The House That
Dripped Blood marked a highpoint for Cushing’s relationship
with Amicus. The same could not be said
of the next (and last) Cushing/Lee/Subotsky outing. I,
Monster (1970) was adapted by Subotsky from the Robert Louis Stevenson
novella “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde”. It’s easy to forget that Stevenson
constructed his story as a mystery; now it is so much a part of pop culture
that even those who’ve never read it or even seen one of the many film versions
will be well aware that Jekyll and Hyde are one and the same person.
In adapting the story, Subotsky was scrupulously
faithful in almost every respect; for reasons best-known to him, however, he
elected to change the name of the central character(s) to Dr. Marlowe and Mr.
Blake. Star Christopher Lee has often
railed against the logic in doing this, to say nothing of imposing the idiotic
title of I, Monster on the finished
film, but his frustration is not evident in the finished product; it is, in
fact, one of his most accomplished performances. Subotsky initially hoped to lure Peter Duffel
back to direct, having been pleased with his work on The House That Dripped Blood, but the young director was not keen
on becoming typed as a horror director.
Lee suggested a young filmmaker named Stephen Weeks, who had made a
short film called 1917 (1970), which
had greatly impressed the actor.
Weeks
jumped at the chance, but soon found himself in the unenviable position of
directing a film in a 3D process which proved impractical, to say the
least. In essence, the process called
for perpetual motion in the frame: the camera had to remain in movement and
during those few shots that were static, people had to be moving about in the
frame. It was a headache to view with 3D
glasses and it was eventually abandoned when Subotsky realized that it simply
wasn’t worth all the fuss.
Sadly, this still resulted in a film that proved
difficult to cut together; transitioning from one tracking shot to another
proved unbelievably difficult for editor Peter Tanner, and some scenes were
compromised by garish camera angles designed to play up the 3D effects. On top of that, for all the tricky
camerawork, it was a very static piece: long-winded, talky and dull. Weeks did the best job he could under the circumstances,
but it proved to be a disappointment all around. On the plus side, Lee gives a dynamic
performance: his portrayal of the stiff-necked Marlowe is very much in keeping
with his screen image, but his performance as the childlike Blake is a revelation:
he starts off as an impish child, happy and mischievous in the extreme, but as
the story unfolds he becomes more and more horrific … and pathetic. Lee’s ability to elicit pathos in such
horrific characters is one of the elements that keeps him in line with the
likes of Karloff and Lon Chaney, Sr.
It’s just unfortunate that one of his best performances had to be in
such a dull film.
Cushing
doesn’t fare very well here: his role as Marlowe’s lawyer friend, Utterson, is
dull and one-dimensional, and the actor doesn’t seem to be able to invest much
life into it. He doesn’t do badly, by
any means, but he disappears into the scenery somewhat, and, sadly, some of his
scenes are pretty much wrecked by the incompetent thesping of co-star (and
wannabe horror star) Mike Raven. Raven
speaks with his own voice here, which only serves to make one better appreciate
Hammer’s decision to have him looped by Valentine Dyall in Lust for a Vampire (1970). I, Monster failed to attract much
attention at the box office, and helped to convince Subotsky and Rosenberg that
their fortunes lay in the anthology format.
Christopher
Lee would bid his farewell to Amicus at this stage, but it doesn’t appear that
the parting of ways was at all unpleasant for either side. Cushing, however, would remain loyal to his
friend Subotsky and would continue to appear in more films for the
company. In the meantime, however, his
personal life underwent a major upheaval and life, as he knew it, would never
be the same.
Following
the death of his beloved wife, Helen, Cushing lost the will to live. He contemplated suicide, but his strict
religious principles prevented him from doing so. Sooner than sit around and brood, he opted to
throw himself into his work. He accepted
project after project for the pure purpose of remaining busy at all times. In hindsight, he said “Yes” to quite a few
projects to which he should have said “No, thanks,” but this was not the case
with his next project for Amicus.
Tales from the Crypt was something of a
dream-come-true for Milton Subotsky. The
popular comic book was created by William Gaines and Al Feldstein in 1950 and
ran on a bi-monthly basis through 1955.
It became the target of a firestorm of criticism when worried parents
began to blame it for the rise in juvenile crimes. In much the same way as people now try to
blame video games and violent films for society’s ills, these blackly humorous
comics—always with a moral twist at the end—were seen as a corrupting
influence. Bowing to pressure from
civic-minded protestors, the comics came to an end in early 1955, but not
before they had made a powerful impression on millions of readers, including
Milton Subotsky.
Subotsky
was able to negotiate a deal with Feldstein and Haines, and, in 1971, Tales from the Crypt went into
production. Subotsky hand-picked five
tales and penned the adaptation himself.
