Brain Blasters

The Quatermass series I wrote about last week were based, as I said, on television mini-series written by Nigel Kneale. They were not the only Kneale adaptations, nor were they the only SF films from that period to turn to television for source material. A six-part series aired in 1956 under the title of “The Trollenberg Terror.” This was written by Peter Key, doing his best to be Nigel Kneale. A film version duly followed in 1958, retaining the original title in Great Britain, but seeing light in the States under th... much more lurid (but beloved) moniker of The Crawling Eye.

Forrest Tucker is a scientist on his way to the town of Trollenberg to visit a colleague at the observatory up on the mountain. On the train heading there, he meets two sisters (Jennifer Jayne and Janet Munro). Munro is a mentalist, and the duo has an act, but she also is legitimately psychic, and she feels an inexplicable compulsion to alight at Trollenberg. The small Swiss town, meanwhile, is dealing with tragedy, as a mountain climber has been mysteriously decapitated during an ascent. Tucker’s friend (Warren Mitchell) is also concerned about this mysterious, radioactive, unmoving cloud that clings to the mountainside. Strange events multiply. Munro has visions of events going on up the mountain. A geologist is killed, and his partner becomes a possessed zombie who tries to kill Munro. Turns out there are evil aliens in that cloud. And they look like... Well, you can probably guess.Peter Key was no Nigel Kneale, and the film is no match for the Quatermass flicks. If the FX in the latter had their rough edges, the context in which they appeared – from both narrative and technical considerations (the lighting was always superb) – made them much more convincing than they might otherwise be. The tentacled eyeballs of The Crawling Eye are so ludicrous that they cannot be taken seriously. On the other had, they are extremely memorable, instantly recognizable in a way that the Quatermass monsters are not. They are also completely adorable. Rarely has an SF monster looked so precisely like the most stereotypical SF monster imaginable. I mean every word of that apparently self-contradictory sentence.Bill Warren has pointed out that the plot makes no sense. True enough. Very little by way of convincing explanations and motivations regarding the crawling eyes and their actions are ever provided. But in the final analysis, this matters not one jot. The film has such a wealth of incident that one is carried along by the plot, breathlessly watching each new (and exciting) development without worrying about how they all connect (if they do at all). The performances certainly help: everyone acts with conviction, and the delivery is often underplayed, making the whole affair that much easier to take seriously. The atmosphere is also carefully developed. The dimly lit inn where much of the action until the climax takes place starts off cozy but becomes eerie once the characters come under threat. Silly though the proceedings might be, they still carry an undeniable aura of menace, and the climax manages to be suspenseful despite the silliness of the monsters.Image’s DVD is a pretty no-frills affair (trailer and stills, plus liner notes), but it does present the film in 1.66:1 anamorphic widescreen, and is the original British print, with the original title intact.

One of the smartest, most suspenseful SF franchises to emerge from the 1950's was Britain’s Quatermass series. Created by Nigel Kneale, the series first saw light as superlative television shows, which were subsequently adapted for the big screen by Hammer. While the shorter running time necessitated certain compromises, all three films were excellent, among the best offerings of British SF. These movies were The Quatermass Experiment (1955, released in the States as The Creeping Unknown), Quatermass...2 (1957) and Quatermass and the Pit (1967, AKA Five Million Years to Earth).

