A DAY TO CELEBRATE THE GENTLEMAN OF FANTASY CINEMA : HAPPY BIRTHDAY PETER CUSHING

TROY HOWARTH'S 'THE AMICUS FILMS OF PETER CUSHING' : 'WANDERING HANDS AND MANNEQUINS'

For their next collaboration, Cushing and Amicus would once again revisit the anthology format.  Asylum was a jigsaw puzzle of a confection written by Robert Bloch.  Like The House That Dripped Blood, it was structured as a mystery, with the linking segment helping to build the film to a final, shocking reveal.  The four segments were of higher-than-usual caliber: “Frozen Fear” tells of a husband (Richard Todd) who chops his wife (Sylvia Sims) into little pieces and is understandably perplexed when the pieces (neatly wrapped in brown paper) come back to life.

 “The Weird Tailor” tells of a mysterious gentleman (Peter Cushing) who hires a tailor (Barry Morse) to make him a most unusual suit; “When Lucy Comes to Stay” tells of a young woman (Charlotte Rampling) whose friendship with Lucy (Britt Ekland) leads to disastrous consequences; and “Mannikins of Horror” tells of an inventor (Herbert Lom) who creates mechanical homunculi.  The film is capped-off by the surprise reveal of the deranged doctor whom the protagonist (Robert Powell) has been searching for.

Bloch’s inventive screenplay ensures that every piece of the puzzle fits together to create a satisfying whole.  Roy Ward Baker, directing his first film for the company, handles the material with style and flair.  Baker, whose past credits included A Night to Remember and Quatermass and the Pit, never seemed much at home in the horror genre, but Asylum proved to be a notable exception.  Clearly inspired by the witty and suspenseful material, he pulls out all the stops and delivers one of his best films.  The cinematography by Denys Coop is appropriately atmospheric, while Douglas Gamley’s score makes inspired use of barnstorming classical music to set the right Gothic tone.

The stories are very effective on the whole, with “The Weird Tailor” emerging as the weakest of the bunch. Even so, it benefits greatly from the fine performances from Cushing and (especially) Barry Morse.  Cushing’s portrayal of the guilt-ridden “Mr. Smith” again allows him to channel his sense of real-life loss into the role he was playing, but his screen time is limited.  There are also fine performances from Herbert Lom, Patrick Magee, Robert Powell, Richard Todd and Charlotte Rampling. The film proved to be another hit for Amicus, and they were only too anxious to continue their association with Cushing; happily, the feeling was mutual.

David Case’s novel “Fengriffen” was a Gothic mystery in the mold of “The Hound of the Baskervilles.”It caught the eye of Milton Subotsky, a voracious reader, who optioned it for a film adaptation.  Surprisingly, he didn’t elect to pen the screenplay himself. Instead, he entrusted the writing to TV veteran Roger Marshall.  Once the script was in place, Subotsky and Rosenberg assembled a top notch cast and a skilled crew, headed by director Roy Ward Baker. The end result proved more problematic than Baker’s previous sojourn into the world of Amicus horror.

The story tells of a young couple (Ian Ogilvy and Stephanie Beacham) who return to the groom’s ancestral home to start a new life together. On the night of their wedding, the bride is attacked and raped by an unseen presence. She believes the supernatural is at work, but the husband is skeptical. Eventually, the sage Dr. Pope (Peter Cushing, of course) is called in to investigate.

The cast does the best it can under the circumstances, but veteran actors like Cushing, Herbert Lom and Patrick Magee have too little to do.  Cushing plays Dr. Pope like a variation on Sherlock Holmes.  He doesn’t enter into the story until fairly late, however, and he is given little to do beyond fiddling with his props.  Lom makes a strong impression as the debauched nobleman who brings a curse upon his family, but his screen time is limited, while Magee is completely wasted as the family doctor who lives in fear of the curse.  Ian Ogilvy, who had risen to genre stardom as the juvenile lead in Michael Reeves’ three horror films (The She Beast, 1965; The Sorcerers, 1967; Witchfinder General, 1968) is very good as the distraught husband, while Stephanie Beacham (who had recently played Cushing’s granddaughter in Dracula AD 1972) is inclined to overact as the hysterical wife.

And Now The Screaming Starts! comes off like something of an Amicus copy of a Hammer film: the period setting and emphasis on shock effects would not have been out of place in one of their films, the use of Oakley Court for the exteriors is very much a Hammer touch, and the single narrative sets the film apart from Amicus’ usual fare.  If nothing else, it served to show up just how difficult it was for Hammer to do this kind of material as successfully as they did.  Slow, plodding and predictable in the extreme, And Now The Screaming Starts is one of the less successful collaborations between Cushing and Amicus. 

Written By Troy Howarth

Edired and Images By Marcus Brooks

DR TERROR'S HOUSE OF HORRORS: CUSHING CLASSIC WITH A FULL DECK

The horror anthology can be traced back as far as German expressionist cinema, with early classics like Richard Oswald’s Eerie Tales (1919) and Paul Leni’s Waxworks (1924), but for many viewers it begins with the Ealing Studios’ production of Dead of Night (1945).

