Out of This World: Little Lost Robot

 "The wheels of Dr Calvin grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small."

This is the first episode I've ever blogged of this fourteen episode ITV series of plays from 1962, all science fiction, whether original or adaptations. It is also, barring a near-miracle, the last, as this episode is the only one to survive the junkings to which British television was so very prone. This being ITV, this time we cannot blame Pamela Nash.

I won't say much about thestory, which I recall from the original I, Robot short story. There is, it must be said, an odd change in that the robot with the modified First Law is said to be able to kill, which it is not: it can merely passively allow a human to come to harm. There was, I suppose, a fear that this, a stoiry of ideas, was too talky and lacking in action. Yet TV of this era was pretty much theatre with a big camera pointing at it. Talky is no sin.

Changes aside, I very much enjoyed this. It is a very early 's view of the future, of course: by 2039 we shall be orbiting Saturn and beginning to master hyperspace with our robot slaves, apparently. The robots themselves look... well, hilarious, and I say that with affection. The banks of computers, at lreast, look way cooler than real computers eventually would.

What makes this adaptation a triumph, however, is Maxine Audley's extraordinary performance as Susan Calvin. It's extraordinarily that she is, I think, still the only person to have played the part. Yet she will be a tough act to follow. This adaptation is, perhaps, just what it is. But it's a very nice little artifact. The intro from the actual Boris Karloff is just a bonus.

The Raven (1963)

 "But you'd be kiled!"

"I do hope not..."

I haven't checked how many of Roger Corman's Poe films I've seen. It's a lot. It's possible, with this film, I've seen them all. 

They are, of course, all B movies, bless them. They all acknowledge the fun side of that. Corman has always understood the power of kitsch... except in Frankenstein Unbound. This film makes me wonder if the tongue in cheek subtletiesof his other Poe films are wittier than they come across, Because this film is full of ironic, fourth wall- threatenning humour.

Understandably, many films are based on novels or plays. Few films are based on poems, yet this film begins with a recital of Poe's masterpiece- I love the poem, unfashionable thought it is; compare it to the adolescent nature-wanking drivel of John Keats- and just has fun.

Vincent Price is a great avtor, one who deserved more than B movies. Here he shows his prowess at deadpan humour. Peter Lorre not so much, but you can't take your eyes off him Hazel Court is more of the classy straight actress, but her performance works very well indeed. Boris Karloff cannot fail to be the consummate evil sorcerer. He was born to play such a role.

Yet Jack Nicholson- yes, he was once this young- turns out to be a bloody good comic actor, moving beyond the point of treating B movie characters like Shakespeare, as he was previously known to do, and showing a real comic timing. 

This film is a joy, despite the tenuous connection to Poe, and the cast is fascinating. So is the deliciosly garish direction, exalting in the possibility of Technicolor.

I know this film is very silly, but I love it.

The Ghoul (1933)

 "I shall be among the trees, waiting..."

There are quite a few '30s horror films, in the wake of Frankenstein, starring Boris Karloff. They are, as you would expect B movies. They have their charms, I'm rather fond of them, but you wouldn't mostly say they were actually very good.

Except this one.

Plot-wise, it's nothing special: an old man with a stolen Egyptian artifact manages to cheat death by means of ancient yet cursed magic. Yet the cast is startlingly excellent. Not only is there Karloff but also a typically camp Ernest Thesiger, a delightfully dastardly Cedric Harwicke, and even an alarmingly young and splendidly splenetic Anthony Bushelll as our heroic yet delightfully rude leading man. We even get Ralph bloody Richardson.

The film is well shot, certainly more so than one would expect for a B movie in the period. There are some nice touches- the leading lady's friend has a genuinely funny infatuation with a visiting "sheikh", clearly not having got over Rudolph Valentino. There's a comedy vicar who turns out to be not quite what he seems. Most of all, there's genuine suspense so that, despite the slow pace, there's none of the dragging quality often found with these sorts of films. 

An unexpectedly pleasant surprisew. Even Karloff's relatively limited screen time can't spoil this one.

Black Sabbath (1963)

 "I do hope you haven't come alone..."

What is this that stands before me? Figure in black that points at me? Well, no, it's Mario Bava's most famous film, a highlight of Boris Karloff's career and, of course, famously seen at the cinema by one Geezer Butler.

