The Haunting (1963)

 "It was an evil house from the beginning- a house that was born bad!"

This may be the quintessential, the perfect haunted house movie. It's also a serious contender for the best and most terrifying horror movie ever made.

It won't satisfy fans of gore, of course. The fear is abstract and unseen, just sound and subtle but terrifying hints of something malevolent in this house with a long, evil past. The horror is conveyed by the performances and, especially, by the extraordinary direction of Robert Wise: few things in this world are more terrifying than the use of the camera in this film. And there's a nicely metatextual touch in that part of what makes the house so unnerving is the unnatural angles, a nice little nod to German Expressionism.

Yet, as with many such horror films, the focus is on one tragic young woman, Eleanor- naive, of limited horizons, spending her whole adulthood caring for her controlling mother in a dysfunctional family. No wonder she's attracted to the calm, urbane Dr Markway. He, on the other hand, seems to represent the veneer that is civilisation, which likes to think it is in control of the forces that truly shape everything... 

There's a lot going on here, thematically, behind the horror. Eleanor's background is complex, tragic and shown to us without didacticism. Yet it seems to me that, ultimately, the film is about the cycle of abuse, a truly terrible thing. This is a truly great film.

A couple of interesting points, mind. I was surprised to see the diminutive "Nell" for "Eleanor" used as late as 1963; it feels much more archaic than that, being a contraction of "Mine Eleanor". And then there's the dialogue about creepy statues moving when one isn't looking at them.. don't blink!

Oedipus the King (1986 TV Film)

 "Judge no man's life until he's dead!"

This is the first of three TV films made for the BBC, in 1986, of Sophocles' "Theban Plays", all both translated and directed by Don Taylor, known to this blog for being recently noted as a director in Dead of Night. The Theban plays are an odd beast, really. They were never intended as a sequence, all are quite unconnected, so this isn't like Aeschylus' Oresteia, a slightly earlier BBC version of which I blogged a while ago.

Anyway, there's a certain inherent awkwardness about this particular play, isn't there? More than any other Ancient Greek play, we all know the plot; we come pre-spoiled. And, well, it's icky. About as icky as plots come.

So the first half of the play consists of the slow unravelling of a mystery which, for us viewers, is already known. The total lack of dramatic irony is less of a problem than might be expected, though. The process of unravelling what happened- relying rather more on hearsay and soothsayers than anything we moderns may regard as proper policing- is entertaining. And we get to know Michael Pennington's assured and kingly Oedipus, confident in his own wisdom and cursing the criminal, with no idea of the sheer horror that is to befall him. Claire Bloom is superb as Jocasta, at first sceptical and then consumed with horror and denial of a truth too awful to contemplate. The great John Gielgud gets a nice little cameo.

But it's the last few scenes where things get unexpectedly intense. Because the words hammer home that Oedipus was always doomed, he never did have any agency. None of this is his fault: he did all he could to avoid the terrible prophecy. Yet fulfil it he did, and he must suffer. As the chorus says 'Ignorance made you happy; the truth has made you blind'. She here he is, a blind beggar, doomed to exile and misery, all waiting for him from the moment he was born. And it gets even worse, with Oedipus really doubling down on his own degradation, wishing he could lose his hearing as well as his sight and, perhaps worst of all, making it clear that he expects to remain blind in the underworld.

And the way this production, purposely stagy though it is, reveals Oedipus' blindness is... effective to say the least.

Yeah... that's dark. Is Sophocles always this dark? The next two plays will be interesting...

Richard III (1955)

 "Conscience is a word that cowards use..."

Ah, Richard III. Maybe he killed the princes, maybe he didn't. Maybe he was a tyrant, maybe he was a decent bloke and a goodand poular king. Certainly the Tudor propaganda- Shakespeare very much included- doesn't help his reputation.But one thing must be said: Laurence Olivier's mullet here is utterly horrifying. And on the evidence of portraits this is one crime of which Richard III is assuredly very guilty indeed.

This film, though, is as superlative as one might expect, given the director and the cast crammed with first class classical actors, including Claire Bloom, John Gielgud, Ralph Richardson and at least one Thorndike. Not that there isn't actor spotting fun to be had, of courdse. We get John Laurie of Dad's Army fame, plus Michael Gough as a murderer gets a line or two.

