WHEN SIRE OF ACTING DYNASTY APPEARED WITH FANTASY ICON REMEMBERED

MICHAEL REDGRAVE was of the generation of English actors that gave the world the legendary John Gielgud, Ralph Richardson and Laurence Olivier, #Britain three fabled "Theatrical Knights" back in the days when a knighthood for thespian was far more rare than it is today. . . Sir Michael Redgrave. A superb actor, Redgrave himself was a charter member of the post-Great War English acting pantheon and was the sire of an acting dynasty. According to his daughter, Vanessa, and son Corin, Sir Michael's favourite film roles were in The Browning Version (1951), The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (1962) The Dam Busters (1955) The Lady Vanishes (1938) #1984 (1956) Dead of Night (1945) and The Magic Box (1951) and many more gems . .

PETER CUSHING  appeared in a 1955 stage production of The Browning Version as Andrew Crocker-Harris in London, recorded and transmitted by BBC TV. He co started with #PeterCushing in Time Without Pity, Cushing's role as barrister, Jeremy Clayton is neat role. Cushing plays it with an impatient sharpness , that makes you feel all the more sorry for Redgrave's 'David Graham'. Just a support role, but in that added to Cushing's already sizeable characters he had played in theatre, radio and massiviely on television. Redgrave's opinion about working in film, when he had made such a career of the theatre, was pretty much like Peter Cushing also felt . .'I didn't think I'd be any good in films... I couldn't imagine myself on the screen. Besides, there were such exciting things to do in the theatre, so much to learn!'. Michael Redgrave passed away on this day in 1985 only one day after his 77th birthday.

If you are not familiar with Time Without Pity, a little later we have posted and shared a clip over at the FACEBOOK PCASUK FAN PAGE, which features a scene with both Redgrave and Peter from the film. IF you have seen the film, love to know, what do you think of it?

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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A TALENT TO TERRIFY: PART THREE: FLAMES, TRAINS AND AUTOMATONS BY TROY HOWARTH

The year 1964, would see Hammer Films spread their wings by going for a mini-“epic.”  She, adapted from the novel by H. Rider Haggard, told of a hidden city presided over by the beautiful and ageless She Who Must Be Obeyed, aka Ayesha, here played by former Bond girl Ursula Andress.  Producer Michael Carreras had long grown bored with Hammer’s stage bound Gothics and pushed his collaborators into going for something bigger and more ambitious.  As was usually the case with Hammer, however, they tended to fall down a bit when they strove for more than their tight budgets could adequately supply. 'She' was an ambitious production by Hammer’s standards but even the increased budget and schedule could only accommodate so much.  Hammer’s veteran FX wizard Les Bowie worked hard to provide the illusion of depth and splendor, but it simply came off as a lot of matte work.

Director Robert Day failed to capture the mystery, the magic and the romanticism; perhaps Terence Fisher might have proved a better fit.  The film was very much a showcase for Andress and she is certainly beautiful, but she doesn’t convey the character’s dignity or fearsome power very convincingly.  The film is further hamstrung by a weak performance by John Richardson as her reincarnated lover.  Richardson rose to prominence in Italian films, including Mario Bava’s splendid Black Sunday, but he was never more than a pretty face and his stiff emoting hurt many a film, including this one.  On the upside, the film allowed a reunion of sorts for Cushing and Lee.  Cushing is terrific as the intrepid adventurer, Major Holly, while Lee adds tremendous dignity and gravitas to the role of Ayesha’s jilted high priest, Bilali.  One of the film’s best moments is a quiet one, wherein Major Holly interrupts Bilali’s devotions and engages in a conversation on the nature of faith.  Both actors are at the top of their game here, as Holly slyly goads Bilali into self-righteous indignation.  If only the rest of the film measured up to this sequence.

 

 

From this point on, a subtle shift in power would begin to occur.  Cushing’s star, so prominent in the UK, never really translated across the globe; he was a well-known and admired actor, but his association with genre films would gradually impair his ability to get roles in other types of pictures.  Lee’s name, however, would continue to grow – his star on the assent, he would gradually begin to attract the attention of producers for “higher prestige” pictures, and his name would overcome that as the genre’s major superstar….

 

In 1964, the two would unite for their first film together at Amicus – the production company established by New Yorkers Max Rosenberg and Milton Subotsky to act as a competitor to Hammer Films.  Subotsky was the company’s main creative force and it was his passion for the genre that prompted them to go into the horror business.  He also felt compelled to settle an old score regarding Hammer, as he had submitted a proposed remake of Frankenstein to Hammer in the mid-50s.  When the studio hit pay dirt with The Curse of Frankenstein, they did so via a brand new screenplay by Jimmy Sangster and didn’t make use of Subotsky’s script, which, according to producer Anthony Hinds, was a “tired rehash” of the 1931 James Whale classic.  In any event, Subotsky felt a bit slighted and would often vocalize his opinion that Hammer’s films were too gory and exploitative for his tastes.  Thus, Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors would harken back to the classic Ealing Studios’ chiller Dead of Night (1945), which had made a profound impression on the writer/producer at a young age.  Hammer had never explored the anthology format and had made their name in period-set Gothic fare; Amicus would therefore corner the market in anthologies and would typically set their films in the current day.

