Review #1,418: 'Ivan's Childhood' (1962)

Many films have depicted the horrors of war and the loss of innocence that comes with it, but it's no coincidence that the very best tend to be viewed through the eyes of children. The big Hollywood productions tend to shy away from this angle for the simple fact that recent wars haven't been fought on their turf, leaving it to Europe and Asia to explore how war not only devastates the childhoods of youngsters, but destroys the development of their personality. Russian master Andrei Tarkovsky, making his feature debut, was keen to explore this idea in Ivan's Childhood, and the result was a work of art that can sit alongside the likes of Come and See and Grave of the Fireflies as one of the finest films to take this approach. We open in a dream, although we don't know it yet. Young Ivan  Bondarev (Nikolay Burlyaev) is enjoying happier times with his mother as birdsong plays in the background. There's a huge noise, and the expression of Ivan's mother's face suddenly changes.

We wake, with Ivan, from the dream and into the stark reality of life on the front during World War II. Ivan stumbles out of the windmill attic he's slept in and make his way across a battle-worn Soviet landscape, eventually reaching a swamp. Dodging enemy fire, the child makes it all the way across in near darkness, making contact with a small Russian platoon commanded by the young Lieutenant Galtsev (Evgeniy Zharikov). The brash and short-tempered Ivan insists that Galtsev contact headquarters to announce his arrival, while the inexperienced leader eyes the battered young soldier before him with curiosity. Eventually making the call, Galtsev is told by Lieutenant-Colonel Gryaznov (Nikolay Grinko) to give the boy a pen and paper so he can make his report on the positions of German soldiers, as well as giving Ivan a much-needed bath and hot meal. Having grown fond of Ivan, Gryaznov and his fellow soldiers aim to move him to military school, where he'll be safe from the fighting. But Ivan, after watching his family murdered before him, burns with the desire for revenge, revealing that if he is sent away he will only escape and join the local partisans.

Like all of Tarkovsky's work, there isn't really a definitive plot driving Ivan's Childhood. Instead, Tarkovsky uses the characters and setting as a means to explore deeper themes, like war, fear, rage, loss and, of course, childhood. The film flicks between dreams and reality, often leaving the viewer unaware of which state they're in, as Ivan is spurred forward by the traumatic events he has endured. He is cynical and battle-hardened like the men around him, but he is still a boy, leaping into the arms of an officer and friend like a son greeting his returning father. As Ivan, Burlyaev is tasked with playing a character torn in half, often having to switch between the two sides of his personality in the very same scene. He pulls it off miraculously, cementing his place as one of the most powerful child performances of all time. Burlyaev is able to retain a youthful demeanour while possessing the look of someone much older and wiser, the most difficult feat faced by any young performer looking to play a child forced to grow up too fast by the adult world around him. At the end, Tarkovsky leaves us haunted by images of endless death and pointless savagery, making Ivan's Childhood one of the most devastating anti-war pictures ever made.


Directed by: Andrei Tarkovsky
Starring: Nikolay Burlyaev, Valentin Zubkov, Evgeniy Zharikov, Stepan Krylov, Nikolay Grinko
Country: Soviet Union

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,263: 'Tower of London' (1962)

Tower of London represented the first time Roger Corman and star Vincent Price had worked outside of the American International Pictures studio, and likely soon regretted the decision shortly into the shooting process. Producer Edward Small had approached Corman with the idea of making a film based on Richard III, and the thought of tackling Shakespeare clearly appealed to the B-movie auteur. Knowing that audiences were tiring of his still-popular Edgar Allen Poe cycle, Corman could stick to his gothic, cobweb-laden style, only this time under the guise of the Bard. Tensions began to simmer almost straight away, as Small only informed Corman that the film would be shot in black-and-white days before filming was to commence. Price had a legion of fans anyway, but the box-office receipts quickly started to dwindle as word-of-mouth got around that the film was not in colour.