The sets are, perhaps, rather more dated than the acting. This is a very brightly coloured, Adventures of Robin Hood take on the late Middle Ages. The direction and cinematography are deliberately conventional and unexceptional, despite some creative use of lighting. Yet the performances and, of course, the words overwhelm everything. And Olivier's Richard, caricature though Shakespeare's Richard always is, remains utterly captivating throughout. Throughout all three phases of the play- the disturbing wooing/gaslighting of Anne, Richard's plotting, and his speedy unravelling and downfall to "despair and death"- Olivier';s Richard is superlative and,perhaps, definitive.

Clash of the Titans (1981)

 "Once he tried to ravish me disguised as a cuttlefish..."

This is Ray Harryhausen's last film. His career was, of course, long and magnificent, but the best bits were the three Sinbad films and this. Harryhausen the American stop motion genius- surely the greatest special effects maestro of all time, from a time before CGI- finished his career here, gracing us with his presence in this England until the end of his pleasingly long days. By all accounts he was a really nice bloke, a good thing to hear particularly of a genius.

He does his usual brilliant stuff in this film- the kraken, the owl, the vulture, Medusa and so on, as he always does. As usual, he gets his ezxecutrive producer credit to demonsrate that,unusually, the special effects guy is one of the stars. Ray Harryhausen was unique. I can't see us knowing his like again.

This is the tale of Perseus, from the myths, pretty much straight, or at least as straight as the practicalities of stop motion will allow. Harry Hamlin and Judi Bowker are competent and pretty, but the real acting chops lie elsewhere. We have Burgess Meredith, first and foremost, outshining everyone. But we also have the gods, capricious as the myths demand. And so we have Larry himself as Zeus, Jack Gwillim as Poseidon and a veritable pantheon of goddeses with Ursula Andress, Claire Bloom and the extraordinary Maggie Smith as Thetis.

The film is a refreshingly straightforward and highly straightforward retelling of the myth. It's a B movie, whatever its fame. It may be a tad slowy paced at times, but I challenge you not to love it.

Look Back in Anger (1959)

 "I learned at an early age what it was to be angry..."

I've never seen a John Osborne play before, and this film puts me in an awkward position. Firstly, I'm inevitably going to be talking about the play more than the excellently shot prduction and, secondly, this isn't the play itself; it's a screenplay adapted by Nigel Kneale who, while well-known for science fiction of the more intellectual and despairing kind, is a strangely appropriate person to adapt this very '50s howl of existentialist, post-imperial despair.

Because that's what it is. It's existentialist, with Jimmy wrestling with the very '50s angst of finding purpose in a purposeless world, with a certain kind of period ennui. It's about class, in a strangely apolitical way. It's realist, if you're comparing it (as people mainly did) to the likes of Terence Rattigan, although the dialogue is a bit too polished for it to be truly that. It feels vaguely left-wing without necessarily having any coherent political point. It's genuinely good, if simultaneously deep and empty. Yet, ultimately, it's far more dated in 2021 than Rattigan wil ever be. It's poetic, its characters are passionately real, bt ultimately it's not actually about anything.

We're supposed to like Jimmy, the "angry young man", the university graduate who works on a stall, slumming it, as what Douglas Couland would call a "slacker" a few decades later. Yet, good as Richard Burton is, Jimmy is a pretentious, misogynistic arsehole who physically abuses his wife with an iron and seems unmoved at the news he's to become a dad. Yet I have a feeling he's supposed to stand as a sympathetic symbol of university educated, working class young men who feel alienated at.... well, nothing in particular. It would be different if he'd been shown to be aspiring to greater things but struggling at the lack of social mobility, but there's no suggestion of any such thing. There's mention of the American age, of the end of empire, of death. Admittedly it's a rather dull time where people were waiting for the '60s to happen. But, to me, Jimmy is just an unpleasant wanker.

Ths is a good film based on what looks to be a good and thought-provoking play. But, social mores aside, this comes across as old-fashioned in 2021 in ways that Terence Rattigan doesn't.

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1965)

"She offered me free love. At the time it was all I could afford.”