It's also an extraordinarily shot film, wit studio and location made to look creepily effective by means of camera framing, movement and a thoughtful deployment of a colour palette based around magenta and green. This is a film that plays around, and has fun with, the concept of what is a horror B movie and what is a more serious film, and deliberately blurs the distinction. It's a portmanteau film based on short stories by such names as Chekhov, Tolstoy and Maupassant, yet the script cheerfully diverges from the source material in the pursuit of the grand guignol, artistically depicted.

The three tales are each very different, with effective twists, but all have in common the very effective use of tension- as well as the use of the camera to make elements that may look cheap or ineffective in the hands of a lesser director look terrifying. The first tale has overtones of male violence against women, yet is told from a female perspective (and gaze), while the second tale, with Karloff truly oustanding, is a clever take on the vampire myth, moving it to a creepy rutal Russia of Czernobog gloom. The third tale may be the slightest, but it perfectly illustrates how much Bava can do, even with relatively basic material, to wring the maximum amount of effectively paced and creepily shot horror out of whatever he's given with.

An impressive film but although, yes, Karloff is ecelent, essentially this is an example of a film raised from the ordinary to the extraordinary by superb direction. Bava is magnificent.

The Old Dark House (1932)

"Even Welsh doesn't sound like that!"

I've been somewhat remiss in leaving it until now, when I'm forty-two years old, to see this excellent film (who cares about some dodgy attempts at British accents?) which is not at all the different-film-studio-but-pretty-much-Universal-horror type film I expected, in spite of he present of James Whale and Boris Karloff and a fair few chills. This is no horror film.

No; beyond the superficial genre tropes is a substantial script from J.B. Priestley himself, the famed Yorkshire intellectual of the early twentieth century, with fascinating characters and very real-sounding dialogue which now, eighty-seven years after the film was released, brings the past to life in a way few old films can. These people may be from a different age but they feel very real from the argument in the first scene onwards.

The cast is wonderful. Yes, Karloff is wasted as the mute butler in a role similar to last year's Frankenstein, but Ernest Thesiger delights as the extremely camp Horace and Charles Laughton shines as the rich but tragic, and very northern, Sir William. The cast is a collection of grotesques and sympathetic individuals, but it's the characters and cast, rather than the almost non-existent plot, that makes this film sing with atmosphere, pathos, danger and tension, in spite of the Charlotte Bronte madman in the attic. And at the centre of it all is the visionary and magnificent James Whale.

The Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

"He's a very queer looking gentleman, Sir."

This isn't the first time I’ve seen this film, of course, but it’s been a bit of a while. It’s as good as ever this time round, of course, one of cinema’s great sequels, but a different experience after so many years. It’s a lot more noticeable this time, for one thing, how the delightfully camp Dr. Pretorius, making Henry Frankenstein look even more neurotic by comparison, strives to separate Henry from his heterosexual relationship so the two of them can do things together of which society disapproves, for which Pretorius has been banned from academia, and which are generally considered (it being a vague Romantic period or 1935, depending on how diabetic we wish to be) to be going against God. Hmm. What are we saying here, Mr Whale? Incidentally, I love the little people with their silly costumes.

The other thing that surprised me this time round is just how late in the film the “Bride” appears; just for the last four minutes. Elsa Lanchester looks and is superb, however. And it is of course the real tragedy that the monster, having known a little friendship from a blind man rather keen to push smoking on to him (“No, no, this is good. Smoke- you try.”), is hated by all and the fact that his intended mate is terrified of him too is simply the final straw. He can have no connection with others, thus no happiness, and so he wants to die- bringing Pretorius and the Bride with him. There’s a hint of violent male attitudes towards rejection by women there, I think. It’s also hard to keep my inner Alan Partridge in check as both the title “Bride of Frankenstein” and the fact that Pretorius says the line for no diegetic reason at his moment of triumph seems to call the monster “Frankenstein”. But it’s hard to deny what an absolute work of genius this film is.

Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968)

"It's a bit like one of those old houses in horror films."

"I see what you mean. It's like Boris Karloff's going to pop up any minute..."

Wow. A late '60s horror film with a very genre cast (what a cast though!) that manages to be not at all kitsch as its Hammer and Amicus cousins usually are but, in spite of being very much full of the usual cliched tropes, is actually a film of genuine quality. Then again, it's scripted by the two men behind The Web of Fear.