The result is a mixed bag. Part a loose adaptation of Shakespeare's Richard III and part remake of Rowland V. Lee's superior 1939 effort of the same name, Tower of London still has plenty to offer to fans of these low-budget spook stories, and Price has so much fun that his performance would be more digestible if served with mayonnaise and bread. He plays the sneering, hunchbacked eldest brother of the dying King Edward IV (Justice Watson), and is shocked and angered when his younger brother George, the Duke of Clarence (Charles Macaulay), is named Protector of the Realm instead of him. It isn't long before George finds himself in a vat of wine with a knife in his back, and Richard sets about turning family against family in his bloodthirsty quest for the throne. Price actually played the Duke of Clarence in Lee's previous film, and it almost feels like Price takes great pleasure in stealing the lead role and disposing of his replacement.

Although Corman was working away from home, the aesthetic is certainly recognisable. The sets are small but detailed, but there aren't many of them. Price schemes and snarls in only a handful of locations, but Corman counteracts this by focusing more on the supernatural elements. The ghosts of those Richard kills frequently haunt him, driving him to a paranoid madness that results in the death of his beloved wife. Price goes way over-the-top in these moments, even for an actor who was well-known for delighting in ham, but watching him engulf the screen never gets old. The budget restrictions set in place by Small were even too much for Corman, and he insisted their three-picture contract be torn up after the film was released. The result is a laughable climax that has ended before you even realise it has begun, and the great Battle of Bosworth Field is reduced to a few silly close-ups and re-used stock footage from the 1939 version. It doesn't demand much at 79 minutes, but Tower of London feels limp and hurried when compared to the lushness of Corman and Price's Poe adaptations.


Directed by: Roger Corman
Starring: Vincent Price, Michael Pate, Joan Freeman, Richard Hale, Sandra Knight, Justice Watson
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #992: 'How the West Was Won' (1962)

Very much like IMAX's grandiose stand against the emergence of internet streaming, Blu-Ray and the 'Golden Age of Television', the 1950's saw studios battling against the arrival of a television in every home, and used the likes of 3D and 'Spook Show Spectaculars' to draw the public in. Another short-lived fad was Cinerama, a process of shooting with three synchronised cameras and creating an ultra widescreen effect in the process. It was a headache for film-makers, notably John Ford, and special cinemas had to be built to house the format that required three projectors and a deeply curved screen.

Also like IMAX, Cinerama was intended mainly for documentaries, but its immediate success meant that it wouldn't be too long before studios started to turn to features. The first was The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm in 1962, and How the West Was Won came later the same year. The latter is the most ambitious, telling a story stretching 50 years across three generations and boasting a cast of '24 great stars' (as the poster informs us), taking us through the major events of America's expansion further west and employing four first-rate directors - John Ford, Henry Hathaway, George Marshall and the uncredited Richard Thorpe - to bring it to life.

Whilst the ambition can only be admired, How the West Was Won is a mixed bag. In part a rough-and-tumble, old-fashioned western that offers differing perspectives of America's venture out west, as Henry Fonda's grizzled buffalo hunter Jethro Stuart laments the bloody consequences of the railroad's arrival under the command of Richard Widmark's ruthless and treaty-dismissing overseer, the film also cannot resist the lure of grand song-and-dance numbers, with Debbie Reynolds husky voice and knee-slapping becoming tiresome very quickly. It also keeps the audience at a huge distance, both emotionally and literally. With so much picture being captured, actors are routinely squeezed into the centre of the frame with their facial expressions too far away to see.

Broken up into 5 segments - The Rivers, The Plains, The Civil War, The Railroad and The Outlaws - we follow the Prescott family, led at first by Zebulon (Karl Malden), as they head for the frontier and encounter mountain man Linus Rawlings (a woefully miscast James Stewart). Rawlings falls for eldest daughter Eve (Carroll Baker), and the family spread out from there. Hathaway directs three of the five, with the best being the Outlaws section, which pits George Peppard's Zeb Rawlings. a marshal, against bandit Charlie Gant (Eli Wallach), and delivers a set-piece on top of moving train which is as technically impressive as anything made today (a stunt-man almost died during the filming).

