Review #1,328: 'Grand Prix' (1966)

The early 1960s saw the beginning of a rivalry between two competing films set amongst the world of Formula One. Lee H. Katzin's Day of the Champion, starring Steve McQueen, was to focus on a particularly gruelling 24-hour race, France's Le Mans, while John Frankenheimer would shoot Grand Prix, a luxurious ensemble piece boasting a handful of the industry's biggest names, on 70mm Cinerama, in what would be one of the final films to showcase the technique before it became defunct. It was a race to hit the cinema screens first, with both movies experiencing issues during production. Day of the Champion would later be re-titled Le Mans, and wouldn't see a release until 1971, a whopping five years late. Grand Prix emerged as the winner, winning multiple Academy Awards in the technical department and boasting racing scenes that haven't been matched since.

While Le Mans' focus was solely on the racing, Grand Prix has larger ambitions. On top of a number of extended racing scenes, the story also gets bogged down by various melodramatic sub-plots involving a few of the drivers and their romantic engagements. Our main heroes are Jean-Pierre Sarti (Yves Montand), a French multiple champion reaching the end of a decorated career; Pete Aron (James Garner), an American looking to salvage his career after he signs up with Yamura Motors; Nino Barlini (Antonio Sabato), an arrogant but promising rookie who plays second fiddle to Sarti; and Scott Stoddard (Brian Bedford), a British driver looking to get back behind the wheel following a horrific crash. Away from the track, their personal lives resemble a soap opera. Aron grows close to Pat (Jessica Walter), Stoddard's estranged wife, while the married Sarti embarks on an affair with American journalist Louise Frederickson (Eva Marie Saint).

This is the sort of lavish, star-studded production that was so common in the 1960s, offering a new familiar face in what feels like every scene. There's also an international flavour to the impressive cast, with the likes of Adolfo Celi, Toshiro Mifune and Claude Dauphin popping up, to name but a few. The hysterical dramatics drag the running time to just shy of three hours - complete with intermission - and Grand Prix ultimately succeeds on the strength of its racing scenes alone. Strapping a camera on top, on the side, and seemingly everywhere but underneath the vehicle, Frankenheimer thrusts you straight to the head of the action. Also employing split-screens, this is one of the most dazzlingly stylish films of its day. Despite not being a Formula One fan in the slightest, I found the time spend on the track exhilarating. The growls of the engines combined with the angles of the camera place you front and centre, almost as if you were right there behind the wheel. As a pure thrill ride, it's one of the very best, it's just a shame that we have to sit through 90 minutes of melodramatics in between.


Directed by: John Frankenheimer
Starring: Yves Montand, James Garner, Eva Marie Saint, Brian Bedford, Jessica Walter, Toshirô Mifune, Antonio Sabato, Adolfo Celi
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,228: 'Kill, Baby... Kill!' (1966)

Horror maestro Mario Bava always had a unique talent for producing the most extraordinary films on the slimmest of budgets. He made Danger: Diabolik, one of his greatest works, for way less than the budget handed to him by super-producer Dino de Laurentis. Kill, Baby... Kill!, also known under the less enticing title of Curse of the Dead, is no different. With the budget provided by small-time Italian production company F.U.L. Films already microscopic, the movie was almost scrapped all together when the budget dried up just days into filming. However, Bava prevailed, and somehow managed to convince the cast and crew to work for next to nothing, and in some cases, for nothing at all. Using his skill for improvisation with camera and lighting, Kill, Baby... Kill! is rich in atmosphere, even offering the odd fright, and is now considered a masterpiece by some and one of Bava's finest achievements.

