The Blood on Satan's Claw (1971)

"There is growing amongst you all an insolent ungodliness, which I will not tolerate!"

I was expecting a B movie here- after all, look at the title. Instead I find an artily directed film, perhaps a little too lowly paced, with a visually realised depiction of the late 17th century (dialogue about "King James III" in exile makes me put this after 1688, but the fashions put it not too long after) that evokes the 1970s BBC M.R. James stories. The effect is of a very well-directed film, with the pretty visuals made to look eerie by horror direction and overcast weather, This film is often lumped in with The Wicker Man as "folk horror". It isn't as good, but you can see the stylistic links.

Patrick Wymark is superb, outstandingly so, as the judge, and both Wendy Padbury and Simon Williams are very good indeed in the early part of the film as the threat emerges of the younger generation, creepily acted and shot, being involved in a cult which may be Satanic but may be pagan in a way which was popular in the early '70s, when pagan survivals in modern culture were perhaps exaggerated. And perhaps their disappearance part way through the film, with Michele Dotrice (pre- Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em typecasting, and bloody good) taking prominence as a Satanic disciple, is a flaw in the coherence of the script, But I don't see this as being as troubling as the horrible rape scene, filmed so as to show us the victim's point of view, which is a big part of why this film has to be seen as well made yet deliberately abrasive. A simultaneously assured and rough watch, fascinatingly flawed,

Witchfinder General (1968)

"They swim! The mark of Satan is upon them! They must hang!"

It's clear why this film by Michael Reeves, who sadly died so very young, has achieved cult status: it's so incredibly violent, even sadistic, with one very memorable scene showing a poor young lady being lowered into the fire and slowly burned. It's an unashamedly sensational take on Matthew Hopkins which deals with the legend, not historical accuracy (the real Hopkins was only about 27 when he died of natural causes) and is anchored by a splendidly evil and charismatic performance by the one and only Vincent Price.

The film, shot largely on location, looks gorgeous and convinces as the Suffolk of the late Civil War. The ubiquitous Ian Ogilvy is splendid as our hero, Richard. The plot is functional but exciting as we gaze somewhat titillatingly on to the cruelties perpetuated by Hopkins and his dimmer yet more evil sidekick, Stearns. There is, I think, something more than a little creepy in the film's voyeuristic glee at the torture and execution of comely young women, that can't be denied. But Price's sheer charisma draws you in as you watch agog at one of the most evil characters in cinema.

A violent and, at times, extremely disturbing and misogynistic film that it is impossible not to be riveted by. Dark, edgy, uncomfortable in its sadistic use of the male gaze, but no one can accuse this of failing to be compelling viewing.

The Skull (1965)

"All I can say to you is to keep away from the skull of the Marquis de Sade!"

I haven't reviewed a film featuring the great Sir Christopher Lee since his sad and fairly recent death, which is remiss of me. So I decided, on a whim, that this rather interesting-looking Amicus film, directed by the ever-reliable Freddie Francis, might do the trick. Perhaps it isn't Lee's biggest role- he's very much the guest star to an extraordinary starring performance from Peter Cushing here- but he is, nevertheless, superb. The auction scene alone (a cameo from Michael Gough!) shows that.

The film is excellently shot and made and, while the effects at the end are a little dated, that's all part of the film's charm. The film isn't perfect- the only two female characters exist only to be imperilled, and the Bechdel test is well and truly flunked, as you'd expect, and perhaps the pacing could be improved- but it's carried by Cushing's extraordinary performance: the moment towards the end where, with facial acting alone, he shows himself being possessed by the skull- is extraordinary.

Yes, there are cliches aplenty- we even have a police inspector dressed exactly like Clouseau in his coat and hat- but this Poe-like tale, in which Cushing's Chris Maitland, a rich collector of macabre items who doesn't enquire too closely into the ethics of their acquiral, is slowly unhinged and turned to murder by the cursed skull of the Marquis de Sade, is suitably griping. We get a satisfyingly lurid account of Sade's life, and some rather nice use of flashback to show us the skull's deadly history. It's only the slight slowness of the admittedly well-directed climax that lets the side down slightly.

This may be a slightly obscure film, but it's worth catching on Netflix if you can and, at 82 minutes, doesn't outstay it's welcome.