Ford's Civil War segment is the slightest but offers an interesting insight into the war. In one fantastic scene, General Ulysses S. Grant (Harry Morgan) drunkly ponders his effectiveness to General William Sherman (John Wayne) as the young Zeb Rawlings listens, demonstrating Ford's lack of fear in showing a brittler side to a man considered an unshakeable American hero. But Ford and the film in general never really commits to the themes it hints at, and this is ultimately what makes How the West Was Won such a frustrating experience. As the camera sails across modern America before the closing credits, I felt slightly appalled at what had been done to this once-beautiful country but couldn't really figure out if this was how the film intended I feel. As a visual experience, it is truly like no other, but it remains oddly hollow emotionally and thematically.


Directed by: John Ford, Henry Hathaway, George Marshall
Starring: Carroll Baker, Debbie Reynolds, George Peppard, James Stewart, Gregory Peck, Carolyn Jones, Karl Malden, Henry Fonda, Robert Preston, Lee J. Cobb
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #846: 'Tales of Terror' (1962)

By the time the incredibly prolific Roger Corman came round to making his fourth entry in the now-dubbed Corman-Poe cycle, it seemed that the count-the-coppers director was getting a bit bored with Edgar Allen Poe. Although he would make four more adaptations, including one of the best - The Tomb of Ligeia (1964) - Tales of Terror lacks the gothic atmosphere generated in the likes of The Fall of the House of Usher (1960) and The Pit and the Pendulum (1961). There's three tales here, but little of the terror. In fact, the film works best as a comedy thanks to some tongue-in-cheek camping from Corman-Poe stalwart Vincent Price, and one of the most convincing impersonations of a drunk I've ever seen from Peter Lorre (although the actor's morphine addiction may have played some part).

The first tale, Morella, sees Price don the familiar guise of a reclusive widower, Locke, holed up in a decaying mansion in solitude. His estranged daughter Lenora (Maggie Pierce) arrives to inform her father than she is dying. With his wife Morella (Leona Gage) having died during childbirth, Locke blames his daughter and to her horror, reveals his wife's decaying corpse still lying in bed. After forgiving Lenora after she reveals her impending death, Morella's vengeful spirit awakens to try and claim her daughter's body. This first entry is relatively short and sweet, but will be overly familiar and too simplistic to any viewers who have seen Corman's previous Poe adaptations.

The central piece, The Black Cat, is a combination of two Poe stories - The Black Cat and The Cask of Amontillado - and is without a doubt the best. The permanently sozzled Montresor Herringbone (Lorre) hates his wife Annabel (Joyce Jameson) and her cat, and is frequently abusive to both. Broke, he stumbles into a wine-tasting event in the hope of some free booze. He challenges the world's finest wine taster, Fortunato Luchresi (Price), to a contest but becomes too drunk to finish. Fortunato helps him home where he meets Annabel, and the two begin an affair. When he discovers he has been cuckolded, Herringbone plans to put an end to his wife and her lover's affair, and rid himself of the black cat forever.

The Fact in the Case of M. Valdemar, the final piece, sees Price again playing a dying man under the watchful eye of hypnotist Carmichael (Basil Rathbone). Putting him in a trance moments before his death, Carmichael manages to prolong his mind, and can hear the dead man's thoughts as he experiences the finality of death. It's certainly the most interesting story from a psychological perspective, but Corman side-steps Poe's deeper themes for a more formulaic horror approach. The stories are certainly a mixed bag, lacking originality for the most part and certainly failing to capture the depth of Poe's text, but the middle story is memorable and extremely funny, with Price and Lorre delivering exceptional performances in roles they could do in their sleep.


