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 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.

Get Carter (1971)

"I'm the villain in the family, remember?"

This is an odd beast, very well-directed, very violent, a very gritty portrayal of various Geordie places with mostly unconvincing accents (Mrs Llamastrangler is from them there parts), an unexpectedly complex plot to put it mildly, and playwright John Osborne as a crimelord called Cyril.

It's also a vivid record of various little things about Britain in 1971- the awful brown and yellow decor; the fact that the Sixties never happened for most working class people; how bloody awful much of the housing was; the casual, unthinking sexism.

But we see all this through the amoral eyes of Jack Carter (Caine)- gangster, killer, probable psychopath, womaniser and general complete bastard, as he investigates his brother's somewhat suspicious death, all done with such cold charisma that you don't question how this apparent Geordie born and bred seems to have entirely gone native in London, accent-wise. Through violence and intimidation rather than detective work the casual womaniser soon discovers that everything revolves around the sexual exploitation of Jack's niece, who may be his daughter, and things get very violent.

It's all very watchable- imaginatively shot, well-cast if you ignore the accents and with an admirable economy of exposition. But, my God, it's complex. And all these young people with names like Doreen...

The Man with the Golden Gun (1974)

"I admit it's a little kinky..."

It says a lot for the recent high standards of Bond films that, while The Man with the Golden Gun is a splendidly enjoyable film in which both Roger Moore and Christopher Lee are excellent, it is in comparison not as good as many of its predecessors, merely very good rather than superb. Still, the run of good Bond films continues.

Lulu's stab at theme tune is a perfectly good one even if it's no one's favourite and she's so Shirley Bassey. And those lyrics... "Who will he bang?" Oo er!

Q is back, this time paired with a ballistics expert played by the superb James Cossins, who I will always remember fondly from a certain episode of Some Mothers do 'Ave 'Em. But it's an unusual Bond film, the villain being an assassin whose grand scheme to monopolise solar power seems almost an afterthought. But seeing solar power as a panacea? And one has to raise an eyebrow, given the current price of oil, that supplies of oil and gas were thought to be exhausted back in 1974, even if the central point is true.

The film is a splendid series of entertaining set pieces, this time in various parts of the Far East. I was a little perturbed to find Sumo wrestlers in Thailand, though: it's almost as though all eastern Asian countries and cultures are considered interchangeable. Our agent in Hong Kong even has convenient relatives in Thailand. Still, schoolgirls kicking ass with martial arts are cool.

I'm not sure about including that annoying sheriff from the last film as comic relief, but the film is another triumph. We get the first of the formulaic endings, too, with M phoning Bond while he's otherwise occupied with Goodnight ("She's just cumming, Sir"). The Roger Moore era is in full swing already.