THE HAMMER HOUSE OF HORROR 'THE SILENT SCREAM' REVIEW AND GALLERY

SPOILER ALERT!

Chuck (Brian Cox) is released from prison and goes to work for Martin Bluek (Peter Cushing), a mysterious gentleman who has shown the ex-con some kindness.  Unfortunately for Chuck, Martin may not be quite the charming old man he appears to be…

 

Following the dismal box office performance of Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires, Shatter, To the Devil a Daughter and, most disastrously, a big budget (and quite ill conceived) remake of The Lady Vanishes, Hammer Films was pretty much dead in the water.  Michael Carreras sold off his interests in the company, retiring to many years of wondering what might have been, while Brian Lawrence and Roy Skeggs tried desperately to make a go of it in television.  The two producers hatched an idea for a series of one hour telefilms, to be sold under the banner, The Hammer House of Horror.

PROLOGUE AND TITLE

SEQUENCE : THE SILENT SCREAM

It seemed an ideal solution to bring the company up to date in the changing climate of the 1980s – on the one hand, these films could be cheaply produced, and on the other, they could trade upon the studio’s reputation by employing as many of their old guard actors and craftsmen as possible.  In terms of star power, their most significant acquisition was Peter Cushing, who was hired to play the lead in The Silent Scream.  Given that Christopher Lee was pursuing bigger fish in Hollywood at the time, the likelihood of securing their biggest star was slim to nill, and indeed he would not be lured back into the fold until 2010, when he agreed to do a cameo in the “new” Hammer’s psychological thriller, The Resident.  However, securing Cushing’s services was a major plus, just the same, and the actor responded with typical attention to detail and professionalism, ensuring that Martin Bluek would be one of his most memorable roles for the company.

The script by Francis Essex is taut and twist laden, while director Alan Gibson (who had previously guided Cushing through the two “mod” Dracula films, Dracula AD 1972 and The Satanic Rites of Dracula) handles the material with skill and economy.  The film is also graced by an exceptional, if small, cast. Cushing, as previously noted, is at his best here, running the gamut from charming to chilling.  Bluek presents himself as a kindly philanthropist, but the reality is that he was once a concentration camp supervisor – and his interests in Chuck are anything but philanthropic.  The way in which he ingratiates himself to Chuck, only to set the desperate man up to fail, makes for quite an interesting psychological game of cat and mouse.

Brian Cox, a few years way from achieving major cult stardom by being the first actor to portray Dr. Hannibal Lector on screen (in Michael Mann’s Manhunter, 1986), is typically intense and credible as the frustrated ex-con who is trying to make a go of living life on the up and up.  Cox is tremendously sympathetic in the role, ensuring that the audience will remain on his side through the story’s various twists and turns.  Elaine Donnelly is also very effective as Chuck’s doting wife.  Cox and Donnelly have real chemistry together, and the scene wherein Donnelly attempts to interest her husband sexually only to be shot down because of the psychological trauma he has endured while in prison has a truthful ring to it.

 

Silent Scream would emerge as probably the best of the thirteen episodes commissioned by ITC, though several other episodes also warrant special mention, including Witching Time with Jon Finch, Rude Awakening with Denholm Elliott, and Mark of Satan with Peter McEnery.  Sadly, despite the presence of such strong acting talent, and the input of such talented Hammer personnel as directors Peter Sasdy and Don Sharp (subbing for Terence Fisher, who passed away before shooting began on the occult segment Guardian of the Abyss) and screenwriter Anthony Hinds, the series didn’t generate a lot of interest – and it would not be picked up for a second season.

Undaunted, Lawrence and Skeggs responded with The Hammer House of Mystery and Suspense, inflating the running time to 90 minutes, and switching the emphasis from horror to suspense.  It, too, failed to generate interest.  Hammer would then lie dormant for over twenty years, but like one of their beloved vampires, they, too, would rise from the grave in the new millennium.  

Feature: Troy Howarth
Images: Marcus Brooks

TIGON'S TALE OF TERROR: THE CREEPING FLESH PHOTOGRAPH GALLERY AND FEATURE

Scientist Emmanuel Hildern (Peter Cushing) unearths what appears to be a missing link while on an expedition in New Guinea.  His attempts at unlocking the skeleton’s secrets are compromised by the precarious mental condition of his daughter Penelope (Lorna Heilbron) and the interference of his bitter half-brother James (Christopher Lee)

In the 1950s and 60s, Freddie Francis established himself as one of the premiere lighting cameramen in Europe, snagging an Oscar for his work on Sons and Lovers (1960) and winning much acclaim for his work on The Innocents (1961).  Like so many directors of photography, Francis had a yen to direct.  He made his first film as a director in 1962 with the obscure romantic comedy Two and Two Make Six (1962), but the German-financed The Brain and the Hammer Films psychological thriller Paranoiac (both also 1962) pointed to where his career would evolve.