Val Guest, who was also responsible for the superb The Day the Earth Caught Fire directed the first two. The first film, which introduced Brian Donlevy as the irascible, bull-headed Professor Quatermass, remains unavailable on DVD, as far as I’ve been able to determine. This is positively criminal. The film, about an astronaut who survives the disastrous returning crash of his spaceship only to slowly transform into a carnivorous, Lovecraftian blob/tentacle monster, is bleak, suspenseful and terrifically atmospheric. Donlevy’s Quatermass is a rather troubling good guy, since he refuses to countenance any delay before launching yet another spaceship. If you can find the VHS, see this film, and in the meantime, let’s hope its DVD release isn’t too long in coming.As if in compensation, the other two films were released by Anchor Bay as a double feature DVD. Brian Donlevy returns to the role in Quatermass 2. He’s still pretty irritable, but he’s much more straightforwardly sympathetic. I mentioned this film before in my tribute to Michael Ripper, but to reiterate, it is very much in the vein of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Here, though, the takeover by aliens is already well advanced, with important members of the government not what they appear to be (a conceit revisited in last year’s Doctor Who revival). The climactic battle at the industrial plant that is the heart of the alien invasion is pretty explosive, and the monsters on display are impressive despite the limited FX budget.Quatermass and the Pit has Roy Ward Baker directing instead of Guest, and Andrew Keir taking over as Quatermass (meaning the hero is no longer inexplicably American). Both men do their predecessors proud. The only entry to be shot in colour, it makes good use of same, as there is plenty of (for the time) icky ooze and blood on display. Construction of a new subway line unearths a spaceship. The grasshopper-like corpses on board turn out to be Martians, and it seems they were responsible for the colonization of the earth. Our images of demons are the race memory of our previous overlords. The spaceship is far from being inert, however, and a terrible psychic horror descends on London. The climax is a horrific orgy of destruction, imitated (badly) by Tobe Hooper’s Lifeforce. The premise, like that of the other films, is, of course, preposterous, but it is delivered with such conviction by all involved that it winds up making perfect sense, at least for the running time of the film.While the special effects of all three films have been, of course, outclassed by advancing technology, the intelligence of the scripts is something that most current SF films can only envy. Track these down. They’ll reward your effort.

Time to put the spotlight on another DVD company that specializes in releases that are very bad for us, and for which we are profoundly grateful. Today’s object of veneration: Cult Epics. Their very name implies their agenda, but doesn’t quite do it full justice. The epics that they create a cult around are very sexual in nature. I’ve reviewed most of their recent releases individually, so I won’t rehash those musings too much here, but try to give you, loyal reader, a bird’s eye view of their output.

Thre... names dominate the Cult Epics catalogue: Bettie Page, Tinto Brass, and, to a lesser degree, Walerian Borowczyk. Page is the empress of what we might call the documentary side of the company’s sexy output. The Bettie Page Collection box set is your best bet here, with a disc of Bunny Yeager photography backing up two Bettie discs (one of her pin-up work, one of the bondage stuff). While none of Page’s films are necessarily good in and of themselves, they are valuable historical records, and make up an essential companion piece to both The Notorious Bettie Page and Cult Epics’ own tribute, Bettie Page: Dark Angel. This historical document angle also forms the principle virtue of the Vintage Erotica series, which has a disc now for every decade from the 20's to the 50's. Again, one doesn’t watch these films for their sterling qualities, but as curiosities they are invaluable, and worthy of preservation.Tinto Brass is probably still best known in North America (to the extent that he is known at all) as the man who directed that infamous folly Caligula, only to yank his directorial credit when Bob Guccione added the hardcore inserts. Cult Epics allows us to get to know the man much better through six (so far) releases. Far more light-hearted than the bloated monstrosity that is Caligula, these are all handsomely mounted, frequently period-set, exercises in erotica. The films aren’t as smart as Brass clearly thinks they are, but there is a rather disarming auteurist obsession to them.Walerican Borowczyk, on the other hand, makes the kind of movies Brass merely thinks he’s doing, and the highlight here is undoubtedly The Beast, a wildly perverse take on the Beauty and the Beast story that achieves the almost unheard of feat of being an absolutely gripping erotic film. It is a feast for the eyes.Borowczyk isn’t the only avant-garde director with an interest in the darker recesses of human sexuality on the Cult Epics roster. I should also mention Fernando Arrabal, who has the love of the surreal of an Alejandro (El Topo) Jodorowsky, but whose pretensions are nowhere near as annoying. There are three of his films on offer here, in a nice box set.A couple of one-offs deserve special mention. In a Glass Cage is a full-on horror film, though, as one might expect, the horror is sexual in nature. And is it ever horrific. This story of an iron-lung-encased Nazi pedophile is not for the faint of heart, but it is a stunning achievement. And then there’s School of the Holy Beast. There are all sorts of nunsploitation films out there vying for supremacy. But I haven’t seen any yet to top this Japanese effort for blasphemy, degradation and pictorial beauty (in case you were wondering, all three of those qualities are meant to be terms of praise). If these two titles were the only ones in Cult Epics’ catalogue, those good people could retire knowing the job was well done. I can’t wait to see what comes next.