Christopher Lee and Boris Karloff both excel in roles that suit their perspective brands of silky, sinister charisma, although sadly Barbara Steele's role is too small to be worth much comment. Mark Eden does well as the hero, although it's a shame that Robert gets such a tiresomely and predictably rapey scene with Virginia Wetherell's Eve, something that dates the film every bit as much as the '60s fire engine at the end.

The true star is the script, though- this tale of a witch burned unjustly at the stake under Cromwell and seeking bloody revenge over the centuries involving violence, fear and, er, a fair bit of BDSM from the very start, and centred around an old house with a hidden past may be typically gothic fare with a huge number of horror film cliches all present and correct right down to the petrol pump attendant warning us off the house in question, but the execution is undeniably superb. Don't mistake it for one of the many films of a similar type with a similar cast at a similar time; this one is well worth watching.

The Terror (1963)

"Mark you, you are getting yourself into things beyond your understanding!"

Roger Corman, O Roger Corman, you have your tropes. I mean, this film isn't even based on a Poe story but it might as well be. It's all typically gothic, set in "the remains of a noble house" and full of the sinister suggestion that the sins of the past may come to find us. Oh, and we have Boris Karloff and Jack Nicholson in the same film, a witch, a bloke getting his eyes pecked out by a bird, and Nicholson being delightfully excessive throughout in really trying to find motivation in the cipher of a character he's playing; he actually manages to imbue his shitty lines with some depth. Wow.

But let's not be too harsh; this is a fun film and exactly what you'd expect from Corman. It's a precious artifact from those last few years of Boris Karloff's life in which he was again fashionable, and both he and Nicholson are excellent in a competent film, if a cheap one and formulaic in the best possible way. This is pure distilled Corman, with two excellent performances from its leads, so much so that we can avoid the unfortunate continuity error about when Ilsa is supposed to have died, and the frankly implausible twist about the Baron that comes at the end. What counts is atmosphere, and Karloff, and Nicholson. Typical Corman in the best possible way.

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.

The Mummy (1932)

“Maybe he got too gay with the virgins in the temple?”

More Firefly tomorrow, but tonight is Hallowe'en. I couldn't resist a classic horror film!

Wow. This is so much better than the later Hammer version. The story’s a lot more coherent, for a start, even if the plot is borrowed straight from Universal’s Dracula from the previous year, with Ardath Bey as the Count (he even pays a social call on our heroes!), Helen as Mina, and Muller and Van Helsing. It even contains some lavish location scenes. I’m sure I recognised the Tomb of Hatshepsut (I’ve been there, you know!) and I was amazed to read that it was all filmed in Southern California.

Boris Karloff is great as the sinister Ardath Bey (that’s an oddly Ottoman title for 1932, surely?), an intelligent and eloquent villain so different from Frankenstein’s Monster and so much more interesting than a lumbering mummy with arms outstretched. Also interesting is that Imhotep’s background should hinge so strongly on the idea of being alive- very evocative of Poe. Mercifully, unlike the later Hammer film, there are no horrible scenes of tongues being removed.

Excellent as Karloff is, though, and good though it is to see him being so brilliant in a speaking role, there’s something more than a little uncomfortable about seeing Karloff, with his Anglo-Indian heritage, playing the part of the ethnic “other”. Yes, it’s a mummy film, and made in 1932 to boot; it’s hardly surprising to see sinister foreign characters in a film like this, but it’s a little awkward to watch in this day and age. Also raising an inevitable eyebrow is the moment where Helen, the only woman in the film, is simply told to go to bed by all the men!

Still, 1930’s social attitudes aside, this is a well-paced thriller with a real sense of threat, and none of the campness of James Whale’s stuff. The plot is far less convoluted, and makes far more sense, than in the later Hammer film (even if it owes an awful lot to Bram Stoker). Setting the whole thing in Egypt makes the whole thing much more evocative, although of course such a thing would be far easier for a film made at the height of the British Empire than for one made during Nasser’s rule!