The crew would be comprised of some of the studio’s most reliable
craftsmen, including Freddie Francis (director), Norman Warwick (cinematographer),
Tony Curtis (art director) and Douglas Gamley (composer). As usual, Amicus rounded-up a top-notch
cast. Sir Ralph Richardson was lured
into making one of his infrequent genre film appearances as the mysterious
cryptkeeper; it was a role that called for his presence on set for only a
couple of days, but Subotsky and Rosenberg got a lot of mileage out of playing-up
his presence. Inevitably, they also had
their eye on bringing Peter Cushing on board, but they hit a roadblock when he
declined the role he had been offered.
Cushing didn’t find much interest in the role of
business tycoon Ralph Jason, the protagonist of the “Wish You Were Here”
segment, but according to director Francis he took an instant liking to the
character of the kindly garbage man, Arthur Grimsdyke, who is driven to suicide
by his heartless neighbors in “Poetic Justice.”
As written by Subotsky, the character was little more than a bit part,
but Cushing felt it could be expanded with a minimum of fuss and asked to be
allowed to work with Francis on doing so.
Not one to upset his favorite star, Subotsky agreed; the film would
benefit enormously as a result. Other
crucial casting would be filled by the likes of Ian Hendry, Joan Collins, Nigel
Patrick, Richard Greene, Roy Dotrice, Barbara Murray and Patrick Magee. Amicus continued their tradition of snagging
top drawer British acting talent and Tales from the Crypt would go on to become
a huge money maker … though reportedly, Subotsky and Rosenberg saw little of it
owing to their production arrangement with Feldstein, Haines and the
distributor, Cinerama.
The
film rehashes the usual formula: a group of people on a tour of some ancient
catacombs become lost and stumble upon a strange man who begins telling them
things about their future. The first
segment, “And All Through the House,” deals with Joanne (Joan Collins), who
murders her husband on Christmas Eve before falling prey to an escaped lunatic
dressed up like Santa Claus. The second,
“Reflection of Death,” depicts what happens when Carl (Ian Hendry) leaves his
wife for another woman. The third, “Poetic Justice,” deals with horrid snob
James (Robin Phillips, in a role reportedly earmarked for Ralph Bates), who
drives his elderly neighbor Arthur Grimsdyke (Peter Cushing) to suicide. The fourth, “Wish You Were Here,” shows Ralph
(Richard Greene) making an ill-fated wish on an ancient statue and not living
to regret the consequences.
And the fifth, “Blind Alleys,” deals with
stiff-backed Major Rogers (Nigel Patrick), who takes over as the head of a
nursing home for the blind and deals with the wrath of the clients when his
severe tactics go too far. At the end,
it’s revealed that these are not visions of the past but glimpses of what has
already transpired, and that the characters are all on their way to hell …
Freddie Francis directs with economy and a good
sense of pace. The film isn’t quite as
stylish as his earlier films for the company, but it stands head and shoulders
above his other, generally drab and disinterested work of the period. He and cinematographer Norman Warwick create
some memorable images, notably in the Cushing segment when the old man returns
from the grave to exact vengeance. The
stories are an uneven lot, with the second and fourth barely registering at
all, but the other stories more than compensate. When Richard Donner, David Giler, Walter
Hill, Joel Silver and Robert Zemeckis launched their popular TV show based on the comics in 1989, the first story
they elected to film was “And All Through the House.” It would be a gorier, more over-the-top
version, enjoyable in its own way, but the Amicus version tends to linger in
the mind longer. “Blind Alleys” and
“Wish You Were Here” would also be revisited later on, as well, with the latter
appropriately marking the directorial swansong of Freddie Francis.
Tales from the Crypt contains some stellar
performances (Nigel Patrick and Patrick Magee are both in great form), but
nobody makes a greater impression than Peter Cushing. His portrayal of Grimsdyke is a thing of
beauty. He is the heart and soul of the
film, a reminder of gentle humanity in an otherwise bleak and sardonic
universe. It’s easy to see why Cushing
took a shine to the part, which was little more than a plot device in
Subotsky’s original conception; with it, he could funnel all of his grief,
loneliness and isolation into a form of acting as therapy. Working with Francis, he created a
magnificent portrait of a good man driven to suicide by the callous world in
which he lives. Cushing takes the
character to the brink of caricature but never loses his footing, making it one
of his most memorable and genuinely heart-wrenching performances.
It would garner him some of the best notices
of his career, as well as netting him an award as Best Actor at the second
French Convention of Fantasy Film; it was a richly deserved accolade, as the
role served to remind one of his ability to inhabit a character role so
completely that it was possible to forget for a while that we were watching
Peter Cushing at all.
Written by Troy Howarth
with Images and Design by Marcus Brooks
Part Five Coming Soon...