After a woman mysteriously flings herself onto a set of spikes in an abandoned church, Dr. Paul Eswai (Giacomo Rossi Stuart) is called to a remote Carpathian village to perform the autopsy. He is immediately met with hostility, as the highly superstitious villagers are used to the more primitive practice of burying the body without medical examination. Already investigating the case is grizzled detective Kruger (Piero Lulli), who warns Eswai of the villagers belief in a ghostly presence around the time that places a curse on a person who always turns up dead shortly after. When Kruger goes missing while paying a visit to the secretive Baroness Graps (Giovanna Galletti), the young daughter of an innkeeper sees the ghostly apparition of a young blonde girl and believes she will be next to take her own life. Questioning everything he sees and hears, Eswai turns to village sorceress Ruth (Fabienne Dali) to try and understand these medieval practices.

While I disagree that Kill, Baby... Kill! even comes close to being Bava's best film, this is without a doubt his greatest achievement. Working with very little, Bava somehow manages to conjure up an incredibly spooky, Gothic atmosphere, with beautifully decorated interiors and stunningly framed exteriors, complement with elegant camera movements. When the action moves away from the lushness of the sets and the story starts to emerge, long periods are spent with Eswai simply wandering from one place to the next. Rossi Stuart is hardly the most charismatic actor, although he certainly isn't helped by the questionable dubbing, and his romance with Monica (Erika Blanc), a native who returns to the village to claim her inheritance, proves to be as equally plodding. Still, while this is relatively routine, formulaic stuff in terms of narrative, Bava more than makes up for it with a sumptuous colour palette, and some of the most striking imagery to be found in horror.


Directed by: Mario Bava
Starring: Giacomo Rossi Stuart, Erika Blanc, Fabienne Dali, Piero Lulli, Luciano Catenacci
Country: Italy

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #994: 'Track of the Vampire' (1966)

Like many Roger Corman productions, the creation of Track of the Vampire, or Blood Bath, has a hell of a story behind it. Starting out life as an Americanised Yugoslavian espionage thriller called Operation: Titian starring William Campbell and Patrick Magee and with a script overlooked by Francis Ford Coppola, the film was quickly re-edited into Portrait in Terror. Corman was unhappy with both versions and hired Jack Hill to salvage the film. Hill shot extra footage and renamed it Blood Bath, turning it into a horror movie. Corman still deemed it unworthy of release and hired Stephanie Rothman to again film extra footage.

The final products were a vampire movie based around a deranged artist retaining the title Blood Bath, which ran at just over an hour in length, and a longer feature-length version under the title Track of the Vampire. The resulting experience is confusing and clunkily-edited, yet bolstered by a goofy sense of humour during the scenes Jack Hill shot of a group of idiotic beatniks (including Sid Haig). Campbell plays Antonio Sordi, a painter of gory grotesques that sell at a high price who also happens to be a vampire capable of stalking people during the day. He is in love with Dorean (Lori Saunders), a ballerina who is a dead ringer for Sordi's former mistress, a witch named Melizza who denounced him centuries ago.

Occasionally Track of the Vampire possesses that Ed Wood-esque charm of being so badly done you cannot help but laugh. Rothman added an eight-minute dance sequence on the beach in order to add bulk to the running time, and since Campbell refused to return for re-shoots, Sordi's vampire form is played by a different actor. Yet it's also occasionally terrific, namely whenever Hill is in charge. A haunted shot of the lovelorn Sordi standing on a deserted beach is just about as impressive as anything I've seen in low-budget cinema, and the aforementioned scenes involving the beatniks antics as they try to come up with a new style of art are witty and well-performed. This clash of qualities make for a strange 90 minutes, but it somehow works.


Directed by: Jack Hill, Stephanie Rothman
Starring: William Campbell, Lori Saunders, Marissa Mathes, Karl Schanzer, Sid Haig
Country: USA/Yugoslavia

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #933: 'Wake Up and Kill' (1966)

Although the poliziotteschi sub-genre would not dominate the Italian box-office until the 1970's - a period which also saw crime movies in American cinema become distinctly grittier - it's roots can be traced back to the early work of director Carlo Lizzani. His early work, such as Wake Up and Kill (also known as Wake Up and Die) and The Violent Four (1968), laid the foundations for a rougher crime flick, movies that weren't afraid be socially aware or show Italy as the haven for crime and corruption it had become. For Wake Up and Kill, Lizzani took inspiration from one of the country's most popular Robin Hood figures - Luciano Lutring.