Francis, being a pragmatist at heart, initially accepted his pigeonholing as a “horror” director, and would take great pride in imbuing his films with sufficient visual gloss as a means of patching up the often inadequate screenplays he was handed to work with.  As time wore on, however, his dissatisfaction became quite evident – and indeed he would approach most of his directorial assignments of the 1970s with a mixture of contempt and indifference.

There’s really very little to recommend in such films as The Vampire Happening (1970), Trog (1970), Craze (1973) and The Legend of the Werewolf (1974), but signs of his former flair are happily on display in The Creeping Flesh.  Francis responded well to the screenplay by Peter Spenceley and Jonathan Rumbold, with its heady mixture of Victorian sci-fi and Lovecraft-flavored chills.  The end result is his last great hurrah as a filmmaker; he would direct only sporadically from that point on, and in 1980, he made a triumphant return to the station of lighting cameraman when producer Mel Brooks and director David Lynch drafted him to lens The Elephant Man.  He would go on to work with some of the most exciting and dynamic filmmakers of the new generation, including Martin Scorsese (for whom he shot a super stylish redux of Cape Fear, 1991), and would win another Academy Award for his work on Glory (1989).  Francis died in 2007, at the age of 89.

THE CREEPING FLESH

The story is certainly an eventful one, and it affords both of its iconic lead performers an opportunity to shine.  Cushing is cast in the flashier role, while Lee is seemingly relegated to yet another humorless authority figure.  Cushing imbues his character with ample humanity, but it is the character’s single minded obsessiveness which links him most closely with his most famous genre characterizations: Baron Frankenstein and Dr. Van Helsing.  Emmanuel is very much the absent father.  He dotes on Penelope whenever he returns from his trip, and there’s no question that he genuinely adores her, but his work always comes first; ultimately, he fails to realize her gradual slide into madness until it is too late.  True to form, he attempts to over compensate for this by using his discovery in an attempt to “cure” her madness on a biological level – the experiment is doomed to failure, of course, and one is left wondering just how sane he was from the get go.

Lee’s role as the embittered half-brother doesn’t allow him so much screen time (though he was given top billing in deference to his popularity at the box office), but he delivers a wonderfully detailed characterization, just the same. James can barely contain his contempt and jealousy towards his brother, which prompts him to take a certain sadistic glee in getting the upper hand on him. One gets the sense of James’ lifetime of struggle and unhappiness as he was pushed aside in favor of his more “privileged,” upper crust older brother, and as such his actions become almost understandable. It’s a marvelous performance that seldom gets the attention it deserves.

Lee and Cushing are supported by an excellent gallery of character actors. Lorna Heilbron is superb in the difficult role of Penelope, which requires her to run the gamut from doe-eyed, doting daughter to wild-eyed, crazed harlot – and she never hits a false note.  George Benson, who formerly mugged his way through a comic cameo in Terence Fisher’s Dracula (1958), is excellent as Cushing’s devoted lab assistant. Duncan Lamont is properly authoritative as the suspicious police inspector investigating the ensuing carnage, while real-life couple Michael Ripper and Catherine Finn show up in small roles – he as a blustery deliveryman, she as Heilbron’s caring housekeeper.

Francis handles the material with energy and conviction, but the film loses points for its introduction of a pointless subplot involving hulking character actor Kenneth J. Warren as an escapee on the loose from Lee’s insane asylum. Warren is fine in the role, but the subplot goes nowhere and was clearly crammed into an already busy narrative to pad the running time a bit.

The Creeping Flesh also has excellent production values – the sets and costuming are on a par with the best of Hammer, and the creepy music score by Paul Ferris helps to set the right mood. The cinematography by longtime Francis collaborator Norman Warwick is also lovely without being unduly fussy.  Special note must also be made of Roy Ashton’s makeup work.

The title is explained by the fact that the skeleton “grows” flesh when it comes into contact with water – which Cushing discovers when trying to clean it up a bit… The decidedly phallic looking finger that results from this is truly horrific, as is the final reveal of the regenerated skeleton, which becomes exposed to a rain storm when Lee engineers a break in to steal the specimen.  Francis even reuses his “skull point of view” gag from The Skull (1965) to maximize the effect of this gruesome makeup.

Fans of Cushing and Lee would do well to check out The Creeping Flesh if they haven’t done so already.  And even if you already have, it may well be time to go back and reacquaint yourself with it again; it’s a good one.

Feature: Troy Howarth
Gallery: Marcus Brooks

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CLASSIC PETER CUSHING LINES : AT THE EARTH'S CORE (1975)

CAST:

Doug McClure (David Innes), Peter Cushing (Dr Abner Perry), Caroline Munro (Princess Dia), Cy Grant (Ra), Sean Lynch (Hoojah), Godfrey James (Ghak)

PRODUCTION:

Director – Kevin Connor, Screenplay – Milton Subotsky, Based on the Novel by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Producer – John Dark, Photography – Alan Hume, Music – Mike Vickers, Process Photography – Charles Staffell, Special Effects Supervisor – Ian Wingrove, Production Design – Maurice Carter. Production Company – Amicus/Lion International.