It is time for a long-overdue tribute to Michael Ripper (1913-2000). Those in the know (You Know Who You Are) need no introduction to the British character actor, and we worship him for his innumerable roles in British horror films in the 60s, particularly those produced by Hammer Studios. Imagine, if you will, a dignified Marty Feldman with (usually) a beard, and you have a bit of an idea. Never the lead, but always a reassuring supporting character, ESPECIALLY if he played a barkeep. If Michael's in the tavern, all...will be well.

Where can Michael be found? All over the place, uncredited or not. Though a quick trip to the IMDB will give you the complete list of appearances, much of the joy of Ripper-spotting is running into his familiar face without warning. The earliest bar I've seen him tend is in Quatermass 2 (1957), the British equivalent of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The British Government has been taken over by aliens, and their Horrible Industrial Plant is located near the town where Michael serves the ale. A fine exercise in paranoia, and a standout SF/horror film, as are, incidentally, the other two films in the series: The Quatermass Experiment (the first of the three), and Quatermass and the Pit.Michael sheds his beard to play a concerned seaman in the mind-torquing The Lost Continent (1968). On a ship loaded with chemicals that explode on contact with water, Michael is sensible enough to get the hell out of Dodge long before the ship drifts into the Sargasso Sea and encounters carnivorous seaweed, giant hermit crabs, other less immediately identifiable monstrosities, and a colony of Spanish Inquisitors.He is, unfortunately, not able to get out of Cairo in time to escape the wrath of The Mummy’s Shroud (1966), but he has the consolation of stealing the show as the incredibly nervous aid to a unscrupulous (and justifiably doomed) tycoon. Not the best mummy film, but not the worst either.The Plague of the Zombies (1966) finds Michael as the local constable, getting caught up (but fortunately not fatally) in a mystery involving a callous lord killing the locals and then reanimating them as cheap labour in his tin mine. No matter how bad the situation gets, if Michael's around, things will be under control.Made the same year as Plague, on the same sets, and also taking place in Cornwall, is the ultimate Michael Ripper movie: The Reptile. Oh sure, Jaqueline Pierce cursed to turn into a snake woman is pretty cool, but not only does Michael have a pretty substantial supporting role, he is back where he belongs: in the tavern. And there is a scene here, wait for it, of Michael making things right for the beleaguered leads by stirring them a couple of cups of cocoa. Those of you who do not feel warm and safe upon watching this scene are unworthy of my continued acquaintance.

Godzilla has been a household name in North America almost for as long as he has been in Japan. Over the course of the last few years, most of his recent films have been appearing here in all their unedited, widescreen, subtitled glory. But the film that started it all was never properly seen here theatrically until last year, and only now is available on DVD for the first time, but it was worth the wait.

When producers Harold Ross and Richard Kay picked up Gojira (1954) for American distribution, th...y couldn’t let the original work stand as it was. The climate was not right for something quite so grim and politically pointed (more on this in a bit). So Terry Morse was brought in to direct new scenes, inserting an Raymond Burr as reporter Steve Martin to bring an American perspective to all the chaos and destruction. The result was Godzilla, King of the Monsters. Enough of the original movie was left, at least in terms of the special effects, to preserve some of the majesty and poignancy, but there is no question that director Ishiro Honda’s movie was butchered. The original ran 98 minutes. Even with half an hour of Burr footage added, the new film only ran 80.

Consider this a follow-up to last week’s column. In my musings about the Big Bug movies, I mentioned that Tarantula had only just become available for the first time as part of a Best Buy-exclusive box set of Universal SF flicks. I’ve managed to lay my hands on this set (again, you can track it down through Amazon if you’re not having any luck with Best Buy itself – for Canadian readers, I should mention that my attempts to track the disc down through the Best Buy website proved fruitless), and for fans of 50'... SF, and particularly the work of Jack Arnold, this is Christmas come early.

Jarck Arnold directed many of the most important SF films of the 1950s. Two of his most beloved films – Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954) and It Came From Outer Space (1953) – have been out on disc for some time. Most of the other big titles associated with his name are finally available here. One stop shopping.