To be honest, I hadn't heard of Lutring before I was reading up about the film before watching it. I also doubt many people outside of Italy, or perhaps France (where Lutring served 12 years in prison), would have heard of him either, but his story is a familiar one. The likes of Ned Kelly and Jesse James come immediately to mind - criminals who are pardoned of their acts through folk-tales, becoming mythic heroes in the process. Lutring (played with a charismatic swagger by Robert Hoffman) robs jewels in broad daylight by smashing shop windows with a hammer and grabbing what he can. As his fame rises and his reputation hardens, he turns increasingly violent, carrying a sub-machine gun in a violin case which lends him the name "the machine-gun soloist,".

At first, Lizzani draws us into a sexy world of crime where every robbery lacks sophistication but sets the pulse racing, with sexy club singer Yvonne (Lisa Gastoni) soon on Lutring's arm before she realises what she's gotten herself into. Led by the determined Inspector Moroni (Gian Maria Volonte), the police are always one step behind Lutring's crime-spree. A few moments of casual domestic violence aside, Lizzani mainly portrays Lutring in a sympathetic light, being sexed-up by the media and blamed for crimes he didn't commit. For the crimes he does commit, Lizzani delivers a couple of well-handled and realistic set-pieces, usually in broad daylight. But at just shy of two hours (there are various versions of the movie out there - it appears I saw the longest) Wake Up and Kill feels dragged out, despite closing with a fantastic open-ended final scene.


Directed by: Carlo Lizzani
Starring: Robert Hoffmann, Lisa Gastoni, Gian Maria Volonté, Claudio Camaso
Country: Italy/France

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #928: 'Seconds' (1966)

The opening scene of John Frankenheimer's massively overlooked thriller Seconds follows everyman Arthur Hamilton (John Randolph) as he ushers along a familiar railway station seemingly heading to another day at work. Through Frankenheimer and Oscar-nominated cinematographer James Wong Howe's eyes, this is our world but not quite as we know it, but how a lot of us will no doubt feel it. Obscure camera angles and extreme close-ups invoke a deep sense of paranoia, like someone is subtly observing from afar while the walls of our world feel like they're closing in. The man looks like the kind of pod-person Mad Men depicted so well, but who is he and where is he going? Eventually the man is handed a note from a stranger baring an address.

Seconds is the last and least well-known of John Frankenheimer's so-called 'paranoia trilogy', which began with The Manchurian Candidate (1962) and was followed by Seven Days in May (1964). Paranoid thrillers of the highest quality, Seconds is arguably the best. Dismissed by the majority of critics and unseen by audiences upon its release in 1966, it has been frequently re-evaluated over the years but has never achieved the level of recognition is surely deserves. It tries to answer the questions no doubt pondered by many middle-aged men caught up in the mundaneness of modern life, of what it would be like to be offered a clean slate - to change your appearance, be given the money to conquer your goals, and have your former self completely removed from the world. Will you achieve happiness and live the life you have always desired, free from the constraints of marriage and a 9 to 5 lifestyle? Or will you simply make the same mistakes as before?

Arthur Hamilton is contacted by an old friend he believed to be long dead, who tempts his old school buddy into a radical - and highly secretive - procedure that will transform him into a completely different person. Arthur cannot resist and visits the address he was handed by the stranger, and is soon transformed into a handsome and younger man, and is given a new name, Antiochus Wilson (played by a career-best Rock Hudson). Arthur's death is faked and he is whisked off to a warmer climate, where a swanky new pad and the tools to pursue his dream life as an artist await him. Is this life-changing reset merely covering up the underlying cracks deep within in his soul? Antiochus is soon indulging in trendy cocktail parties and the attentions of neighbour Nora (Salome Jens), but as the drinks are consumed his old self starts to bubble over.

