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. 

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.

'A PARTNERSHIP IN DEADLY DEEDS' A TALENT TO TERRIFY PART TWO

The tide would change in 1957, with the release of The Curse of Frankenstein.  Hammer’s producer, Anthony Hinds, sought to secure Cushing to star because of his reputation as Britain’s first bona fide TV star.  The producer realized that an actor of his popularity would help the picture and was also keen to get away from the policy – previously adhered to by Hammer and other low budget UK companies – of importing fading American name actors to secure US distribution.  Curse was to be a British horror film, through and through, and Cushing was key to this mission.  The actor accepted the role on the strength of remembering how impressed he had been with James Whale’s 1931 version of Frankenstein.

Cushing certainly wasn’t overly impressed by the screenplay by Jimmy Sangster, as Lee would later recall.  The story goes that Lee was going on one day about not having any lines; Cushing would reply, “You’re fortunate.  I’ve read the script.”  Lee won the role of the creature – buried underneath Phil Leakey’s makeup and deprived of any dialogue – after Hinds elected to pass on the similarly tall and lanky Bernard Bresslaw.  It was Lee’s imposing height – up until that time, his greatest handicap – that enabled him to net the role that would put him on the road to international stardom; it was an irony not lost on the actor, who determined to lend as much pathos to the role as he could muster.

Cushing’s portrayal of the icy and amoral Baron Victor Frankenstein is a thing of beauty, of course, but it would be a mistake to underestimate what Lee brings to the role of the creature.  He plays the character like a nightmarish marionette figure whose strings have been cut.  His body refuses obey and his soulful eyes convey suffering when the script doesn’t require him to lash out with violence.  The two actors share very little screen time together, setting a pattern for future collaborations, but they would bond on the set.  It’s unknown if the two even discussed their mutual experiences working for Olivier and Huston, but they certainly found much to laugh about as they discussed their love for cartoons.  The film would become a surprise smash at the box office, and Hammer wasn’t about to not capitalize on their obvious chemistry and audience appeal.

If The Curse of Frankenstein was Cushing’s star vehicle, then Dracula (1958) would be Lee’s.  Jimmy Sangster’s pared-down adaptation of the Bram Stoker novel would give Lee the showcase he had been dreaming for, but stardom came with a price: the role would become his signature, much as it had been for Bela Lugosi, but he was determined not to allow it to control his career as it has Lugosi’s.  It was to be an uphill battle, but it can be argued that he did eventually outlive the character’s shelf life, finding popularity in various other characterizations, even if his tendency to bristle at even discussing the role in recent years has alienated some of his fans.  Truth be told, his irritation with the mantle of Dracula is understandable – after all, he has made hundreds of films and only a few of them involve the character, and truly, how many times can one be expected to answer the same questions over and over again?

Regardless, in 1958, the character was still new and fresh – and his take on it would help to make the film a box office triumph.  Lee has often spoken of the film’s US premiere, with various tipsy industry big wigs tittering with laughter at the opening titles with its melodramatic, booming James Bernard soundtrack.  Lee, sensitive to criticism at the best of times, was rightfully panic-stricken: this was his ticket to the big time, and they were laughing at it.  He turned to Cushing, telling him that they were dead in the water and that he was going to leave.  “We have to say this through,” Cushing assured him.  Then came the big moment: Dracula’s introduction, in silhouette, at the top of the stairs – an effect underlined by Bernard’s signature three-note “Dra-cu-la” theme.  The audience roared.  Lee sank into his seat, thoroughly defeated.  But then something happened… as Lee briskly descended the stairs and walked into close up, speaking his lines in a clipped British accent, and looking every inch the handsome European noble gentleman – the audience went silent...

While Sangster’s script had called for Dracula to be wearing a top hat and to have fangs jutting conspicuously over his bottom lip, Lee and director Terence Fisher sensibly decided to make the character as realistic as possible.  It was a judicious move, one which played off in spades for Lee.  From that moment, the audience was hooked.  The film won the preview audience over, and they went from jeering and cat calling to reacting in shock and surprise.  Cushing may have claimed over-the-title billing, but this was Lee’s shining moment – from that point on, he would be a name actor.

Hammer, for their part, continued to give Cushing the starring assignments, but they weren’t about to not use Lee, as well.  They would reteam later in 1958 for a new version of The Hound of the Baskervilles.  This retelling of the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle classic cast Cushing in what would become one of his signature roles: Sherlock Holmes.  On the face of it, Lee would have been decent casting in the role as well – indeed he would go on to play the character in 1962, in a rather disappointing film directed in Germany by Terence Fisher called Sherlock Holmes and the Deadly Necklace, before donning the deer stalker again in 1991 in two indifferent mini-series, Sherlock Holmes and the Leading Lady and Sherlock Holmes and the Incident at Victoria Falls.  While Lee’s portrayal in the German film is hard to assess fairly (he would be dubbed into English by another actor), his turn in the mini-series would prove to be rather disappointing: listless and a bit stiff.