Wow. That was bleak. More so, in fact, than the BBC’s superb version of Le Carre’s Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy which I am certain to blog at some point. And that Richard Burton is awfully good at this acting lark.

I was twelve when the Wall came down; I remember the Cold War. But the world of half a century ago seems a strange place in many ways. The leading man can sneeringly refer to a “queer”, labour exchanges advertise “jobs for men” and even a bibulous fellow like myself raises an eyebrow at the sheer amount of alcohol consumed. And Nan refers to her Hungarian goulash with Portuguese wine as a “Communist dish with a totalitarian wine”; no one seems to regard the tyrannies of the Eastern Bloc and Salazar’s fascist state as equally vile. It’s all a game and, as Control says, while one side supports freedom and the other does not, the methods used by both sides are equally abhorrent. No wonder it’s so easy to become burnt out and turn to drink.

(“Control”- I now get certain sketches from A Bit of Fry and Laurie more than I did...)

This is a thriller, of sorts, but one uniquely suffused with a profound sense of moral disillusionment and ennui. Leamas is younger than I am now but certainly doesn’t feel it. The final twist is clever but morally bankrupt and the unhappy ending, when it comes, is not unexpected. An excellently downbeat counterweight to the sort of spy film we usually see and a real acting triumph from Richard Burton.

Doctor Who: The End of Time

Part One

“Some new man goes sauntering away. And I’m dead.”

Oh my God. I took five pages of notes. This is going to take aaages to write. Best get started.

Crikey, it’s the end. You can tell this story’s important because it’s the only two-parter of the RTD era not to have individual episode titles. It’s also notable that a large proportion of the dialogue is in rather more heightened and literary language than usual, with large chunks of it having a metrical rhythm. This is partly due to the presence of a narrator (and, with the Elder Ood, a narrator within the narration!), but only partly. The language, and the fast-paced, highly structured narrative which takes place in more different regions of time and space than usual, gives this whole story a very rich, epic feel.

We’re bombarded from the start with a lot of evocative figures and themes- Wilf, the Master, bad dreams, the Master, a cathedral at Christmas Eve with the TARDIS as part of a stained-glass window. And the first of many appearances of a mysterious woman whose identity is never quite revealed. The presence of so many meaningful signs and portents in the pre-credits teaser leads us to expect something big. And this intensifies once the Doctor lands on the Ood-Sphere. Although there’s been a gap between stories, his behaviour follows on directly from The Waters of Mars. He’s been procrastinating, unable to accept what he knows to be his fate. He’s married and shagged Queen Elizabeth I purely to avoid being here. He knows he’s been naughty for dragging his heels, and he’s sheepish. You can tell from the gabbling. And Ood Sigma gives him a right telling off: “You should not have delayed!”

Called to the headmaster’s office, the Doctor is punished by being forced to share in a very, very bad dream: the Master is not completely dead and, in another appearance from the ultimate RTD meme, “Something vast is stirring in the dark.”

It’s glossed over a little, but the extrajudicial jailing of Lucy Saxon suggests something extremely sinister about the UK of the Whoniverse, even by comparison with the real contemporary UK, with its 42 day detention and threatened identity cards. Along with the sinister nature of UNIT, this is something which will probably come to date the RTD era. Under the Moff and the Coalition, this sort of thing seems to have gone out of fashion.

I know I’m always going on about RTD’s brilliant economy of storytelling, but the way he manages to give us so much exposition so quickly yet clearly is brilliant. The whole story behind the Master’s resurrection is explained very quickly, and the story doesn’t slow down one bit.

The Doctor runs, but events are already underway. He’s too late. Interesting (particularly as I’m currently halfway through Timelink) that his timeline and the timeline of the narrated events proceed at the same rate, and the Doctor can’t arrive at a point before the prison has exploded.

John Simm is fantastic from his very first scene, as bonkers as ever but so, so dangerous. Lucy sabotages his rebirth, but then we switch to some other chess pieces: Joshua Naismith and his daughter are themselves admirable examples of RTD’s storytelling economy. Their role in the story (the Tobias Vaughn role, as it were) is simple and functional, but they’re allowed enough personality to feel as though they’re more than that. We also have Wilf and the “Silver Cloak”, including the fantastic June Whitfield. Oh, and President Obama is about to broadcast to the world his plan for magically ending the recession. Er, how would one do that, then? Possibly the most far-fetched element in the entire story, this.