Although he only appears around the hour mark, Hudson is nothing short of mesmerising here. Retained his handsome features but gaining a world-weariness, the man best known for his screwball comedies seems to perfect fit to play a man hiding his true self, given the double-life he was forced to lead to improve his public image and which eventually damaged his career. Wilson's drunken antics during a long party segment of the film are filled with pity and embarrassment, and it's here that Frankenheimer starts to lose his grip on the story. The narrative sags, but it only adds to the whole disorienting experience. Though technically a thriller, Seconds also works well as a horror, hiding the surgeons ready with their scalpels behind thick walls and shrouding the organisation offering the services in secrecy. Deserving of far more respect in the world of cinema, Seconds is a disturbing and depressing experience, but one that is drenched in irony, featuring one of the most unsettling closing lines I've ever heard.


Directed by: John Frankenheimer
Starring: Rock Hudson, Salome Jens, John Randolph, Will Geer, Jeff Corey
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #584: 'The Black Klansman' (1966)

It was a rare occasion in 1960's American cinema that the screen would reflect the social turbulence surrounding the civil rights movement, or the fundamentally tense race relations in particularly in the southern states. The white supremacist organisation, the Ku Klux Klan, was a dominant and violent presence which was largely controlled and operated by the local powers of small towns and cities. Whilst the subject was on the surface of the film adaptation of Harper Lee's Pulitzer prize winning novel, To Kill a Mocking Bird (1962), but the cinema mainstream was hardly representative of social conscience until Stanley Kramer's Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (1967). But a few low budget b-movies in the early '60's did attempt to tackle the subject. Roger Corman's under-seen William Shatner starer, The Intruder (1962), or Carl Lerner's Black Like Me (1964), whilst unsuccessful, at least attempted an intelligent, left-field approach. So it seems almost astounding with hindsight, that Ted V. Mikels, shlock director of later atrocities like The Astro-Zombies (1968) or The Doll Squad (1973), would produce a film that would formulate a narrative that is both sensitive and intelligent about the deep-seated racism within southern state America.

The film opens in the small town of Turnersville, a young, dumb kid walks into an all white diner, upsetting the patrons of the establishment by being the wrong colour. This small act leads to the local faction of the KKK to "retaliate" by shooting the boy then throwing Molotov cocktails at a congregation of a black church. This, along with the burning crucifix, was a reality in these small-minded towns. However, on throwing the fiery bottle at the doorway, the perpetrator witnesses a very young girl being hit directly with the weapon. The father of the girl, travelling musician Jerry Ellsworth (also notably of mixed race - but played by a white actor), heads to the town on hearing the news. Jerry takes himself to a hair salon and transfers himself into a white man (for all intents and purposes). He charms his way into the life of KKK head, and infiltrates the organisation, biding his time to reap revenge on the evil that killed his daughter.

It is of course a ludicrous concept, but the film offers quite emotional and sometimes dramatic scenes. Jerry is also accompanied by a white woman, Andrea (Rima Kutner), who is in love with him and wants a baby with him (something that an alternative title for the film overly focused on, I Crossed the Color Line). This alone would have been a controversial inclusion to the film, but it also balanced this with a more critical commentary on vigilante justice, and mob organisation (particularly on the black group formed in reaction to the attack). The opening scenes where the KKK shoot the young black boy are truly shocking for its time and budget, a scene that resembles the later opening scenes of Mississippi Burning (1989), which are shot quite similarly, staring starkly in the face of the victim. This is not to say that the film is wholly satisfactory, in true Mikels style the film is technically horrific; bad editing, uninspired camera work, the inevitable bad arrangement of scenes and characters. But, at its heart is something quite remarkable. Not revelatory, or even particularly exciting, but nonetheless, the central theme of social segregation is still relevant today (shockingly), and surprisingly some of the acting ain't too bad.


