Sinister sideshow huckster Dr. Diablo (Burgess
Meredith) offers to give a group of strangers a glimpse of their
not-so-rosy futures in this anthology from Amicus…
Given the box office success of Dr. Terror’s House
of Horrors (1964), it may seem surprising that it took producers Max
Rosenberg and Milton Subotsky several years to light upon the idea of
delivering another horror film in the same vein. They had explored
sci-fi via a pair of juvenile Dr. Who vehicles, and had explored horror
in various forms via such Robert Bloch properties as The Skull (1965),
The Psychopath (1966) and The Deadly Bees (1966), but somehow they had
failed to capitalize upon the box office potential of the anthology
format. The tide changed when they enlisted Bloch to pen a new
anthology, which was then envisioned as another vehicle for Peter
Cushing and Christopher Lee. Things changed a bit when Columbia
Pictures was enlisted to infuse some much needed financing, but the
film’s box office takings persuaded Subotsky and Rosenberg to direct
much of their energy to further multi-story offerings for the remainder
of their
partnership.
Things kick off with a splendid slice of
grotesquerie starring Michael Bryant, Maurice Denham and Niall
MacGinnis. There are no end titles, and as such there are no official
on camera segment titles, but this segment is known as “Enoch,” and it
casts Bryant as a ne’er-do-well who seeks to cash in on his uncle’s
demise by using the old man’s money to get himself out of debt. Little
does Bryant realize that the money carries a witches curse, and the
witches familiar - a black cat - has every intention of seeing this
legacy fulfilled. Director Freddie Francis slathers on the atmosphere
with moody lighting and interesting camera angles; it marks one of his
most successfully realized mood pieces, and helps to get the film off on
the right foot. Bryant, who had not long prior “finished” filming a
lead role for Orson Welles (in a project destined to be uncompleted,
unfortunately) and was already established as one of the notable
“leading lights” of the British theatre, gives an excellent performance
in the lead, and it’s fun to see Maurice Denham and Niall MacGinnis
reunited, as it were, from Jacques Tourneur’s magnificent Night of the
Demon (1957).
The quality dips sharply in the next two
segments, unfortunately. First up is “Terror Over Hollywood,” in which
grasping wannabe starlet Beverly Adams unwittingly sells her soul for
fame and fortune, and then “Mr. Steinway” tells the tale of how Barbara
Ewing (Dracula Has Risen from the Grave) falls victim to - wait for it -
a possessed piano. The former is dreadfully dull, done up in a bland,
smothering “lite jazz” score by Don Banks, while the latter is simply
too silly for words. Kudos to Francis for trying to make the latter
halfway credible, but all the gel lighting and canted angles in the
world can’t shake the silliness from the basic concept.
In the grand tradition of saving the best for last, the film
wraps up with “The Man Who Collected Poe” - it is for this, fellow
Cushing fans, that we are here assembled. The segment stars Jack
Palance as the most obsessive collector this side of, well, Peter
Cushing in The Skull. Determined to avail himself of some of the
“treasures” of fellow fanatic Cushing, he decides to play dirty - but
may or may not live to pay the price.
The segment allowed Cushing his only chance to
share scenes with Hollywood heavyweight Jack Palance, who was then about
to enter something of a dry spell with appearances in numerous B and Z
grade productions. Even so, he already had an Oscar nomination (for
Shane) under his belt, and the Golden God would become his in the
future, thanks to his career-rehabilitating turn as Curly in the
audience friendly family comedy City Slickers (1992). Palance was as
intense as he was imposing - standing a full 6’ 4”, and built like a
tank, he had been a boxer and a decorated WWII veteran before turning
his sights to acting. Palance had the face of a heavy, and he knew it -
far from resenting it, he capitalized on it and turned it in to an
advantage. Palance wasn’t afraid of hamming it up, and it seems that on
occasion a fondness for the bottle took its toll on his work (witness
his turn as the head of a strange religious sect in director Jess
Franco’s Justine, 1969, for a truly “bombed” appearance), but more
often than not he was able to inject substance and interest into even
the least defined of characterizations.
Torture Garden afforded Palance one of his few
truly good horror genre roles. The character of Ronald Wyatt is a
fanatic extraordinaire - his sheer giddiness and glee at handling the
various items in Cushing’s collection of Poe memorabilia may seem over
the top to some, but if you ever get a chance to attend, say, a horror
film convention, you’ll realize it’s not far from the truth. Palance
doesn’t underplay the part, but it’s not a role that calls for
understatement, either. Wyatt is something of a functioning junkie,
though his addiction is Poe rather than any illicit substance. Palance
nails this aspect of the character with ease, and he never seems to be
playing down to the audience.
As one might expect, Cushing’s performance as his
“rival” collector, Lancelot Canning, is more reserved. Even so, he also
manages to express the character’s almost orgasmic love of his
collection - handling the items with tenderness, talking of them as one
might of a lost love, and also reveling in the fact that he has the
upper hand on his American colleague. The two actors also display a
real chemistry, and play off of each other very well. When Palance
first visits Cushing’s home, for example, the former is so overcome with
excitement that he can barely focus on the formal pleasantries. Ever
the gracious host, Cushing offers a choice of drinks - upon saying
“whiskey,” Palance blurts out an eager “yes,” and then Cushing proceeds
to offer sherry as an alternative, whereupon Palance continues with
“yes, thank you!” Wyatt is clearly not even paying attention, and
Cushing’s sly double take manages to convey a sense
of amusement without milking the scene for laughter. The two men then
proceed to virtually worship at a portait of the late author, hanging in
Cushing’s salon. Canning offers a pithy analysis of Poe’s genius,
while Wyatt silently, somewhat mockingly, sizes him up. It’s clear
early on that he realizes that he’s bigger, tougher and more cunning
than his “opponent,” and if he doesn’t exactly have murder on his mind,
he is nevertheless bound and determined to see the full extent of
Canning’s collection. Wyatt plies Canning with alcohol, affording
Cushing a rare chance to play “drunk” on screen. Cushing does so
without resorting to over the top theatrics, subtly slurring his words
but not going for slapstick in the process. The episode basically plays
out as something of a bizarre ritual, as the two men, unified in a
common obsession, test and tease each other, each itching to come out on
top as the ultimate fanatic.
Here, as elsewhere, Francis directs with a keen
eye for the visual. He offers a wide variety of interesting camera set
ups, ratcheting the tension as Palance’s obsession tilts from barely
contained to positively dangerous. He elicits excellent performances
from his actors, and the pace is taut, with no longeurs to complain of.
This stands in contrast to Subotsky’s allegations that Francis was good
with visuals, but lousy with story - thus prompting the producer to
perpetuate the myth that he salvaged much of his work in the editing
room, a claim which Francis strenuously objected to.
Interestingly, this marked the only time that
Amicus hired Hammer’s in house composer James Bernard to pen the
soundtrack. Bernard sat out the Terror Over Hollywood segment, allowing
Don Banks to deliver a more “modern” sound apropos to the subject
matter, but his contributions to “Enoch” and “The Man Who Collected Poe”
are strongly felt. Perhaps because of the fact that he didn’t score
the film as a whole, it’s a score that doesn’t generate much attention
among his fans - but truly, it deserves more appreciation. As in the
best of his Hammer scores, Bernard’s music not only complements the mood
- it helps to elevate it where needed.
Ultimately, Torture Garden is an uneven picture. Two
segments work, two segments don’t - and on this level, it’s hard to give
it a full endorsement. Fans of British horror would be remiss to skip
those two key segments that do work, however, as they offer all the
attributes one associates with the golden age of British horror
filmmaking.
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