Directed by: Roger Corman
Starring: Vincent Price, Peter Lorre, Basil Rathbone, Maggie Pierce, Leona Gage, Joyce Jameson, Debra Paget
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #649: 'Panic in Year Zero!' (1962)

Shortly after leaving Los Angeles on a trip, the family Baldwin - Harry (Ray Milland), Ann (Jean Hagen), Rick (Frankie Avalon) and Karen (Mary Mitchel) - witness a large mushroom cloud over their home city. Radio reports conclude the start of a thermonuclear war, and Harry's survival instincts click immediately into gear. After abandoning the rescue of Ann's mother due to the fleeing Los Angeles residents, Harry takes the family off-road and into a small town to gather supplies. The news has yet to spread to this small town, so they are instantly met with suspicion. They leave to settle some place safe and away from civilization, but are met with more hostility in the form of three young punks.

This cheap end-of-the-world quickie effort from American International Pictures is now seemingly all but forgotten, but this is a surprisingly effective little movie that benefits from a strong central performance and direction by Hollywood Golden Era legend Ray Milland. This is obviously low budget, with the camera never focusing on anything but the immediate action, allowing the audience to use their imagination to experience the wider picture. But more than anything, this is a character study of an all-American family trying to hold any remnants of civilisation together in the midst of social decay and lawlessness. 

Like Val Guest's excellent The Day The Earth Caught Fire just a year before, the outlook here is very gloomy. But Panic in Year Zero! is the reserve side of The Day The Earth Caught Fire's coin, offering a right-wing alternative, embodied in Harry's instant tooling up and viewing every outside the family as an enemy. It is here that the films fails, where some more character building and intimate moments (especially between Harry and Ann) could have provided more insight into Harry's narrow view. But this is a cold look at humanity in crisis, where robbery and rape are just around the corner and every man is out for themselves. Ultimately, an exciting and often shocking little film that does wonders with what little it was given.

Directed by: Ray Milland

Starring: Ray Milland, Jean Hagen, Frankie Avalon, Mary Mitchel

Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #578: 'Days of Wine and Roses' (1962)

The 1960's saw a change in American cinema. Producers seemed to be moving away from the conventional approach of ham-fisted delivery and super fast-talking, and going for something altogether more realistic. The Hays Code was losing power with the influx of foreign films that weren't bound by any strict ruling, and audiences were obviously striving for something more challenging and confrontational. Blake Edward's Days of Wine and Roses, a powerful portrayal of a marriage crumbling beneath alcoholism, is a clear example of this. Alcoholism had been depicted before of course, but never in such a downright distressing manner. Billy Wilder's The Lost Weekend followed writer Don Birnam (played by Ray Milland) as alcohol destroyed his very soul. But that was back in 1945, when the Hays Code was at the height of its power, so it would always be restrained. It is undoubtedly an excellent film, but Days of Wine and Roses gets under the skin of the 'disease', and although it is ultimately a poorer film in comparison to The Lost Weekend, it is certainly more profound and powerful.

Public relations man Joe Clay (Jack Lemmon) meets and falls in love with teetotal secretary Kirsten (Lee Remick), and after a whirlwind romance, the couple quickly marry. Skip forward a year, and Joe has turned into a full-blown alcoholic, frequently returning home late from work and behaving erratically. When his drinking starts to effect his job, Joe is demoted, causing a strain on home life. The couple slump into addiction, sharing the joys and struggles of succumbing entirely to the bottle. After Joe loses his job, they quit drinking, identifying it as the reason their marriage is struggling and potentially losing custody of their daughter. But unbeknownst to them, they are locked in a three-way marriage, and a drink is always around the corner.

Based on screenwriter J.P. Miller's own teleplay, Days of Wine and Roses is shot in stark yet beautiful  black-and-white, pulling no punches and avoiding romantic sentimentality. Jack Lemmon is superb as Joe, a man who confronts his problem yet also sees it as the glue that binds his marriage together. It is the only thing they can share equal joy with, yet for their marriage to work, they simply must get sober. But Kirsten (an equally superb performance from Remick) refuses to let go, lost in her addiction so much she is willing to lose her husband and daughter to it. The film is depressing yet emotional, complex yet simple, clinically done by Edwards, who engages with unfussy and suitably minimalistic direction. Although it does to get a little bit too stagey sometimes, it is a joy to behold, leaving you an ironically sober feeling.