Directed by: Ted V. Mikels
Starring: Richard Gilden, Rima Kutner, Harry Lovejoy
Country: USA

Rating: **

Marc Ivamy

Review #484: 'Au Hasard Balthazar' (1966)

At the start of Robert Bresson's profoundly touching drama, the children who had been at the purchase of the young titular donkey, Balthazar, baptise the animal, which in essence renders him with a soul, and one which will encounter the cruelties and beauty of humanity. In this early life, the children, particularly Marie and Jacques (later playing as teenagers by Anne Wiazemsky - who later married Jean-Luc Godard - and Walter Green respectively), play with him lovingly, jostling in the hay. With monetary issues, Balthazar is taken into adult life, abused by masters who use his prowess to pull carts, whipping him regularly. He escapes, and goes back to that place of beauty, where the children had so adored him. Of course, they are grown, and Marie (the only one who actually lives at the farm) takes him back in, however, the farm is struggling, and this relationship is soon split.

As Balthazar is then moved from owner to owner, he is used to deliver bread, to again pull carts. He is saved at one point by a drunk, Arnold (Jean-Claude Guilbert), who is accused of murder - although this infraction is never elaborated on, and he is only accused several times by local teen-thug and thief, Gerard (Francois Lafarge). Balthazar also briefly becomes a star in a circus, making mathematical calculations using his hoof. Aside from the various moments of violence inflicted upon the poor animal, he is witness to the violence that the people he comes in contact with have over each other. Marie, ignoring the protestations of her fathers wishes to stay away from Gerard, she ignores him and continues a sexual relationship with the petty criminal, which inevitably leads to heartache.

Beautifully shot in black and white, the French rural countryside becomes a majestic, and yet horrific backdrop for the sins of humanity, and the innocence of an animal that is forced to do the bidding of the people. Bresson often frames Balthzar at the centre of the image, his large eyes portraying utter pathos - and we, the audience adore him. The final moments of the film are some of the most simple, yet moving moments in cinema history. Gerard, using the now old and work-tired Balthazar, steal him to carry contraband over the border. Fleeing the area due to gun fire from the border patrol, Balthazar escapes into a field where sheep are grazing. Having been shot he walks slowly and joins the flock, sitting, his eyes displaying something that resembles happiness - or at least a relief to be with other animals. The end, however, is also incredibly heartbreaking.


Directed by: Robert Bresson
Starring: Anne Wiazemsky, Walter Green, François Lafarge, Jean-Claude Guilbert
Country: France/Sweden

Rating: *****

Marc Ivamy

Review #248: 'Rat Pfink a Boo Boo' (1966)

A strange hybrid of contemporary movies styles, Rat Pfink a Boo Boo begins as a seemingly straight, very low budget and amateurish crime drama. Cee Dee Beaumont (Carolyn Brandt), girlfriend to rock 'n' roll star, Lonnie Lord (Ron Haydock), is being harassed on the telephone by a gang of bored hoodlums. The first half of the film plays like a pulp melodrama, but this is also mixed with some beach party scenes. The whole film is a post-modern concoction of ideas, taken from the popular youth movements of the time. A year previous to the production of the film, an incredibly saccharine and asinine movie was released, that actually began a bizarre - if short-lived - series. Beach Blanket Bingo (1965), has been pilfered for the lame beach party scenes that interject throughout the first half of the film.

After Lonnie's girlfriend is kidnapped by the previously mentioned gang, he receives a phone call giving the demands for her release. This is where the film changes. It is not a revelatory change. It simply seems that the film maker just didn't know what to do with the ending. So, as per the previous action of pilfering, I can only assume he simply switched the TV on and was introduced to two popular shows that were being aired at the time (Batman and Batfink). Lonnie, along with a character we hardly noticed in the previous half, Titus Twimbly (Titus Moede), step into a cupboard. After a kerfuffle they exit wearing ludicrous outfits, and proclaiming their super-hero pseudonyms as Rat Pfink and Boo Boo. (As a note, this was the full original title. However, in post production, the titles were messed up leaving the a instead of the and.)

