoilers but this is literally a last minute revelation which raises a poor to average film, based on seemingly silly concepts, to a film based on a script which actually has some merit.

Not that the production can be much faulted: Freddie Francis directs and Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee star in a horror film, not actually by either Hammer nor Amicus, yet which evokes both. The question is not whether or not the film is well made; it's about to what extent the last minute twist redeems what has until then been a ho-hum film.

There, I suppose, feminist subtexts here, about how feminine expressions of sexuality are seen, in quite horrifying scenes involving mother and daughter, about how expressions of female sexuality are seen firstly as invitations to rape and, upon resistance, as insanity.

The poster decives in that the skeleton, while impressive-looking, is not seen moving until a brief, dramatic scene at the end of the film. Yet there is an interesting feminist subtext here in a script which takes its time to reveal what is really going on while appering really quite silly for most of its length. It's alsoa film in which awidowed Cushing is made to mourn his late wife.

This is an interesting curiosity, perhaps. But the last minute twist does not save it from mediocrity.

The Vault of Horror (1973)

 "No money in horror..."

I've seen lots of Amicus portmanteau horror films by now and enjoyed them all to a greater or lesser extent. This is easily the best of the lot.

Partly it's that this time around the tales are all splendidly gleeful in their ghoulish bad taste as the five men who enter the lift each receive their magnificently grand guignol comeuppance. A greedy murderer ends up having blood dispensed from his neck like wine from a wine box. An obsessively nagging husband who insists on neatness has his organs neatly displayed in jars after driving his wife to murder. An insurance fraudster is buried alive and meets his death. And so on, all amongst the most '70s clothing and interior decor that has ever been immortalised in film. 

It helps that Roy Ward Baker imbues the film with some visually witty touches, such as our insurance fraudster reading a novelisation of Tales from the Crypt, to which this is a semi-sequel. The script, too, is wittier and more gleeful this time round.

Yet what really makes this film shine, well-made as it is, is a superb cast full of the sort of well-known character actors who (Terry-Thomas aside) were not quite stars at the time. Standout performances from Glynis Johns and a splendidly vengeful, bizarrely bearded and deeply charismatic Tom Baker are a huge part of the film's success- and a success it is: I care not for the views po-faced contemporary critics.

Westworld (1973)

" Doesn't anything work around here?"#

This surprisingly short film is rather good, unsurprisingly for a film with its reputation. It is, however, both predictable and unpredictable, in a way that works extremely well. This may not be quite up there with the greates, but it's bubbling under.

Michael Crichton writes and directs, and the strength of thefilm lies in his strong premise- realistic robots, "designed by computers", areused to create three realistic theme parks- Westworld, Medievalworld and Romanworld, the latter of which seems to be based on decadence and is therefore barely seen.

Interestingly, the plot needs no great twists as the premise is explored and the threat- the robots going wrong and killing people, is simply allowed to happen wthout too much focus either on why this is happening or the backstory behind it.

The whole thing is pretty much just played out straight. The premise is the premise, and that's that. Even though the technology level is implicitly futuristic the fashions, attitudes and even computers are completely and utterly 1973. Exposition may be obvious- we begin with a TV advert for the resort and we have a room of backroom technicians to act as chorus- but it works. Even our two protagonists are used to do plenty of obvious exposition, with John being a veteran and Peter new. Again, though, this works.

This is an example of a film which works by virtue of a superb premise, and has the confidence to simply let it be itself and play out. There's a certain amount of playing it safe here, but there's no doubt that the premise is bloody brilliant, and the film is very good indeed.

Godzilla vs Megalon (1973)

“Jet Jaguar grew up."

This film is utterly, hopelessly, delightfully bonkers. Let's briefly examine the plot: an underwater civilisation that was submerged three million years is somewhat irked by a nuclear test (usual subtext then) and sends a monster called Megalon to destroy Tokyo in revenge, and totally not, say, New York or Vladivostok. Oh, and there are some human characters (not a single female in the whole film!) who have invented a frienly and very Japanese robot which, randomly, can change size to fight monsters. Oh, and the sea people call upon their alien mate to send Gigan from the last film, because the studio spent money on the prop and they're bloody well going to use this.

We can conclude two things from this. One: Japan was clearly reading Erich Von Daniken as much as everybody else in 1973. Two: this is B movie gold.