This portmanteau of macabre tales made a profound impression on many people, including a young Milton Subotsky.  Born in New York in 1921, Subotsky was a film buff from an early age and began producing in the 1950s.  He had a particular passion for horror, fantasy and sci-fi and would partner with fellow New Yorker Max J. Rosenberg to form Amicus Productions.  Amicus would initially focus on rock and roll pictures, but in 1964 they decided to switch gears and offer up some health competition to England’s reigning “horror factory,” Hammer Film Productions.  Subotsky explicitly referenced Dead of Night when he set about to write the studio’s first “official” horror film (bearing in mind, they had produced the well-regarded City of the Dead under the banner of Vulcan Productions), ultimately released as Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors.

The film would follow a basic formula which Subotsky would repeat again and again: a group of characters are united in a claustrophobic setting, where they have their fortunes told to them by a mysterious character.  In this instance, the mysterious “seer” is Dr. Schreck, played by Peter Cushing.  Hidden behind bushy eyebrows and a stubbly beard, Cushing is seedier than usual and he plays the role with a nicely understated sense of menace and foreboding.  Cushing would become the company’s mascot of sorts and his loyalty to Subotsky would lead him to accept appearances in some films that he might otherwise have done well to have taken a pass on.

The first of the characters to have their fortunes told is Scottish architect Neil McCallum.  In McCallum’s story, he goes to his ancestral home, which is now owned by grand dame Usrula Howells.  There’s a family curse afoot involving a werewolf and the “surprise” reveal of the creature’s identity shouldn’t come as a surprise to a five year old.  The story may be slim and predictable, but director Freddie Francis and cinematographer Alan Hume give it style and atmosphere to burn.  Of all the segments, it’s the only one that really captures an atmosphere of dread and as such, it’s a good intro that sets the tone for what is to follow.

The second segment deals with family man Alan Freeman (a popular DJ in his day, making a rare acting appearance) who returns from vacation to discover that a strange vine is slowly enveloping his house. Enlisting the aid of scientists Bernard Lee and Jeremy Kemp, Freeman attempts to destroy the pesky plant, but it would appear to have ideas of its own…  Freeman does a credible job and Lee and Kemp do their best to keep a straight face delivering some ridiculous dialogue, but the bargain basement special effects don’t do it any favors.

 

The next segment involves musician Roy Castle, who steals a tune used in a voodoo ceremony and may or may not live to regret it… This is easily the weakest of the film’s stories and is shamelessly ripped off from an episode of the Boris Karloff TV series Thriller, which featured John Ireland in a not-dissimilar role as a musician who runs afoul of a vengeful voodoo god after incorporating a similar tune into one of his night club routines.  Even without the air of plagiarism, the segment is a mess: Castle’s incessant mugging is a constant irritant and the attempts at humor are feeble at best.  On the plus side, the segment has some terrific jazz music by the great Tubby Hayes. Indeed, director Francis had hoped to have Hayes score the entire film, but the musician’s problems with cocaine dependency made him unreliable, so Francis asked for the services of the distinguished Elisabeth Lutyens instead.

Up next, Christopher Lee plays a pompous art critic who drives artist Michael Gough to suicide.  Gough’s hand (which had been severed in an accident engineered by Lee) returns to exact vengeance.  The special effects work is awkward, admittedly, but this segment succeeds due to the heartfelt performances of Lee and Gough.  Lee is at his imperious best as the ultra-bitchy critic whose acerbic words destroy the lives of others, while Gough is genuinely touching and restrained as the sympathetic victim.

The final segment involves newly married doctor Donald Sutherland, who discovers that his wife (Jennifer Jayne, looking lovely but sporting a dicey French accent) is actually a vampire.  The segment has some nice touches, but it’s slowly paced and the payoff is much too predictable.  Sutherland impresses in one of his earliest screen roles, while Max Adrian quietly steals his scenes with one of his less florid and theatrical performances, as Sutherland’s medic colleague.

The film draws to a close as the train carting the characters pulls into the station.  Dr. Schreck disappears into thin air and the characters decide to laugh off what they’ve been shown … but it will be Dr. Schreck who has the last laugh.

Amicus would go on to produce some better anthologies than this one, notably The House That Dripped Blood and From Beyond the Grave, but Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors remains one of their seminal works.  It’s a fun film on its own terms and it shows Freddie Francis working at the top of his game as a director.  Francis’ frustration with being typecast as a horror director (he was no fan of the genre and was very open about this) would later result in some truly hackneyed work, but at this stage in the game he was still doing his best to shore up weak screenplays with plenty of visual fireworks.  Subotsky’s screenplay is derivative and unimaginative, but the anthology format proves to be beneficial in that once one weak story is out of the way, there’s always the chance for something better in the next segment.

In the case of Dr. Terror, the good fortunately outweighs the bad.  The Werewolf and Crawling Hand segments remain highlights in the Amicus canon and the Vampire story is by no means disposable, either.  The fine performances, eerie music score by Lutyens, stylish direction by Francis and expert widescreen color photography from Hume all add up to make this a film worth seeing again and again.

 

Review: Troy Howarth

Gallery: Marcus Brooks

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