The Vault of Horror (1973)

 "No money in horror..."

I've seen lots of Amicus portmanteau horror films by now and enjoyed them all to a greater or lesser extent. This is easily the best of the lot.

Partly it's that this time around the tales are all splendidly gleeful in their ghoulish bad taste as the five men who enter the lift each receive their magnificently grand guignol comeuppance. A greedy murderer ends up having blood dispensed from his neck like wine from a wine box. An obsessively nagging husband who insists on neatness has his organs neatly displayed in jars after driving his wife to murder. An insurance fraudster is buried alive and meets his death. And so on, all amongst the most '70s clothing and interior decor that has ever been immortalised in film. 

It helps that Roy Ward Baker imbues the film with some visually witty touches, such as our insurance fraudster reading a novelisation of Tales from the Crypt, to which this is a semi-sequel. The script, too, is wittier and more gleeful this time round.

Yet what really makes this film shine, well-made as it is, is a superb cast full of the sort of well-known character actors who (Terry-Thomas aside) were not quite stars at the time. Standout performances from Glynis Johns and a splendidly vengeful, bizarrely bearded and deeply charismatic Tom Baker are a huge part of the film's success- and a success it is: I care not for the views po-faced contemporary critics.

Dr. Phibes Rises Again (1972)

"What kind of fiend are you?"

"The kind that wins, my friend."

What a disappointing sequel, especially as The Abominable Dr. Phibes was so damned entertaining. How can what is pretty much the same bunch of people come up with such a desperately disappointing follow-up?

Part of the problem is that the set-up is not so much fun- instead of a series of amusingly outre murders we get a plan to use Egyptian mumbo-jumbo to rejuvenate the good doctor and his wife- yes, undiscovered ancient secrets in an early '70s film. Erik von Daniken, anyone? There's a trope for you right there.

On top of this the celebrity cameos are dull. Yes, the splendid Beryl Reid gets to chew the scenery for her brief scene, but Peter Cushing (prominently billed) gets a dull and functional cameo role. Still, at least we get to see a young John Thaw being horrifically killed.

The relationship between Peter Jeffrey's  Inspector Trout and his apoplectic boss, so funny in the previous film, is taken too far here- why should a police superintendent follow one of his inspectors on a jaunt to Egypt?

I suppose there area couple of entertainingly grossly deaths, the best of which involves scorpions, but this really is a film that can safely be avoided.

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?