What's not to love here? I mean, Godzilla and the robot even shake hands after defeating the body. Oh, and the sea people have some vague connection to Easter Island- those megaliths are three million years old, apparently. And some of the sea people, who live under the Pacific, are Caucasian. But we probably ought to worry less about this and more about how these humans, who diverged three million years ago, seem to be anatomically modern. But let's not, and nor should we think too hard about how pe-modern hominids could have had such a hi-tech civilisation.

This is enormously entertaining, delihtfully dated and superbly un-selfconscious fun. More please.

Horror Hospital (1973)

"There's no need to get so uptight about this. I'm not going to rape you."

I was expecting this to be a cheesy British horror film typical of the horror films of its era. I was wrong. It's a serious, genuinely creepy and extremely well directed work of body horror and with a heavy subtext of a generational clash between the young baby boomer generation and its jealous elders who want to get all that free love by any means necessary.

Michael Gough absolutely shines as the villainous lead, pretty much the equal of a Lee or a Cushing. It's good to see Skip Martin, although it's sad how his dwarf character is fatally bullied even by the "heroes".

I'm not saying this is up there with the best horrors, of course, but it's effectively shot, from the opening set piece of the fleeing, bloodied couple being decapitated by the blade in the car to the operation on Judy, shot from above. And the visceral horror of Dr Storm lobotomising his young victims (sex slaves?) is effectively disturbing. Incongruously there's a glam rock band at the start which is actually not bad, and even more incongruously there's Dennis Price as a camp blackmailer who meets the inevitable gruesome death that being gay in a film tended to lead to back in the early '70s.

Watching it now, in our very homebody 2020, it's also an unexpectedly charming period piece for the days of train carriage compartments, bands being called "groups" and gratuitous sex. The main character Jason may be a bit of a lecherous arse, but this film is much better than you'd expect, and well worth seeing.

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1973)

“Every voyage has its own flavour.”

It took fifteen years for a sort of sequel to be made to The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad. It was well worth the wait.

Oddly enough, I’ve seen this film before, about fifteen years ago. I didn’t like it much- and yes, perhaps Gordon Hessler’s direction isn’t the most exciting. But we have a splendid stop motion Kali as the action centrepiece from the great Ray Harryhausen. We have Caroline Munro. We have a truly memorable and magnificent villain in Shura, courtesy of the truly extraordinary Tom Baker, before he was famous.

But John Philip Law is superb as a witty, likeable, worldly wise Sinbad who is not immune to greed or cynicism but is fundamentally kind, freeing the beautiful Margiana when he has the chance to enslave her. There’s a heartwarming love story between them, as well as a nice ending where the heroic yet also roguish Sinbad turns down a crown because he loves freedom, and a king can never be free.

So, while this film is of course centred around Harryhausen's magnificent creations- Kali, the cyclops centaur, and the hippogriff that turns up briefly at the end, and while the plot is more than a little similar to the previous film (which was, to be fair, some time ago), the excellent script from Brian Clements gices us wit, comedy and character alongside the adventure. A superb film.

Enter the Dragon (1973)

“Boards don’t hit back.”

This film is surprisingly excellent- very Hollywood compared to the other Bruce Lee stuff I’ve seen but very, very good. It is, of course, absolutely a James Bond film though.

Consider the plot: a rebel Shaolin monk abandons the teachings of his temple to, er, but a private island and run a drug and sex slavery operation under cover of martial arts contests while surrounded by loads of henchman. Yep, that’s a Bond villain all right. Plus, our hero is hired by a mysterious British chap called Braithwaite to infiltrate said Bond villain’s lair as a kind of spy. Yep, all very Bond film so far.

This is, of course, sort of a martial arts film too, but there are times you’d forget it wasn’t a Bond film that happened to have lots of martial arts in it. So much so that Lee and Braithwaite remind us early on that guns are banned from the film... er, island, because “any bloody fool can pull a trigger”.

Bruce Lee is a charismatic star, and the fighting scenes are obviously impressive. But the film is so good, in spite of the differences from the generally historical tenor of Lee’s other work, precisely because it successfully takes on the template of a Bond film. There are other nice touches too- we emphasise with Williams after the racism he experiences from cops in LA, who get their just desserts. The direction is very good, and the early sequences show off Hong Kong very well. This is a genuinely impressive film, and far from the sort of kitsch martial arts film you’d often get at the time.

The Three Musketeers (1973)

“You cannot go to the Queen with dirty legs...”

