BLOCH, STEVENSON AND A LITTLE HELP FROM SAMMY : 'A TALENT TO TERRIFY' PART FOUR

The appeal of Hammer horror extended across the globe, earning Lee and Cushing fans in all walks of life. One such fan was Sammy Davis, Jr., who pulled his weight on the set of One More Time (1970) by compelling director Jerry Lewis to bring the two actors in for a cameo appearance.

 

The loosely plotted and non-too-amusing sequel to Salt and Pepper (1968) focused on the continued adventures of nightclub owners Charles Salt (Davis, Jr.) and Christopher Pepper (Peter Lawford).  The addition of a sight gag involving the sudden – and poorly covered – appearance of Count Dracula (Lee) and Baron Frankenstein (Cushing) in a rather impoverished-looking “mad lab” set no doubt baffled the film’s target audience.  In any event, Lee and Cushing appear to have had fun filming their cameo and working with the gifted Davis, Jr. Next up, Lee and Cushing returned to Amicus for another anthology.  Lee had originally been slated to appear opposite Cushing in the “Man Who Collected Poe” segment of Torture Garden (1967), but Columbia wanted an American star – so Jack Palance got the gig instead.

Cinerama, the distributors of The House That Dripped Blood, were only too happy to have the reigning British kings of horror on board.  The screenplay was penned by Robert Bloch and dealt with a house with an unfortunate past, which is at the center of an investigation into the disappearance of ham horror star Paul Henderson (a terrific Jon Pertwee, playing a role originally ear-marked for Vincent Price).

Lee and Cushing would not share any screen time, as they occupied separate segments, but both actors were at the top of their game here.  Lee is by turns imposing, frightening, despicable and moving as the ice-cold father of an angelic little girl (Chloe Franks, who very nearly steals the show) who is not everything she appears to be.

 

Cushing brings an air of melancholy to his role as a retired stock broker who falls under the spell of a statue of Salome.  The sadness radiating from Cushing could be attributed to his ongoing panic over the deteriorating health of his beloved Helen.  The actor was reluctant to face facts, but she was not to be by his side for much longer.

The film was another hit for Amicus, thanks in large part to an admittedly tacky title which would prove to be the bane of director Peter Duffell’s existence; it wasn’t subtle (even if the film itself was – you’ll note, there isn’t a drop of blood in the film itself) but it helped to put people in the seats.

Lee and Cushing would round out 1970 by reteaming for another Amicus production.  On the face of it, I, Monster was more typical of Hammer than Amicus: it was period-set and would tell only one story.  The adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s venerable “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” would remain true to the source material – and to Subotsky’s overall credo with regards to downplaying graphic shock effects.

Full Interview with Stephen Weeks Here

Sadly, the film would be overrun with bad luck.  Peter Duffell elected to pass on the picture, fearing becoming typecast as a genre director, and Lee would recommend the young (21 at the time of filming) filmmaker Stephen Weeks on the strength of his short film 1917 (1970), which had impressed the actor.  Weeks would prove ill-equipped to cope with Subotsky’s dialogue-heavy script or the additional baggage of a half-baked 3D process with which the producer decided to burden the production.  Thoughts of 3D exhibition dried up part of the way into filming, but the damage was already done – the material would prove awkward and difficult to cut together, and the film would pretty much just lie there… bereft of life, despite some interesting art direction and a brilliant central performance from Lee.

 

As Lee has often said, it makes very little sense that Subotsky saw fit to write the most faithful adaptation of Stevenson’s novella, only to change the names of the central character(s) while leaving all the other names intact.  Whatever the thinking was, the moniker I, Monster would prove to be off-putting for many viewers and the film would slide into relative obscurity.  This is to be regretted because, at the very least, the film is worth seeing for Lee’s performance.  He is tremendously effective as the repressed Dr. Marlowe, who transforms into the free-spirited and vicious Mr. Blake.  Lee seizes every opportunity available to him, making this one of his most memorable characterizations.

Cushing, sadly, is squandered in a dull supporting role.  His performance as the stuffy lawyer Utterson is professional, but the role gives him no opportunity for shading or nuance.  Worse still, he is forced to share several scenes with the amateurish Mike Raven, a disc jockey turned actor who was making an open bid for horror stardom at that time.  The film would prove to be a relatively minor footnote in the Amicus canon, but a life-changing event was in the works for Cushing – and from that point on, life, as he knew it, would hold precious little meaning.

Next Time: FOSSILS, FINGERS AND THE COUNT IS BACK! 

'A Talent To Terrify : The Twenty Two Films Of Peter Cushing And Christopher Lee' is written by Troy Howarth with Artwork and Images by Marcus Brooks. 

RARE PHOTOGRAPHS AND FEATURE : JACK PALANCE PETER CUSHING IN 'THE MAN WHO COLLECTED POE' TORTURE GARDEN' (1967)

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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AMICUS FILMS: PETER CUSHING IN 'THE SKULL' (1965)

Peter Cushing as Dr. Christopher Maitland in Amicus Films 'THE SKULL' 1965

THE SKULL AND THE CREEPING FLESH: SOMETIMES A GOOD IDEA IS WORTH REPEATING: PETER CUSHING

A great technique that worked well in both films! The Skull 1965 and The Creeping Flesh in 1973.

'THE SKULL' (1965) : PETER CUISHING AND CHRISTOPHER LEE: AUTOGRAPHED