There are a few moments which particularly stand out; the young man’s laughter, as he is driven mad by the sight of Imhotep coming to life, is hard to drive from the mind. So is the hilariously blatant “as you know, Bob” exposition, as two random blokes whom we never see again see fit to introduce Helen to us at the party! But for the most part the film is taut and tense. There’s a powerful sense of the Gothic, with an ancient magical power from the past threatening to return to the present, and set against the modern world of science and reason. Ardath Bey even has a rather fab scrying pool, which he uses to cause heart attacks in people who get up his nose. Brr.

The ending is quite hilarious in how closely it follows Dracula, with the film’s very own Van Helsing using the film’s very own Mina as bait in a trap for the film’s very own Count Dracula. But there’s a rather pleasing departure from this at the climax, as Helen (well, Ankhenesamun), rejects Imhotep and destroys him by magic. His centuries of suffering out of “love” for her are all for nothing!

Frankenstein (1931)

“It’s alive!”

Hooray! The real life stuff has finished and I can start blogging again as normal. Time for a film, methinks. I’ve done a lot of Hammer; it’s time to do a Universal.

I love the bloke in the tux at the start with his wonderfully camp introduction. It sets the tone for the whole film, which is essentially a great big knowing wink. The credits are interesting, too: Mary Shelley is credited as “Mrs Percy B. Shelley” (it’s feminism gone mad!), and Boris Karloff is referred to as “?”, only being named in the closing credits.

The look of the film is just as stylised and atmospheric, paying no heed to realism and with no tree left ungnarled, as per the Hammers we’ve covered so far, but the whole thing seems to be shot so as to be a lot more claustrophobic. It’s also striking that everyone is in (for 1931) modern dress, and the setting seems to be firmly Bavarian (see the peasants’ costumes) rather than the mittel-European vagueness of Hammer.

For all that he starts off with grave robbing and stealing brains from dissection labs, Henry Frankenstein (why the name change?) is nothing like as nasty as the later Cushing version. Colin Clive does a great job of portraying his monomania, but as soon as his family performs an intervention halfway through the film he comes to his senses, and even leads a mob of baying peasants after the monster at the end. He seems to get away with rather a lot really. I was left mouth agape at the sight of Igor, whose name is Fritz, climbing up a not-very-solid gallows, in defiance of all health-and safety standards.

The early scene with the lecture is hilarious, with the lecturer telling his students with a straight face that he can physically tell the difference between a “criminal” brain and a “normal” brain! We’re also reminded that it’s 1931 by the fact that he goes on to say “Thank you, gentlemen- the class is dismissed,” in spite of the fact that at least a good third of the students seem to be women.

Elizabeth (token love interest and token woman) and Moritz are characters who exist only to advance the plot and be a bit wet, and are given dialogue so trite that it has to be deliberate; this is clearly James Whale having a laugh with the tropes. Even the performances of both actors seem to be deliberately wooden. And Baron Frankenstein, Henry’s grumpy, bibulous yet loveable old dad, is the funniest character in the film, who quite rightly gets the last word.

Funny though this film is, though, it’s full of iconic moments, and the moment where the monster is raised to the skylight to be infused with life as his creator raves that “Now I know what it feels like to be God!” is justly iconic. It’s is justly iconic. It’s easy to take for granted, too, how fantastic the monster’s make-up is, so familiar has it become. And our first glimpse of the monster’s face is simple but powerful. Even so, this doesn’t really feel like a horror film; there’s plenty of room for some archly ridiculous line about Frankenstein having found the “great ray”, beyond ultraviolet, which brought life into the world. Er, how scientifically rigorous.

The monster kills Igor, whose name is Fritz, but he was asking for it, frankly. It’s only when Dr. Waldman is killed that we realise the monster has become truly dangerous. The scene between the monster and the girl is the heart of the film, driving home the monster’s childlike innocence at the same time as we see it do the deed that puts it beyond redemption. Even here, though, the monster shows no malice. It is horrified and upset to see the little girl sink into the lake.

The scene of the girl’s father, numbed with grief, carrying his dead daughter towards the burgomeister is sad and effective, but I’m not sure how he realises she’s been murdered, or that there’s some unseen murderer hiding bin the woods. And I don’t think much of this society’s sense of justice, with the authorities happy to organise lynch mobs with not the slightest shred of evidence! Still, there’s no denying that the ending, with the mill quickly catching fire and Karloff brilliantly portraying the monster’s fear, is superb. There’s no way it can get out of that, right?