Meanwhile, the Master is homeless, in a hoodie, dying, stuck looking like the ex-prime minister, very, very hungry, mad as a biscuit, and very, very scary. And he bangs a drum. Four times. Just as inside his head. Interestingly, though, he’s not the one in control of events at this point. Neither is the Doctor, who is distracted at this point by Wilf and his mates.

The Doctor’s chat with Wilf, fantastically acted by both Tennant and Bernard Cribbins, is a big moment. There’s something about Wilf; he attracts coincidences. The Doctor confides his feelings to Wilf, and admits for the first time that regeneration “still feels like dying”. We see Donna, too, and her heartbreakingly humble life: “She’s making do.” And he even admits the things he’s been driven to do of late, with no Donna to stop him. “I thought it would be better alone. But I did some things that went wrong. I need…”

The ensuing chat between the Doctor and the much-diminished Master is most interesting, too. “I had estates,” says the Master, shortly before he’s kidnapped. “Do you remember my father’s land back home? Pastures of red grass stretching far across the slopes of Mount Perdition.” RTD is so good at this sort of poetic, throwaway texture. The drums are getting louder… and the Doctor can hear them. The drums are real. We know this will be significant.

Wilf sees the mysterious woman again, on the television, where only he can see her. “Only you stand at the heart of coincidence”, he’s told. He’s also told to take a gun, a highly charged item as discussed in relation to this programme! Inevitably, the Doctor is soon along to collect him, officially the oldest ever companion at 80. I love his reaction to the TARDIS.

It seems Naismith acquired the “Immortality Gate” from Torchwood after its recent fall. It seems to be some kind of medical device. He wants to use it to make his daughter immortal, never a good idea in Doctor Who. But along his underlings are a couple of Vinvocci spies, who are particularly fun characters. I love Addams and her constant exasperation.

The cliffhanger is great, as everything is reversed. From a position of powerlessness, suddenly the Master is everyone on the planet. And our narrator is revealed. It’s Timothy Dalton! He’s the Lord President of the High Council! The Time Lords are back!


Part Two

“There’s an old Earth saying, Captain. A phrase of great power and wisdom, and consolation to the soul in times of need.”

“What’s that, then?”

“Allons-y!”

We begin with a flashback to Gallifrey, and a nice CGI shot of the Citadel, the orange skies, and the mountains. Fanwank heaven! These are recognisably Time Lords, although updated, with CGI and everything. The shot of the High Council from the end of last episode reminds me very much of the Imperial Senate from the Star Wars prequels, which I must apologise for mentioning. They are, I’m sure we all agree, abominations, and I shall not mention them again.

Gallifrey is a lot more bad-ass than it used to be. Timothy Dalton’s Lord President is prone to zapping people for disagreeing with him, and there’s a rather cool prophetess, possibly inspired by the Pythia from the New Adventures, although of course she looks very much like one of the Sisterhood of Karn.

After a bit of a worry over Donna, we get another flashback of the Master as a child, technically a flashback to another flashback from The Sound of Drums. It’s recursive occlusion from Castrovalva all over again.

The Master realises; with six billion of him, he can finally triangulate the source of the drums. And we return to Gallifrey, where we get some highly satisfying answers. Oh, and in our last chance for some slapstick we get the “worst rescue ever”. I like these Vinvocci. The Doctor and Wilf are aboard their ship, and Wilf gets to gaze out of its window upon the Earth, something he’s always wanted. That’s the thing about RTD; he can do exciting, fast-paced, big stories such as this one, and yet still have time for genuinely affecting character moments. The conversation between the Doctor and Wilf is deep and insightful, with the brilliance lying in what remains unsaid. The Doctor opens himself more with Wilf than we’ve ever seen him do before. He sees the absurdity of his rejection of Wilf’s proffered gun, accepting that he’s taken lives and, which weighs heavily on his conscience at the moment, manipulated others into taking their own. And yet the symbolism of not carrying a gun has become important to him. Much as I would argue that this has only been the case since the 1980s, this knowingly hypocritical semi-pacifism has become an interesting and ambiguous side of his character.