SYNOPSIS:
England around the turn of the 20th Century. Dr Abner Perry unveils his invention – The Iron Mole, a giant vehicle designed for exploring the centre of the Earth by drilling through the ground. He and engineer David Innes take the Mole on its maiden voyage but it goes out of control and they lose consciousness. When they come around, they find that the Mole has ended up in a strange prehistoric land at the Earth’s core, which they later learn is called Pellucidar. They are captured by The Mahars, intelligent, telepathic flying reptiles that keep primitive humans as their slaves via mind control. David falls for the beautiful slave girl Dia. When Dia is chosen as a sacrificial victim in the Mahar city, David must inspire the humans to rebellion in order to save her.

FEAR OLD SCHOOL: 'FEAR IN THE NIGHT' WITH FULL REVIEW AND PCASUK GALLEY

In the 1960s, screenwriter Jimmy Sangster made a jump from Gothic horror to the realm of sting-in-the-tail suspense.  It was a move the writer craved, as the Gothic was never a milieu that much appealed to him.  He drew inspiration, instead, from the classic French thriller Les Diaboliques (1955), directed by Henri Georges Clouzot.  Clouzot’s reputation rivaled that of Alfred Hitchcock in his native France , though his name never became quite as prominent on an international level.

Hitchcock had reportedly attempted to buy the rights to the novel upon which the film was based himself, and when Clouzot beat him to the punch, he persuaded the authors, Pierre Boileau and Thomas Narcejac, to write him a fresh piece of material; he would use this material as the backbone for his masterpiece Vertigo (1958).  Les Diaboliques may not seem as fresh and vital today, but this is easily explained by the fact that it was ripped off many times – and nobody drew more inspiration from it than Sangster himself.

Indeed, while many critics would label the thrillers Sangster wrote for Hammer as “mini Hitchcocks,” the screenwriter was always quick to point out that they were truly “mini Clouzots.”  The series got off to a winning start with Taste of Fear (1960), which was directed by the gifted Seth Holt.  The film adopts the Diaboliques formula: an innocent woman is driven to the brink of madness by callous conspirators.

Taste of Fear proved successful with critics and audiences alike, and Sangster would follow up with Paranoiac (1962), Nightmare and Maniac (both 1963), Hysteria (1964), and Crescendo (1969).  The Nanny (1965) and the Richard Matheson-penned Die Die My Darling! (1964) are also often lumped into this series, but the former isn’t really much of a twist-laden shocker, while the latter was done without Sangster’s involvement.

One script that Sangster wrote during this time frame was titled The Claw, and it dealt with a woman being terrorized by a man with a prosthetic arm.  For whatever reason, it never saw the light of day in the 60s, though it would later be dusted off in 1972, when it would emerge as Fear in the Night.

The story is a simple one: psychologically fragile Peggy (Judy Geeson) goes to live with her husband Robert (Ralph Bates) at the boys boarding school where he as just been hired to teach.  While there, she begins seeing and hearing many strange things.  Could the one-armed, reclusive school master, Michael (Peter Cushing), be responsible?

As a thriller, Fear in the Night is pretty much lacking in thrills.  And as a suspense film, it’s also very much lacking in suspense.  The issue is in the casting, though not in the acting.  Everybody is cast much too much to type, thus making it easy to figure out who is trying to get one over on whom.  If Geeson and Joan Collins (cast, something unbelievably, as Cushing’s wife) had swapped roles, for example, the twists and turns of the scenario would have been a little less glaringly obvious.  As it stands, though, Geeson is very much in victim mode throughout, while Collins is her usual bitchy self.  Cushing’s role is very much of the red herring variety, and while it worked well enough with Christopher Lee in Taste of Fear, there’s never very much doubt that the character of Michael is pretty much harmless.  That’s not to say that the actors do a poor job – it’s not exactly a tour de force for anybody involved, of course, but the four principal players (especially Geeson) are in good form.

Much of the blame can be leveled at Sangster, who in addition to writing (with some polish by Michael Dyson), also made another crack at directing with this picture.  The film followed on the heels of Lust for a Vampire and The Horror of Frankenstein (both 1970), neither of which had gone over very well.  To his credit, Sangster displays  a little more flair behind the camera this time around – there are a few nicely staged sequences, and a memorable credits sequence with the camera prowling about the deserted school grounds before settling on the unexpected intrusion of a pair of feet dangling from the air, indicating that something has gone awry.  Indeed, there is enough here to make one wonder if maybe he didn’t have a much better film in him down the road.  As it stands, however, this would mark Sangster’s last outing as a director; he would spend the remainder of his career as a “jobbing” writer and a mercifully pragmatic interview subject.

Fear in the Night failed to ignite much interest, and it would later be released to VHS under the title Dynasty of Fear in an obvious bid to capitalize on Collins’ renewed popularity as Queen Bitch on the popular American soap opera, Dynasty.  It would mark the end of Hammer’s run of psychological thrillers, with the company limping through the next few years attempting to trade on their most popular franchises of yore, principally Dracula and Frankenstein

Written by Troy Howarth
Images and design: Marcus Brooks