Directed by: Blake Edwards
Starring: Jack Lemmon, Lee Remick, Charles Bickford, Jack Klugman
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #550: 'Amphibian Man' (1962)

Based upon the novel of the same name by Soviet science-fiction writer Alexander Beliaev, Amphibian Man tells the somewhat tragic tale of Ichtyander (Vladimir Korenev), a young, handsome man that has been given the use of gills by his father (Nikolai Simonov). Various sightings have led to him being dubbed a sea-devil, a monster of the sea who has attacked various boats. Rich fisherman Pedro (Mikhail Kozakov) is trying to win the affections of the beautiful Gutiere (Anastasiya Vertinskaya), but when she is attacked by a shark in the sea, Ichtyander rescues her and falls in love with her. She mistakenly thinks it was Pedro who saved her, and so Ichtyander must come onto land in search of his new love.

What is really on the surface a rather silly sci-fi movie that evokes the traditions of the U.S.'s B-movie output of the 1950's, it is actually a well-told fairytale love-story, giving most of its attentions to the doomed affair between Ichtyander and Gutiere. The loathsome Pedro is always on hand to scupper their attempts, with Gutiere trapped in a betrothal arranged by her father (Anatoliy Smiranin), who would rather see her marry into money than for true love. Themes of greed are ever-present throughout the film, reflecting the socialist realist attitudes of the time - a biting social commentary that the Soviet's were so good at (Soviet giants such as Eisenstein and Dovzhenko made their careers on propaganda) and helps add a gravitas to what might have been a straight forward B-movie.

Amphibian Man is also technically impressive. Directors Vladimir Chebotayrov and Gennadi Kazansky used a seaside community in Azerbaijan to film, and this results in some nice photography. One of the stand-out scenes follows the POV of Ichtyander as he searches the streets for Gutiere, with the hand-held photography adding a desperation to his quest. There are also moments that evoke the techniques of the silent greats, using tilted, close-up photography that heightens the psychological torment of the character, more prominently used in the climactic scenes with Pedro, as his lust for power and his alpha-male dominance over Gutiere reaches breaking point. I was surprised to learn after watching the film that it was a massive commercial success in 1962, as the film has since faded into obscurity. Although it's hardly a great film, there is enough in Amphibian Man to justify a re-discovery of the wealth of Societ sci-fi's from this era.


Directed by: Vladimir Chebotaryov, Gennadi Kazansky
Starring: Vladimir Korenev, Anastasiya Vertinskaya, Mikhail Kozakov, Anatoliy Smiranin
Country: Soviet Union

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #426: 'Jack the Giant Killer' (1962)

No doubt inspired by the success of 1958's fantasy adventures of the Arabian mythological figure Sinbad (The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad), this tale of a farmer boy, Jack (Kerwin Mathews), who unwittingly saves the life of the Princess of Cornwall (Judi Meredith), from the clutches of a giant, plays in similar fashion to the aforementioned adventurer. After being knighted for his courageous actions, Jack is sent on a voyage to hide the princess, but is thwarted by the evil magician, Pendragon (Torin Thatcher), who takes her as a prisoner in his castle hideaway.

Whilst the film looks very similar to the majority of fantasy adventure films of the time, with its beautiful use of vibrant colour, the histrionic acting (there are no complaints about this from me, as this over-exuberance is fitting to the genre), and the fantasy monsters, it is in its presentation of these that brings the bare bones of the narrative to life. In a scene early on, the films horrific intentions are displayed, as a gaggle of witches fly down upon Jack's ship, with some very dated, but incredibly effective special effects. The witches are illuminated, giving them a haunting and quite scary appearance (they reminded me of the Ring Wraiths as presented in Ralph Bakshi's animated version of The Lord of the Rings (1978)).