 

The screenplay for Dr. Terror, written by Subotsky, is weak and heavy on cliché, but in the hands of director Freddie Francis and cinematographer Alan Hume (who had just photographed the elegant Kiss of the Vampire for Hammer) it would overcome this hurdle to become a brisk and stylish picture.  The casting was crucial to the film’s success; Subotsky may have frowned upon Hammer’s style, but he recognized that Lee and Cushing were actors of talent and was only too happy to borrow them to give his film added name value.  For the first time, Lee would claim top billing – though Cushing’s special “with Peter Cushing as Dr. Terror” credit may be seen as a way of suggesting that he was still the star attraction; Cushing would be billed first on posters in the UK, while Lee would get preferential treatment in the US – in time, the scales would tip completely in Lee’s favor.  Both actors are in great form here.  Cushing is memorably seedy and spooky as the German-accented fortuneteller, replete with bushy eyebrows and a beard, while Lee gets one of the best roles of his career as the unbearably pompous art critic who is reduced to a hysterical wreck when the severed hand of the artist (a marvelous, low key Michael Gough – world’s away from his mannered performance in Dracula) he compelled into committing suicide comes to exact vengeance.  The cast also includes an early role for Canadian actor Donald Sutherland, who would become a major star in the 70s thanks to such hits as M*A*S*H (1970), Klute (1971) and Don’t Look Now (1973).  The stories range from the engaging to the ridiculous, establishing the uneven tone which would dog so many horror anthologies in later years.  It would also prove to be a big hit for Amicus, who would waste little time in reuniting Cushing and Lee for another film.

The Skull (1965) was adapted by Subotsky from a short story by Robert Bloch.  It deals with an occult scholar (Cushing) who becomes fascinated by the skull of the Marquis De Sade.  The skull exerts an evil influence, compelling Cushing to commit murder.  This was every inch the star vehicle for Cushing, who is in virtually every scene, and who would claim top billing over Lee (here given “guest star” billing for his small supporting role) for the final time.  Cushing is marvelous in the film; indeed, he pretty much carries the slim story on his shoulders.

Director Freddie Francis was inspired to ad lib many stylish scenes of “pure cinema,” even inventing a “skull point of view” gimmick which proved to be uncommonly effective; he would reuse the gag later in The Creeping Flesh.  Some critics complained that the film was long on style and slim on story – which is valid as far as it goes -- but the film also offers up plenty of atmosphere and some excellent performances, to say nothing of an absolutely brilliant soundtrack by Elisabeth Lutyens.  It’s Cushing’s show all the way, but Lee impresses as the tight-lipped but nervous fellow collector who warns Cushing off of meddling with the skull.  Nigel Green, Patrick Wymark, Patrick Magee, Jill Bennett and other fine actors add a sense of class to the production, which is arguably the best thing Francis ever directed.

Unless we count a reprise of the finale of Dracula, which Hammer grafted to the beginning of Dracula Prince of Darkness (1965) to bring the film up to its contractually obliged running time, “the boys” would not have another go-around until 1967, when they were brought in to add some much needed conviction to the sci-fi thriller Night of the Big Heat.  Terence Fisher was finding work a little scarce at Hammer, who were exploring the talents of other directors like Francis and John Gilling, and was obliged to undertake some sci-fi films around this time – a genre with which he had zero enthusiasm.  Fisher’s indifference was writ large over Island of Terror (1966), but the character interactions and suspense afforded by the screenplay of Night of the Big Heat appear to have whetted his appetite.  It therefore emerges as an above-average offering which only collapses at the very end, when the monsters from outer space are finally unveiled.  Lee would later recall that they looked like fried eggs, which is a fair analysis; no doubt the title Night of the Fried Eggs was bandied about on set, but the film itself is played straight, without any trace of camp.

 

Lee top-lines the cast as the mysterious scientist who lurks about trying to avert the alien invasion, while “guest star” Cushing does what he can with his scenes as a well-meaning GP who sweats a ton as the heat rises – yet never sees fit to remove his stained jacket!  Stiff upper lip and all that… Fisher manages a few nice set pieces and the performances help to elevate the material, but the final reveal and general boredom which accompanies the sci-fi angle help to keep it in the “minor” category.

In 1969, Amicus joined forces with American International Picture to produce Scream and Scream Again, a paranoid sci-fi thriller with horror overtones.  It was an uneasy alliance, with Subotsky running afoul of director Gordon Hessler, who had the support of AIP all the way.  Subotsky’s original screenplay was deemed unusable and Hessler brought in his friend, screenwriter Christopher Wicking, to write a completely new adaptation of Peter Saxon’s book The Disoriented Man. Subotsky felt slighted and tried making his presence felt on set by objecting to Hessler’s decision to include some then-graphic touches of sex and violence – but he would soon find himself barred from the set and the editing room.  The film made a ton of money at the box office, but Subotsky said he had no idea why – he thought it was a terrible film; doubtless, his complicated role on the film colored his feelings just a hair. The film’s success was largely attributable, however, to the decision to unite the “big three” genre stars of the day on the same playbill: Vincent Price, Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing.  Price and Lee would get the title billing, while Cushing would earn another “guest star” credit.  Arguably, only Price would get a role really deserving of his talents, though Lee does a fine job as the shifty government official who may or may not play a major role in the plot.

The deliberately fragmented storytelling and energetic direction help to make the film an enjoyable one, with John Coquillon’s stylish cinematography and David Whitaker’s pulsing jazz score adding to the fun.  Even so, many fans felt a bit cheated that the three stars didn’t even get a scene together – and Cushing was relegated to a role that any day player could have managed quite well; he couldn’t have filmed for more than a day… and a short day at that.  Regardless, the star power, eye-catching title and lurid ad campaign made it a winner at the box office, even if it remains a controversial entry among fans to this day.

 

Next Time: Part Four: 'Bloch, Stevenson and a little help from Sammy...'  

'A Talent To Terrify: The Twenty Two Films

of Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee' is written by Troy Howarth

with Images and artwork by Marcus Brooks.