But… the Master reveals that the source of the drums is a White Point Star. The Doctor knows this means the Time Lords are back. All the above goes out of the window and the Doctor just takes the gun. Things are clearly very, very serious. But before the seriousness starts we get a rather cool scene in which Wilf gets to fire lasers from a spaceship.

There’s another cool RTD moment; only two Time Lords vote against their plan, and they “will now stand as witness to their shame, like the Weeping Angels of old.” Like so much of the dialogue in this story, this is wonderfully poetic. Unfortunately, there’s another moment which is considerably less cool; the Doctor jumps several hundred feet, lands hard, and is only slightly hurt. WHAT? I just had my head in my hands at this point. We know the Doctor is vulnerable to gravity; that was the whole point of his regeneration in Logopolis! This is just silly. How can such a good writer as RTD, in such an otherwise excellent script, possibly commit such a howler? Perhaps he needs someone to stop him. This is a crying shame. It wouldn’t be so bad if everything else (except perhaps the end, which we’ll come to) wasn’t so perfect.

But the pieces are in place; the Doctor, the Master, and a Lord President who only now, oddly, is revealed to be Rassilon himself. And with a wave of his staff he casually undoes the Master’s takeover of the people of the Earth. The Doctor makes clear the scale of the horrors to come; Gallifrey is fading back intro existence, a fiery orange world which dwarfs the Earth. And we face horrors such as “the Skaro Degradations, the Horde of Tragedies, the Nightmare Child, the Could-Have-Been-King with his army of Meanwhiles and Never-Weres”. Again, so wonderfully poetic. And deadly; the Time Lords intend to destroy time, and exist on a higher plane as beings of pure thought. This is how they planned to end the Time War, and why the Doctor had to destroy them.

The Doctor is unsure, pointing the gun first at the Master, then at Rassilon. The Master’s “You never would, you coward!” seems to be a deliberate echo of the last regeneration- a very nice touch. Then the Doctor sees the mysterious woman, reacts, reflects, and simply shoots the machine which links this room to Gallifrey. And the Master, angry at what Rassilon has done to his life, seems to sacrifice himself to gain his revenge. It’s a dramatic ending. And suddenly the Doctor is alive, and fine, and can’t believe it.

And then there are four knocks. And silence. And another four knocks. Wilf is still inside the booth, waiting to be flooded with radiation. His only hope of survival means the Doctor’s death. It’s the perfect storm, and very cruel. The Doctor immediately realises the bitter irony, and reacts with rage. I’m reminded of what Lady Shelley said in her review of The Waters of Mars about the Doctor going through the seven stages of grief; is this where he finds acceptance? It’s certainly a brave speech. The Doctor is allowed to be very self-centred here, and even unlikeable. We even get a “Well, it’s not fair.”

The Doctor is dying, and we get an extended series of visits to his mates. Yes, this is self-indulgent, and yes, it was an idea that should have been nipped in the bud but, as so often with RTD, the execution is so brilliant that it sort of works. So we get to see Mickey and Martha, now married (what?!!) looking at the Doctor at a distance, as though he were the Watcher. There’s a brief moment with Sarah Jane. And even Captain Jack, with Alonso, in a Mos Eisley-style cantina filled with monsters of the RTD era. We even, oddly, get Jessica Hynes as “Verity Newman”. And Donna’s fate actually kind of works; the winning lottery ticket, bought with a pound “borrowed” from the late Geoffrey Noble. Appropriately, given Tennant's recent role as Hamlet, Ood Sigma sings him to his sleep: “This song is ending, but the story never ends.” One last poetic flourish from RTD. And it’s over. I think the Doctor’s last line is misjudged, and it’s a shame that the regeneration is the same as last time, but what a send-off. Although why the TARDIS should be set on fire I have no idea.

This is, for the most part, sublime. It’s only the falling scene and the self-indulgence of the final scenes, something almost redeemed in the execution, that disappoints. But this still manages a 5/5, if not a particularly high one. “Event” stories often disappoint, but if we take out the negatives, everything else is truly magnificent here.