However, the stop-motion animation of the various monsters, is completely let down by the absence of the master, Ray Harryhausen. It's when you see the results in this film that we realise just how skilled he was. In Jack... the models are shoddy, and do not engender the soul and character of a Harryhausen creation. Aside from this technical shortcoming, the film is like an afternoon treat. And beyond this, I look forward to Bryan Singer's remake, which is due for release in 2013.


Directed by: Nathan Juran
Starring: Kerwin Mathews, Judi Meredith, Torin Thatcher
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #381: 'The Exterminating Angel' (1962)

'L'enfer c'est les autres' (Hell is other people), wrote the French existentialist philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre, in his play, 'No Exit' (sometimes referred to - and has been performed - as 'In Camera'), that surmised the narrative of three deceased individuals locked in a room, one that they eventually realise they will be spending eternity together in. Luis Bunuel used this simple meta-narrative concept of people trapped, to create one of his finest satires, and his first explicitly surrealist film since L'Age D'Or (1930). After Bunuel's previous film, Viridiana (1961), was condemned by the Vatican and banned in his native country of Spain (and where it was made), he moved back to Mexico where he had been making films throughout the 1940's and 50's, and produced a scabrous attack on General Francisco Franco's Spanish fascist dictatorship, and the institutions, and bourgeois facets of the country that were founded on the destruction of the poor and the proletariat, during the civil war that ended in 1939.

Whilst the film works as political allegory, on a base narrative level, it functions as an irrational comedy; or farce. The guests arrive for a lavish dinner, but as they arrive, the maids leave, and progressively all the hired help leave them. Once dinner is complete, the guests congregate in the living room, but they all begin to realise that they are unable to leave the room at all. When this is discovered we observe that they attempt to go, but are either distracted or simply stop or break down at the boundary of the room. This continues through days, possibly months - the characters concept of time completely obliterated. The group falls into decay, primitive urges overwhelm them, and as this representation of Western Civilisation breaks down, the group become brutally savage, turning on the host of the dinner, demanding sacrifice. The group slaughter the lambs that were originally to be used in a dinner prank.

At first the guests seem to simply ignore what is happening to them, and continue with inane chat. Exterior to the "party", the grounds are surrounded, but not even the police are able to enter, given the same mysterious barrier that prevents entry. It's almost a perfect parable, illustrating the ignorance of the Spanish bourgeoisie, as they strip the rights and dignity of the proletariat (here the maids leave on their arrival), whilst divorcing their minds from the violence and corruption of a dictatorship. But with this, it also shows how even the "civilised" sections of society, once they are stripped of their social status, their inherited manners of "education", and their ability to use wealth, the fall into absolute decay, probably falling apart greater than the lower classes, with their lessened moral outlook, and an almost infantile inability to deal with regular obstacles.

Winner of the 1962 Palme d'Or at the Cannes film festival, this was to begin what become (rather belatedly for the 62 year old) his most productive, celebrated and interesting period of his career, based in Paris, beginning with Belle de Jour (1967) and ending with That Obscure Object of Desire (1977). This is the period that he developed and expanded his own style, and his unique vision on film. The Exterminating Angel has also given inspiration for others. It is a clear influence on Jean-Luc Godard's wonderfully bleak and satiric depiction of the bourgeoisie and the end of Western Civilisation, Week End (1967). The idea was also utilised in one sketch from Monty Python's Meaning of Life (1983), that saw the guests leaving as ghosts. This is by far, one of his greatest achievements, beautifully realised, with comic touches, and moments of surrealism that both bemuse and amuse.


Directed by: Luis Buñuel
Starring: Silvia Pinal, Enrique Rambal, Claudio Brook, José Baviera
Country: Mexico

Rating: *****

Marc Ivamy

Review #239: 'Carnival of Souls' (1962)

Mary (Candace Hilligoss) is in the passenger seat of a car with her two friends when they are challenged to a drag race by some boys. The driver accepts, and the car ends up crashing over the end of a bridge, landing into the water. Several hours later, while the police investigate and onlookers gather, Mary emerges from the water apparently unscathed. She carries on with her life, and goes ahead with taking her new job as a church organ player in a nearby town. Things become strange as she keeps seeing the ghostly figure of a strange man, and Mary finds herself repeatedly drawn to an abandoned carnivale.