I hadn’t seen this before, amazingly, so I certainly raised an eyebrow when the opening credits revealed this film to have been scripted by George MacDonald Fraser. This gives certain expectations and, true to form, the film turns out to be a highly entertaining and rather bawdy comedy that has a lot of fun with the culture of realpolitik and duelling that prevailed in the France of Louis XIII. This is a rather straight adaptation of the novel, albeit one in which Faye Dunaway as Milady gets oddly little screen time, but one that adds a splendidly comical gloss to what was hardly the most serious novel to begin with.

This is a decadent France reigned, but not ruled over by the feckless Louis XIII, not half the man his father was or, indeed, his son will be, leaving a vacuum to be filled by the ambitious Cardinal Richelieu, a competent but oddly miscast Charlton Heston, with the far more suitable Christopher Lee in a lesser role. Perhaps they just needed a big Hollywood name, but why hardly use Faye Dunaway?

Regardless, the whole thing looks gorgeous, odd though the Hong Kong martial arts opening may be, and the cast is quite magnificent. Michael York is the perfect bumbling D’Artagnan for this film,  Raquel Welch is the perfect sultry Constance, and Christopher Lee mystifies is all A’s to why he isn’t playing the Cardinal. The film is pretty much stolen by the splendid comic acting of Spike Milligan though, who shoes us what a bloody comic genius he is.

I don’t think I’ve seen a finer version yet than this.

The Wicker Man (1973)

“We’re a deeply religious people...”

 This is the second time I've seen this film, and the subtext truly grows with reviewing. The tale of Sergeant Howie (decent Scottish accent from Edwood Woodwood, says the Englishman), policeman, virgin and devout Christian who investigates a young girl’s disappearance on a Pagan island in the Highlands of Scotland that turns out to be a terrifying trap.

We all know the simple plot, I’m sure; what matters is how it unfolds until the iconic ending, with Howie slowly finding how very different this island is. But this is also a film about, to use a contemporary phrase, the “permissive society”; Howie stands for 1950s Christian values and is horrified by the free love and young people’s music he finds everywhere. Interestingly, the film presents neither side with much positivity- Howie may be a prig, and the islanders a lot more fun, but there’s a very dark practice at the heart of their beliefs.

Interest to declare; I’m an atheist, but one with no particular beef with Christianity, itself a huge range of beliefs. But I’m happy to see this film not falling into the lazy thinking that Christianity is bad and vaguely remembered Paganism was much cuddlier and more tolerant; that’s a very shaky notion. Pagans may have sometimes (not always) been more relaxed about sex, and less keen to police the beliefs of others, but there were some very dark rituals and, sadly unaddressed here, just as much institutional sexism. None of which means that a singing, naked Britt Ella d is not, er, pleasant to behold.

Christopher Lee’s role in this, his favourite of his own films, is surprisingly modest but essential for the backstory, and his charismatic presence is central to everything. But Edward Woodward gives a less likeable but superbly convincing performance which makes him the true hero of the film. One of this country’s greatest cinematic achievements, then, and certainly a film which rewards repeated viewings.

The Day of the Jackal (1973)

"How did you know whose telephone to tap?"

"I didn't. So I tapped all of them."

 I read the novel in my teens, and very quickly. It's not just that it's a somewhat unputdownable thrilller with no pretensions to literary ambition, but the prose was extraordinary basic: bare, functional, impossible to praise or criticise. Indeed, probably the best adjective for Frederick Forsyth's prose is "absent" but it does its job for what is probably Forsyth's best novel in a series of ever-diminishing returns.

I mention this because the film is an extraordinary faithful adaptation. Fred Zinnemann shows admirable restraint in following the style of the book and allowing the narrative to do its natural job with no unnecessary directorial flourishes to take us out of the style. He's unafraid to have long periods of silence if that's how best to tell the story and ends up producing a film that is slow, unhurried yet pacy. That's as much of a talent as any directorial trick.

Edward Fox is superb, of course, playing his rather flat cipher of a character, and the same is true of the impressive cast of largely British character actors. But what makes this film is the story- a slow, methodical look at how a high profile assassination is carried out in a pre-digital, pre-surveillance age that is little more than a decade before my time; I can still remember those French bank vans from trips to France as a young child in the early '80s. This is an age where it is relatively easy to fake documents yet the French state still practises both torture and judicial killing. Social attitudes may have improved since 1963 but it's easy to be jealous of the privacy that could be enjoyed back then.

Theatre of Blood (1973)

"Critics all make errors. We're only human."

