Cry of the Banshee (1970)

 "See that they weep till dawn."

Vincent Price made a number of delightfully quirky films in the UK back in the early '70s, many of which I've seen, enjoyed and indeed blogged- The Abominable Dr. Phibes, Theatre of Blood and so on. Those films are fondly remembered. This one isn't. And... yeah, now I get why.

I mean, Price himself is a delight as Lord Edward. That's a given. He gets to play an evil, sadistic, witch-hunting torturer of those whom he deems heretics. But this is no Witchfinder General. The performance may be fun to watch, but the character is ill-defined- sadistic, yes, but no puritan, a lover of pleasure, with disturbing scenes of him and others using their position of brutal enforcers of religious orthodoxy to take sexual advantage.

I realise that criticising the historical accuracy of this kind of film is a mug's game but... well, this is supposed to be the sixteenth century but the costumes evoke the Civil War. Edward, apparently some sort of English lord in the sixteenth century, has a son called Sean and a daughter called Maureen. And the priest is referred to as "father". It all feels very Irish, plus there's the banshee stuff, however vague- why not just set it the other side of the Irish Sea?

As for the plot... the conceit is that Edward and his family are cursed by a witch whom he unaccountably allows to live, slowly and methodically, by s means which is revealed late on, and with a further twist at the end. The plot twists are genuinely effective. But the whole thing feels muddled, a succession of sadistic set pieces while the plot bumbles along for the most part. Worth watching for Price's performance, plus it's only ninety minutes, but basically forgettable.

The Titfield Thunderbolt (1953)

 "This is dreadful. The next thing we know we'll be nationalised..."

This is not, perhaps, one of those Ealing comedies that are widely regarded as works of genius, yet it's fondly regarded. And I can see why; it's not exactly a laugh a minute but it's pleasant and diverting, and a fascinating glimpse into those last few years of steam rail, when everyone knew the writing was on the wall but hoped that steam's demise would be postponed for a little while.

Stanley Holloway impresses, and so does a slightly pre-screen fame Sid James in a middling role, but the large cast of character actors perhaps fails to quite set the film ablaze despite much enthusiasm. The script, too, is fuller on charm than it is on humour, but it's amusing to see a train-obsessed vicar surely based on the Rev. W. Awdry and the lengths some would go to in order to get around those horribly puritan opening hours. The characters are all of their time and memorable; it all feels very Dad's Army. And the plot- villagers upset at losing their train station decide to buy and run it themselves, despite the dastardly bus company trying to stop them- is just melodramatic enough to provide interest without spoiling the pleasant mood.

This isn't exactly Kind Hearts and Coronets, but it's a pleasantly enjoyable film. And I'm not particularly a rail enthusiast, but there's something awesome about seeing a steam locomotive in its natural habitat. And better to drink a proper pint in a railway carriage than lager in Downing Street.

Legend of the Werewolf (1975)

"We do not cater for unusual tastes in here!"

This looks and feels like a Hammer horror film, is directed by Freddie Francis and stars Peter Cushing, but technically it isn't- it's made by Tyburn Films, a company specifically set up to continue the Hammer tradition after the Hammer horrors sadly came to an end (well, if you ignore To the Devil... a Daughter). Sadly, Tyburn only made three further films before giving up the ghost in 1975, and this is the last of those; very much the end of an era.

This is, essentially, a bog standard average Hammer horror in both style and quality. It's hard to gauge how dated this would have felt, if at all, in 1975, but the quality is certainly good enough, if not great. The script is ok, Cushing carries the film with his usual charisma and there's a delightful performance by Hugh Griffith early on. And the rather poor werewolf make-up is more than compensated for by some extremely clever effects and direction.

The setting is mid-nineteenth century France, a time of brothels (Ron Moody plays the very dirtiest of dirty old men), daguerreotypes and Napoleon III; a little later in time and a little to the west of the usual setting for these films but suitably atmospheric as far as Hammer goes. The script may be predictable, David Rintoul may be an average actor but, as ever, the film is carried by the splendid Peter Cushing as a pathologist who constantly solves cases for the inspector.

Not a bad film, then, and perhaps quite fitting that (and yes, I know this technically isn't a Hammer horror film, and that there would be one more such film to go, but...) it's a suitable closure for an era of which I am very fond.

Quatermass II: Episode 6- The Destroyers

"This should have been a great moment..."

Mere weeks after a probe was landed on a comet it's instructive to watch this, where Quatermass and Leo make a manned flight to the aliens' comet home, one without fanfare or glory. But Nigel Kneale doesn't do fanfare or glory.

It's a fitting, tension-fuelled and deeply tragic finale, as the likeable boffin Leo meets a horrible end and the final shot is of a visibly shattered Quatermass. Still, cheer up; the great Cyril Shaps unexpectedly turns up. And it's clear that there was never a time when he looked young.

There's some hope, I suppose, in that the aliens are thwarted and those who are controlled, including Dillon, are themselves again. But the price, as always with Kneale, is high indeed. Trying landmark television.

Quatermass II: Episode 5- The Frenzy

"And we've only wiped out a single nest..."

The penultimate episode is a tension-fuelled base under siege narrative as Quatermass and the striking workers are trapped in the factory by the murderous aliens whose promises of lenient treatment are horrible broken; the scene where blood drops from the pile is horrifying. This is a lesson on how to build tension and suspense without actually showing much of the threat; television as theatre rather than cinema.

Our friends win out but, as the quote says, this is just one of many nests. And we end with the aliens in control of the Rocket Group- in the person of John Dillon. 

Quatermass II- Episode 4: The Coming

"I'm not listening to reason..."

