Posts by David Annandale

Nicky Henson plays Tom, the leader of a hellraising biker gang known as the Living Dead. His goal is to make that moniker absolutely literal, and it helps that his mother (Beryl Reid) is a medium who has made some sort of Satanic pact, and the butler (George Sanders, in his final role just before his suicide) might well be an infernal power himself (his precise nature is never made clear). At any rate, all it takes to come back from the dead, apparently, is to kill oneself while firmly believing that one will return. Tom proves this formula to be correct, and soon almost all the other gang members follow suit. The one member who might hold out is his girlfriend Abby (Mary Larkin). Meanwhile, as the Living Dead embark on a reign of terror, will anyone be able to stop them?

This is a pretty odd duck of a film, and quite delightful for precisely that reason. In the first place, the Living Dead are hardly the most threatening biker gang ever to grace the silver screen, and though they do rack up quite the body count of policemen and civilians, many of their other bits of misbehaviour are not so much atrocities, but more in the line of shenanigans (as a fellow viewer aptly put it, the gang don't become flesh-eating zombies, only unkillable twits). The precise nature of Reid's motivation is never made clear, Abby is so whiny and callow that one is hard-pressed to feel any sympathy for her, and there's this strange preoccupation with the idea of the frog as an embodiment of evil. But these very oddities contribute to, rather than detract from, the film's off-kilter entertainment value. There's a wealth of incident, so the viewer is never bored, there are  some very fun chase scenes, and (which is a good thing) there is a rather knowing sense of humour about the whole affair. Definitely one of the odder horror films to emerge from England in the 1970s, and an engaging rediscovery.

Former pirate radio DJ Mike Raven plays Victor Clare (a case where the actor has a scarier name than the character he plays), reclusive artist who, one strongly suspects, has the unpleasant House-of-Wax-y propensity to pour molten metal on his models in order to bronze them. A group of characters with varying agendas gather at his Cornwall abode: his senile wife; his sexually ambivalent model; his weak, alcoholic son (Ronald Lacey, a long way from the menacing Nazi he would later play in Raiders of the Lost Ark) and impatient daughter-in-law; a neophyte art dealer and his girlfriend, Millie (Mary Maude). Victor becomes obsessed with Millie, determined make her his artistic muse. Meanwhile, the cast is being gruesomely bumped off one after the other.

Raven comes across very much as a poor man's Christopher Lee. He has the height (more or less), he has a deep voice, and he even looks not unlike Lee. But he has none of the master's screen presence, and isn't as frightening as he clearly should be. Most of the film is a rather dull plod, with characters wandering about, flirting or sniping at each other, and repeating conversations ad nauseum. The murders come along every so often to spice things up, but given Victor's obvious villainy, one might well wonder why the film is being so coy about the killings, and refusing to show us the killer.