"An opinion I find myself incapable of sharing!"

Before I'd even watched a frame of this it was abundantly clear that it was spiritually a second sequel to The Abominable Dr. Phibes; Vincent Price plays an eccentric craving revenge and drawn to carrying out a series of grotesque murders upon a particular theme. In this case, with Edward Lionheart being a bad Shakespearean actor (I wonder how Price reacted to being offered the part of a ham actor...?), the theme of the murders is Shakespeare, the Titus Andronicus one naturally being the best, the play being just as Grand Guignol as the film itself.

Such a premise cannot fail and, indeed, it doesn't. Unlike the Dr. Phibes films this is set in the present day, but otherwise it feels much the same and follows the same template. The plot may be predictable but it's all about the spectacle. Diana Rigg is superb as Lionheart's daughter and accomplice and the murdered critics include the likes of Arthur Lowe and Dennis Price. We even get a scene, Avengers fans, in which Diana Rigg and Ian Hendry are in a car together.

It may not be big, it may not be clever- although it certainly appeals to the Shakespeare geek- but it sure is fun.

Live and Let Die (1973)

"There's no sense in going out half-cocked..."

Well then. It seems there's a possible new candidate for best Bond film so far. Live and Let Die is brilliant, crammed with set piece after set piece, Roger Moore is charismatic and compelling from the word go- he is Bond, straight away- and Yaphet Kotto as Dr Kananga may be the best Bond villain yet. All this and we also get Jane Seymour as a decidedly quirky Bond girl. Where's Q, though?

I'll leave others to decide whether or not the depiction of black Americans and the Carribbean is racist or not (sooo many afros!), but Baron Samedi and the snake are cool, and I love the killings with the coffin that make a great pre-titles sequence. Unlike On Her Majesty's Secret Service, this time we don't see the new James Bond until after the opening titles, dragging out the suspense.

So much cool stuff- alligators, Tee Hee's hand, tarot cards,  boat chase across the Louisiana bayou and a comedy sheriff: this is a very different but very impressive Bond film.

Again, though, why are so many MI6  agents operating in America when, you know, the CIA exists?

The Exorcist (1973)

"You`re telling me that I should take my daughter to a witch doctor? Is that it?'

I can`t quite believe that I`m nearly thirty-seven and I hadn`t seen this superlative film until now. I suppose we all have a list of seminal cinematic masterpieces that we`ve never quite got round to seeing, but I really had no excuses; I like my horror, and this is one of that select group of auteur-led films made in the early Seventies that pretty much constitute a Hollywood golden age. It`s interesting to watch in the light of its influence on popular culture; this is where we establish the trope of words recorded backwards being Satanic, hence that stupid court case for Judas Priest the following decade. And it`s weird, in the light of The Omen being three years later, that the flawed, doubting priest should be called Damien.

The film is gorgeously shot throughout, as we would expect, and we spend some time establishing that Regan is a nice, normal girl before anything happened,the daughter of a film star, rich, living in a large house with staff. We also establish Father Damien as a troubled man, losing his faith ad having to make difficult decisions about his mother. It`s also fascinating to get some footage of northern Iraq, six years before Saddam Hussein.

I`ve no idea how this relates to the original novel, but the storytelling is elegantly done and the characters, even minor ones such as William Kindeman, the detective, are multi-dimensional. The ending, quick though it is, is nicely foreshadowed; Merrin arrogantly refuses to hear about the history of the case from Damien, and this hubris leads to the old man`s nemesis. Damien is established early on as losing his faith, feels guilt about his treatment of his elderly mother and (as the demon later mentions) fails to stop and help a beggar. His death is ambiguous; is it martyrdom or suicide? Does he die unshriven.

A quick note; this film, while controversial with many, is famously approved of by the Vatican, for obvious reasons; its portrayal of the Roman Catholic hierarchy is extremely positive. But it never, for me, crosses the line into proselytising. The purpose of the film is to entertain and frighten, nothing more.

The film`s justified selling point is the depiction of the possessed Regan; the voice, make-up and special effects are indeed extraordinary, but it is the direction that truly elevates these scenes. The very quick glimpse of the demon early on, just a few frames, is enormously powerful. These scenes are rationed until the end of the film; each individual glimpse of the superlative make-up, the head turning 360 degrees, and the moving bed are allowed to have maximum impact.

I can`t praise this film enough. There are many imitations but this is the real deal, through sheer film-making ability. Undoubtedly one of the greatest horror films ever.