This is, of course, the episode that climaxes with the excellent Roger Delgado as journalist Conrad, infected  by the alien has, makes a desperate and probably fruitless phone call back to the news desk before he inevitably succumbs to its effects. And we end with a glimpse at the alien, which looks absolutely nothing like a kind of proto-Nestene. Absolutely not, guv.

Before that, though, we have both Quatermass theorising on somewhat dodgy grounds that the alien consciousness comes from a moon of Saturn. He seems on firmer ground in theorising that it may be a hive mind. He's brave though, Quatermass, stopping at nothing to investigate this plant and always getting away unharmed, whatever vile fate always seems to be incurred by those whose help he enlists. He's not an entirely sympathetic character, whether you consider him as written or with the harder edge as portrayed by John Robinson. He's certainly called a lot of people fools so far. I suspect he isn't, quite, the voice of the author.

Nevertheless, this is still first class telly.

Quatermass II- Episode 3: The Food

"These questions must not be asked!"

This time round I noticed it: the father at the picnic is played by Sydney Bromley, who would (much) later play Engywook in The NeverEnding Story. Fancy that.

The plot thickens further as Bromhead is seemingly brainwashed, the picture quality unfortunately decreases (but we should be glad to have this at all), and Quatermass sneakily arranges to be let into the plant for a look. All this happens gradually, extracting maximum suspense and mystery, and allows time for Quatermass to be gloriously rude to people.

Quatermass is brave to visit the plant: it seems that most whom have visited before eventually came back... changed. The food produced seems not to be amenable to human consumption, And the domes appear to be intended to support an ammonia breathing life form in the same way as Quatermass imagined domes on the Moon. At last we have an inkling of the nature of the threat.

We end back at the lab, with asteroids approaching. Excellent, still.

Quatermass II- Episode 2: The Mark

"Dillon, there's something on your face!"

The plot thickens as Quatermass finds odd and evasive goings-on at the mysterious factory site, and Dillon is taken away without explanation. Even odder, these people have friends in high places, there are identical facilities in Brazil and the Soviet Union, and we end with Quatermass and his tenacious northern MP friend Bromhead finding that it's official representatives all have that distinctive mark.

Wilfred Brambell appears as a tramp with a strangely southern accent and a willingness to provide useful exposition. Quatermass makes a thundering speech on civil liberties- John Robinson is splendidly rude at times, and an obvious influence on Jon Pertwee's Doctor. And the meteorites, it seems, are not natural objects. The pace is slow, but this provides for atmosphere and intrigue. This is just as good as the first episode; telly of the very first rank.

Quatermass II- Episode 1: The Bolts

"Things were better when there was less government about!"

The second series of this famously pub-emptying and pioneering piece of television starts out as superbly as the first, although John Robinson, who does a good job in the circumstances, has clearly been parachuted into the part of Quatermass at the last moment. This tale of hollow alien meteorites being sent from above with nefarious purposes has been deeply influential (as we Doctor Who fans well know). Yet it obviously comes from another age, when scientists were treated with deference and the power of the benevolent State is questioned only by silly old men. Even a science fiction conspiracy theory thriller like this, in 1955, can casually have all of its heroes be public sector employees.

The early scenes with the soldiers would have had an extra resonance, too, in the days of National Service. And the flourishing and ambitious British space programme- prior to the awful disaster- reflects a very pre-Suez view of national importance.

It's a slow-paced start, full of unease and subtexts everywhere. The opening titles are, again, inspired and forward-looking. This is brilliant, first class telly.

The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971)

“A brass unicorn has been catapulted across a London street and impaled an eminent surgeon. Words fail me, gentlemen.”

This is the last review I’ll be doing in this strange, alcohol-fuelled, work-free interregnum between Christmas and New Year and, indeed, my last review of 2011. In 2012 I’ll go back to the usual schedule, continuing with the Buffyverse and (mostly) a film on Saturdays. I’ll also be reviewing certain programmes pretty much as they air in the UK- Doctor Who, obviously, but also, starting next week, Sherlock. In the meantime, here’s a fun little movie review that I didn’t have to think too hard about.

This is the perfect movie to watch if you have a certain sense of humour and you don’t want anything too heavy; it spends ninety minutes doing nothing but mocking its own tropes. Phibes (played, with the expected brilliance, by Vincent Price) has an absurd lack of any real motive for his ridiculously over-theatrical crimes, and that every little intricate little thing goes to plan is utterly unrealistic, but all of this is gleefully thrown in our faces; the film knows exactly what it’s doing. That Phibes is just a take on a certain archetype is shown near the end as he reveals his true, horrifying, Lon Chaney-esque face, and starts playing the organ in an obvious reference to Universal’s silent version of Phantom of the Opera. Yep, this is more of that metatextual fun that I love so much.

The police are hilarious, too; nice, decent, but with all the plodding incompetence that tradition leads us to expect from the Yard. For all that Trout (a great performance from Peter Jeffrey) is a thoroughly decent, put-upon chap (his interactions with his superior are the funniest thing about the film, mainly because his superior is only saying what the audience thinks!), he cocks every single thing up at every single opportunity.

All of the surgeons are subject to a certain amount of mockery too, and none more so than Terry-Thomas’ lecherous old man.  This is not a film that exactly treats authority figures with respect; in fact the gleeful grotesqueness of the various methods of dispatch is the film’s main selling point, as the audience has fun trying to guess how the theme of the Ten Plagues of Egypt, revealed quite earlier on, will show itself in the murders. The chap being impaled by a brass unicorn is the best, but many of them are quite horrific, especially the frog mask. Given the otherwise light tone of the film, there’s something particularly nasty about this one.

Still, it’s a superbly entertaining, and rather undemanding, piece of entertainment. One thing, though; who was Vulnavia?