What is ultimately a micro-budgeted B-movie, Carnival of Souls has gained popularity as the years have gone by and is now considered a cult classic. With a budget estimated at around $33, 000, director Herk Harvey achieved stunning things with so little. The limited resources are visible on screen though, as the sets, cinematography and supporting actors do little to flatter the movie. But Carnival of Souls manages to overcome these relatively irrelevant limitations with a fine performance from Hilligoss, and plenty of atmosphere to boot. It's clear to see this must have been a big influence on the likes of George A. Romero and David Lynch.

The film also takes some brave stylistic and artistic risks. Mary finds herself staying in a small hotel with the strange and lecherous John (Sidney Berger). While at first he seems to be your typical idiotic B-movie supporting character, he soon becomes something far more sinister. In a rare scene where we leave Mary, we see John talking to one of his loser friends in a drunken frenzy, talking about how he'll soon have her. There's a real feeling that John is bordering on raping Mary, and remember, this is a 1962 American film., when things were unheard of. Also, Mary's emotionless responses to his advances may be touching on lesbianism. It may just be because of what is revealed at the end, but it seemed to me to certainly touch on this possibility.

It really hits its stride in the dream-like carnivale sequences. While the final few scenes are predictable and can be guessed in the first ten minutes or so, it's the execution that is so alarming and exceptional. The dead arise from the water, ghostly white and emotionless. They dance their waltz of the dead amongst the brightly lit fairground in several strange, soundless, and sped-up sequences that evokes the expressionist silent horror films of the 20's. It is truly beautiful, and has influenced a thousand lesser horror films. Truly one of the finest B-movies ever made, and a great example of how so much can be done with so little.


Directed by: Herk Harvey
Starring: Candace Hilligoss, Frances Feist, Sidney Berger
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #144: '8½' (1962)

After the international success of Fellini's La Dolce Vita (1961), which was a departure in style from his previous, neo-realist techniques, he decided to use the more fantastical, personal details and stylings which resulted in the kaleidoscopic, beautifully seductive, 8 1/2 (named and it was Fellini's seventh feature - whilst he considered his three shorts as half each). Fellini's camera glides through the scenes. As do the actors, in a clearly choreographed ballet of acting.

Guido (Fellini alter-ego Marcello Mastroianni), is a film maker hot off the success of a film, and under pressure to direct another. As Guido keeps producers, writers, actors hanging for any slither of information of what the film is about. He secretly internalises his thoughts that segue from fantasy to memories of his past. Guido wants to make a film that tells no lies. He is himself, a selfish, and unfaithful character. He can not externalise his thoughts to direct the film that he wants to. His fantasies and memories culminate in his power of a hareem of women: all of these women from his life past and present who are all faithful, loyal, and love him. Guido seems, within his fantasy, to be destroying his own ability to speak the truth, as he is told by the women.

But one, elusive woman; his fantasy woman (Claudia Cardinale), seems to be the person (muse if you like), that will make the film happen. But she proves to be unattainable. This truly is "the greatest film about film making", as is so commonly stated. Guido's memories/fantasies are built within him to breakdown, and destroy his own creativity. This level of self-degradating of a block in creativity portrayed to perfection, both in dazzling cinematography and Mastroianni's laconic portrayal of an artist questioning his ability to create. Whilst this subject informed the creation of 8 1/2, it certainly does not display any inability in Fellini's startlingly beautiful, well crafted film; and quite often as stylistically creative as Citizen Kane (1941).

Directed by: Federico Fellini

Starring: Marcello Mastroianni, Claudia Cardinale, Anouk Aimée

Country: Italy/France

Rating: *****

Marc Ivamy