 

With this in mind, Cushing’s dynamic performance is to be savored all the more. He does overdo his mannerisms a little bit here and there, resulting in a few moments that can be viewed as hammy, but this also serves to underline the character’s somewhat theatrical disposition.Cushing’s take anticipates Jeremy Brett’s celebrated turn for Granada TV in the 1980s and 90s, but he stops short of becoming as over the top as that. Cushing invested himself in the role with enthusiasm and had hoped to play the character in further adventures, but the film’s disappointing box office put paid to that idea. If Lee felt the least bit slighted by not being cast as Doyle’s sleuth, he relished the chance of playing the film’s romantic leading man, Sir Henry Baskerville. Lee’s brash and imposing presence adds color to what could have been a dull character and he has a few moments which allow him to register stark fear and terror; his account of being terrified by a real tarantula during one scene may well be nonsense (if you look at how the scene was shot, it’s clear that the hairy critter was never in the same shot with him) but it makes for a nice anecdote, and besides, he really does look terrified in his close ups during the scene in question.

The two actors were nearly reunited under similar circumstances – with Cushing as the dynamic protagonist and Lee as the somewhat colorless “hero” – in The Man Who Could Cheat Death, but Cushing, citing exhaustion, incited the wrath of Hammer’s managing director, Sir James Carreras, by begging off at the last second.  German actor Anton Diffring (who would perfect his “mad medic” persona in the following year’s Circus of Horrors for Anglo Amalgamated) would inherit the role of the lovelorn medic who finds the secret to eternal youth and life, while Lee would don a waxy mustache and have very little to do as the hero, Dr. Gerard.

Their next teaming would occur in 1959, with The Mummy.  Jimmy Sangster would pretty much ignore Karl Freund’s 1932 original with Boris Karloff, drawing more inspiration from the series of “B” sequels that Universal churned out in the 1940s.  Cushing would again claim top billing, though Lee played the title character.  Lee again demonstrated an uncanny ability to convey emotion and pathos underneath tons of makeup, while Cushing would add depth to the theoretically boring character of the intrepid archaeologist who becomes the victim of an ancient curse.

Director Terence Fisher and cinematographer Jack Asher would make this into one of Hammer’s most enjoyable and stylish offerings and Lee’s athletic portrayal of the mummy, Kharis, would add some real life and menace into a creature whose shambling in earlier ventures could sometimes come off as unintentionally humorous.  A flashback scene would at least allow Lee some dialogue and “face time,” but if he was growing weary of wearing elaborate make ups, he had yet to vocalize it.  The Mummy would prove to be another hit with audiences (it not critics) and Lee would soon begin branching out into European films – partly to better establish himself with an international audience, and partly to escape the bane of his existence: the British taxation system.  Cushing, ever the homebody, would begin to find himself confined more and more to horror films.

As part of Lee’s “European campaign,” he would take part in a couple of the then-popular Edgar Wallace “krimis” produced in Germany.  The first of these, The Devil’s Daffodil, was to be shot in two versions: one in German, one in English.  The latter would utilized some different actors, with William Lucas stepping in for Joachim Fuchsberger, who starred in the German version.  Multi-lingual Lee would play the role of the Chinese detective Ling Chu in both versions; a truly incongruous effect in the German version in particular, it has to be noted.  Given that the film was shot in London, it had no trouble in initially attracting the participation of Cushing as well – but for whatever reason, he would bow out before filming any scenes.  For Lee, the film is best remembered as being the reason why he couldn’t have a honeymoon right after marrying his wife, Gitte; the production commenced on a Monday following their weekend wedding ceremony.  Oh well, over 50 years later, they remain happily married, so no harm, no foul.

Lee and Cushing would finally reunite in 1963, for The Gorgon.  This uncommonly romantic and atmospheric Hammer horror would become one of director Terence Fisher’s personal favorites.  It is also regularly cited as a favorite by many who normally don’t care for Hammer Horror.  The reasons for this are obvious: the film’s lyrical atmosphere sets it apart from the rather more blunt films they were better known for.  The film also inverts typical casting by putting Cushing into the role of the icy and duplicitous Dr. Namaroff, while Lee gets to play the charming and funny “Van Helsing role,” Professor Meister.  Lee is burdened with an Einsteinian mop of hair, a bushy mustache and a not-terribly-convincing “old man” makeup job, but his hunched countenance and blustery demeanor help to sell the character.  It’s one of his best performances for the company, offering proof of his ability to breathe life into characters with a bit more dialogue and screen time than the usual Dracula assignment.

Cushing comes off less convincingly as Namaroff, largely because his inherently likable persona clashes with the character’s cool machinations.  Cushing seems a bit constrained by the role and falls back on his favored mannerisms as a means of trying to give him a little humanity.  It’s not a bad performance, by any means, but it doesn’t rank high on his list of accomplishments, either.  The central romance is beautifully enacted by Barbara Shelley and Richard Pasco, however, and Fisher’s elegiac approach to the material helps to enable one to forgive the less-than-special-effects work involving the gorgon at the end of the picture.  Audiences reacted cooly, however, prompting Hammer to retreat back to their standard Dracula and Frankenstein formulas for a period.

Part THREE ' A TALENT TO TERRIFY' SUNDAY 22ND DECEMBER 2013

A Talent To Terrify Is Written by Troy Howarth
with Images and Artwork by Marcus Brooks