What proceeds is a farcical parade of the eponymous super heroes gliding through the streets on a motorcycle and side car around Hollywood. This last part plays out like the camp Batman series that clearly influenced it, and the title being adapted from another cartoon TV character, Batfink. With it's cheap credentials in place, the film still has some amateurish charm. I believe that much of the humour is intentional, and the super hero section has it's tongue placed firmly in it's cheek - much like the Batman series that it is riffing on.

The film does deserve it's 2.9 imdb rating, but because it is so low budget, I believe it has more to offer that let's say, for example, Transformers: Dark of the Moon (2011), which has less to offer as it takes itself so seriously, and was made on a budget that could probably alter the third world. Also, with a running time of only 67 minutes, does not waste 3 hours of your life, and is worth it for it's outrageous acting, preposterous settings, and the more obvious limitations of it's director, a man who clearly lost his way 40 minutes into the film, resulting in the super hero ending, shoehorned into place.


Directed by: Ray Dennis Steckler
Starring: Carolyn Brandt, Ron Haydock, Titus Moede
Country: USA

Rating: **

Marc Ivamy

Review #196: 'The Reptile' (1966)

When his brother is mysteriously killed by a reptilian creature that causes him to foam at the mouth and turn green, Harry Spalding (Ray Barrett) inherits his cottage and moves in with his wife Valerie (Jennifer Daniel). Shunned by the towns yokels but befriended by the brilliantly bearded innkeeper Tom (Michael Ripper), Harry becomes interested in the rumours of the townsfolk dying from the 'black death'. When they alert the local doctor, Dr. Franklyn (Noel Willman), he dismisses any responsibility, and they become puzzled by his strange behaviour towards his daughter and his creepy servant. Is the black death really to blame? Of course not, it's a big reptile-human hybrid thing!

As good as Hammer's output was, they levelled it out with a lot of quickly made crap. They shot films furiously fast on a wafer-thin budget to serve as warm-ups to main features. While sometimes this produced some genuinely good stuff (The Plague of the Zombies (1966) - also directed by Gilling), often it did not. The Reptile served as an accompaniment to Rasputin The Mad Monk (1966), and it's place as a mere quickie is evident to see. It is hammily acted (usually a good thing), badly scripted, and has some quite shockingly bad make-up. And lead Ray Barrett clearly wasn't the most gifted of actors. However, the mysterious plot that remains a puzzle right until the very end almost saves it, but this still remains a very poor effort, though it's a nice enough way to pass 90 minutes.


Directed by: John Gilling
Starring: Ray Barrett, Noel Willman, Jennifer Daniel, Michael Ripper, John Laurie, Marne Maitland
Country: UK

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #178: 'The Face of Another' (1966)

Mr. Okuyama (Tatsuya Nakadai) is a physically and emotionally wounded man. After an industrial accident at work, his face has been scarred and mutilated beyond recognition, and even his wife rejects him, even though she says his physical appearance doesn't matter. It has left him bitter and angry, until his psychiatrist Dr. Hira (Mikijiro Hira) comes up with a way to fashion a 'face mask' that will give him the appearance of having a completely normal face, albeit with a few joining marks. Hira doesn't do this just out of kindness, he is fascinated how this new face will alter Okuyama's personality and way of life.

