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A TALENT TO TERRIFY: our nine part series, covers the best of and interesting films, that both Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee both appeared in, though not always in scenes together! PART ONE is HERE! 

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THE AMICUS FILMS OF PETER CUSHING: PART ONE

The Amicus Films of Peter Cushing : Part One of a serial feature written by Troy Howarth with images and design by Marcus Brooks

When Max J. Rosenberg and Milton Subotsky partnered up to produce films, they initially had their eye aimed squarely at the youth market.  They scored early hits with rock and roll films like Rock, Rock, Rock! (1956) and the early Richard Lester film It’s Trad, Dad! (1962), but it was their moody black and white chiller City of the Dead (1960, aka Horror Hotel) which would point to their later fortunes.  City of the Dead had been produced under the name of Vulcan Productions, but by the time they revisited the genre in the middle of the decade, the credits would read “An Amicus Production.”  Amicus, incidentally, was the Latin word for “friend,” indicating that the company was established with the best of intentions.

Truth be told, the distribution of work at Amicus was pretty much split thusly: Rosenberg set up the deals and Subotsky focused on the creative end of the partnership.  It was Subotsky who had enthusiasm for horror, sci-fi and fantasy; Rosenberg would have been quite content producing anything that turned a profit.  As such, their working relationship would prove to be harmonious—for the most part.  Dissent and hard feelings would settle in over time, but in the beginning it was a match made in heaven, with the two New Yorkers feeding into each other’s strengths.

When they decided to turn their energy to making horror pictures, they were well aware of the success that Hammer Films were enjoying in the UK.  Subotsky, in fact, had approached Hammer's Anthony Hinds with the idea of doing a remake of James Whale’s Frankenstein (1931) in the mid-50s. When Hammer went off and did a very different take on Mary Shelley’s original novel, Subotsky felt cheated and would often vocalize a critical attitude towards Hammer’s output in interviews. 

Subotsky preferred his horror with a bit of subtlety; to his thinking, Hammer’s shockers were too garish, too gory, too needlessly sexy.  Thus, it came as no surprise that the horror films he oversaw were comparatively “old fashioned” in their approach. Still, Subotsky and Rosenberg knew that they needed star power to help sell their films and they wasted no time in courting Hammer’s two biggest names, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee.

Lee would top-line City of the Dead and would be brought back to star in Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (1965), the first of the Amicus anthology films.  To play the fortune-telling Dr. Schreck, they would enlist the services of Peter Cushing.  The combination of Cushing and Lee was good for box office and with Hammer veteran Freddie Francis also in tow to direct, some viewers may well have thought that they were seeing a new Hammer film!

Dr. Terror would establish a very different approach, however, one which would distinguish the Amicus product from that of Hammer.  Hammer’s films were typically period pieces.  They reveled in lurid scenes of gore and sensual sexuality.  And above all else, they were always single narrative pieces.  Amicus’ films, on the other hand, would be contemporary.  They would avoid explicit gore and seldom so much as touched on the subject of sex or sexuality.  And they would often embrace the anthology format which had so impressed the young Subotsky when he saw Ealing Studios’ seminal Dead of Night (1945).

The formula would prove to be successful.  Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors was a box office hit and it even snagged some favorable notices from the critics, many of whom were put off by the excesses found in Hammer’s films.  If Subotsky and Rosenberg were taking “the high road” in some respects, it was due entirely to Subotsky’s own feelings on the matter; if Rosenberg had produced such a film on his own, there’s little doubt that he would have hewed closer to Hammer’s example.  No matter how one views it, Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors made an impact and it remains one of their most purely enjoyable confections. Freddie Francis directs with style and energy, Alan Hume’s widescreen color photography is properly colorful and atmospheric, Elisabeth Lutyens contributes a spare, but chilling, soundtrack.

If it has a failing it’s in the script, written by Subotsky himself.  The stories are a pretty routine lot and at least one of them (the Voodoo segment with Roy Castle) is basically an uncredited rip-off of Cornel Woolrich’s story Papa Benjamin, which had been adapted as an episode of the popular Boris Karloff-hosted TV series, Thriller, in 1961. Even so, the stylish execution and generally excellent performances help to elevate it and result in a generally enjoyable film.  Like most anthologies, it’s uneven—one good story here, one so-so one there—but when it works, it works very well indeed. They would continue to refine the formula in later films.

The experience of making Dr. Terror would prove satisfying for Peter Cushing. He enjoyed getting to play a real character role, with makeup and an accent to boot, and he responded to Subotsky’s almost childlike enthusiasm. Indeed, the two men would find in each other kindred spirits. Much has been written about Cushing down through the years, but little of it touches on the complexity of the man. He had his faults, like anybody else, but one of his great strengths was an unerring sense of loyalty to his friends. In Subotsky, he found a producer whose love for creating mirrored his own.



If Cushing had issues with his writing, as he had with that of Hammer’s Jimmy Sangster, for example, he kept his concerns to himself—or at the very least broached the topic in gentle terms that didn’t ruffle any feathers on Subotsky’s part. Much like the “marriage” of Subotsky and Rosenberg, the union of Amicus and Cushing would prove to be a productive and happy one; it would also enjoy a happier resolution in the long run.

For their next collaboration, The Skull, Cushing would return to play the lead, with Lee along for the ride in the capacity of “guest star.” Freddie Francis was again brought on board to direct and he would deliver what was for all intents and purposes his masterpiece as a director.



The slight screenplay, adapted by Subotsky from Robert Bloch’s story “The Skull of the Marquis de Sade”, served as an ideal framework for the director to indulge in his love of mobile camerawork and artfully composed compositions. It may well be a case of style over substance, but so what?

As a mood piece, The Skull is remarkable well done. It’s even a little eerie in spots, as Cushing’s character, an obsessive collector of occult memorabilia, succumbs to the malefic influence of de Sade’s skull. Subotsky managed to assemble a top notch cast for the film: in addition to Cushing and Lee, it featured the likes of Patrick Wymark, Nigel Green, Patrick Magee, Jill Bennett, George Coulouris and Michael Gough.

This reflects a key strength of Subotsky as a producer—his unerring ability to entice top drawer talent to appear in genre films by offering them roles that could be filmed quickly, thus enabling them to earn a little extra money in between more “important” film and theatrical commitments.



Cushing was given an opportunity to carry the film, appearing in almost every scene and helping to ground it in reality.  He’s splendid in the role, which is in some respects one of his most under-appreciated performances.  He is relaxed and commanding when needed, but gradually conveys panic and fear as the character’s life begins to spiral out of control.

It’s a marvelous, low-key, naturalistic performance from an actor who could sometimes fall back on mannerisms when he didn’t have something more substantial to work from.  It, too, would prove to be a hit for the company and Subotsky would waste no time in continuing the association. Their next venture(s), however, would prove to be controversial among fans and sci-fi buffs in general, with many viewing the end result as something of a low point for both the studio—and the actor …

Written By Troy Howarth
Images and Design: Marcus Brooks

VOTING BALLOT HERE

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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