Big Bug movies. How can one not love them? They have bugs. They’re big. What else do you need to know before you hand out the Oscars?

They heyday of the Big Bug flick was, of course, the 1950's, the era of the great SF boom in the cinema. The first, and best, of these films was Them! (1954). The title is deliberately coy about what the threat is, playing very consciously on Cold War paranoia (after all, who is responsible for everything going on in the world if not the mysterious “them”). Some initia... viewers, it seems, didn’t even know the movie was going to be about giant ants. The film was originally intended to be in 3D and colour, but budget cuts nixed that idea, which is actually for the best. The black-and-white photography varies from moody low key to a flat, semidocumentary look, serving up the perfect mix of atmospheric, almost noir-like mystery in the early goings and the climax, and a nice patina of realism elsewhere. The ants were full-sized mechanical models, and still make quite the impression. The disc from Warner is pretty short on extras, but the print is in nice shape.

Elizabeth Bathory (or, more properly, Erzsébet Báthory) is one of those historical figures just made for horror film. A Hungarian aristocrat, she, if the stories are to be believed, had some 650 young women killed, and would, it has been said, roar from her seat as she watched the torture. And did I mention she believed bathing in blood would keep her eternally young? Eventually, the authorities had at her, and though she was not executed, all the windows and doors of her castle were bricked up, imprisoning her in da...kness until the end of her life. I say, “if the stories are to be believed,” because there are, as one would imagine with this notorious a figure, many disputes (check out the Wikipedia entry and you’ll see what I mean). It has also been argued that she, and not Vlad Tepes, is the real inspiration for Stoker’s Dracula.

At any rate, this kind of tale is too gruesomely juicy to ignore, combining as it does slaughter and sex on an almost apocalyptic scale, and the fact that a woman is the perpetrator is, for good or ill, an added inducement to certain filmmakers and audiences. Bathory sprang to mind because there have been a couple of recent releases that use this figure, and so herewith, a very rough survey of a few of the Bathory films out there.

Recently, Anchor Bay released, at long last, Cemetery Man< to DVD. In so doing, they made available one of the last gasps (for now) of truly first-rate Italian horror, and it might be worth while to spend a few minutes considering the director, Michele Soavi, a man who has been nowhere near as prolific a filmmaker as might be devoutly wished.

In my piece on Joe D’Amato a few weeks ago, I mentioned that the best film he was involved with was Soavi’s debut, StageFright (1987). One of the fascina...ing aspects of this effort is that, while Soavi had been assistant director on films either directed by Dario Argento (Tenebre, Phenomena) or produced by him (Demons< .I>), Argento had no role to play in the making of StageFright. His influence, however, looms large. We can be thankful that it was his aesthetic sense that was a model for Soavi, and not D’Amato’s. In event, this film did wonders with its basic slasher set-up, and its killer’s mask (a gigantic owl’s head) is one that is not soon forgotten by any viewer. Micro-budgeted but a feast for the eyes, StageFright promised much for the future of its director. It remains, as well, his most purely terrifying film.

With The Curse of Frankenstein in 1957, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee became the new kings of British horror, and their frequent co-starring roles made them a tandem the likes of which the industry hadn’t seen since the heyday of the Karloff-Lugosi double-threats of the late-30's. Their films for Hammer and Amicus have long been fan faves, but the film I’m going to sing the praises of here doesn’t have quite the same profile as the likes of Horror of Dracula. Most horror fans of a certain vintage no...doubt have a soft spot for it, but for the few out there who haven’t had the pleasure yet, allow me to direct your attention to Eugenio Martín’s Horror Express (1972).

At the turn of the 20th Century, anthropologist Lee finds, in the mountains of China, what for all the world looks like a dark-haired abominable snowman frozen in ice. He loads his jealously guarded prize onto the Trans-Siberian Express, much to the curiosity of rival scientist Cushing. It turns out the creature isn’t dead, and it also turns out it can pick locks and has other useful skills, as it absorbs the knowledge of whoever meets its eyes. Unfortunately for those individuals, their brains are boiled away. The apeman is inhabited by an alien life force, which soon transfers itself first to one human being, then another.