The Face of Another is a fascinating film that highlights the social attitudes to physical appearance. There are hundreds of films and morality tales that teach you that it is inner beauty that counts, and once you allow this to shine then your physical attractiveness becomes irrelevant. Everyone knows that this is bullshit, so its refreshing to see a film that makes it clear from the outset that physical appearance has a massive part to play in society. Okuyama's new face, which is an attractive one, changes him so much that he takes on an almost dual identity. Dr. Hira delights in telling him that he has bought flashy new clothes, something he was never concerned with before. It becomes clear that whilst before Okuyama merely wanted to be normal again and fit back in society, his new face is engulfing him, and to be 'normal' simply isn't enough anymore.

As with many of the Japanese New Wave film-makers of the 1960's-70's, director Hiroshi Teshigahara takes some bold steps and sneaks in some surrealist and art-house values in a movie that is otherwise played relatively straight. A 'fictional' character appears every now and then throughout (she is first imagined by Okuyama's wife as a character in a movie); one side of her face is scarred and burned. She appears quite rarely, but seems to serve as an alternative to Okuyama's increasingly vain soul. Another scene seems a ball of hair that floats in the air, unnoticed by the people in the laboratory. I have no idea what it meant, and couldn't really admit to it being wholly successful, but it certainly got my attention nonetheless.

A powerful, disturbing, and poignant drama/horror from the greatest era in Japanese cinema. The film seems all the more important now, 45 years on, in a world where a botox injection can be as easy as buying a pack of cigarettes, and where physical 'beauty' is less a bonus than a necessity.


Directed by: Hiroshi Teshigahara
Starring: Tatsuya Nakadai, Mikijirô Hira, Kyôko Kishida
Country: Japan

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #125: 'The Witches' (1966)

After a terrifying experience in Africa, involving native voodoo witch doctors, Gwen Mayfield (Joan Fontaine) has a nervous breakdown and returns to home. Once recovered she takes a job as head mistress in Heddaby, a small quaint English village. She is introduced to brother and sister Alan and Stephanie Bax, who had given her the job. Alan is a distant character. He'd always wanted to be a Reverend, but 'could never do this'. His evidently tortured soul wonders through the film, zombie-like, impotent to the happenings in his village.

Gwen begins to suspect there is something strange going on in Haddaby, when two of the school children she is teaching, - Linda and Ronnie (Ingrid Brett & Martin Stephens) - are kept apart from one another. A sinister plot to make sure Linda keeps her virginity. Gwen delves deeper into the escalating events in the village, and is slowly driven to a relapse of her breakdown, as the idea of witchcraft, and human sacrifice circle in her mind. She is constantly reminded of the imagery that had brought her first nervous disposition in Africa. The film cleverly draws parallels with the ancient 'arts' of the folkloric black arts of witchcraft and voodoo.

Based on the book 'The Devil's Own' by Norah Lofts, the always excellent Nigel Kneale (writer of such British classics as The Quatermass Experiment et al), weaves a tale of increasing anguish, and conspiratorial plotting. Amongst this is a line of dialogue completely out of place, but an absolute joy. After Gwen relapse and memory loss, she is placed in a nursing home. She is sat in the 'TV' room, where an old, knitting lady states, "You're the lady that's lost her memory. I've got veins". Well, it made me chuckle.

A Hammer film, co-produced with Seven Arts, this is not one of their greatest films. It is relatively pedestrian. But very enjoyable. The ritualistic climax does move far too close to camp farce, as the townsfolk writhe ridiculously around the floors, dressed in rags for inexplicable reasons. Joan Fontaine (who owned the rights to the book), suitably over acts, using her contorted face to emote pain, confusion, and a little bit of horror. It's one of those films that fits perfectly with a wet, lazy, Sunday afternoon. Well, that's how I like to spend those types of days.


Directed by: Cyril Frankel
Starring: Joan Fontaine, Kay Walsh, Alec McCowan
Country: UK

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #87: 'The Plague of the Zombies' (1966)

Hammer's only stab at the zombie genre, the film takes place in a small town where strange occurances and the odd disappearance catches the eye of local doctor Peter Tompson (Brook Williams). To investigate further, he enlists the help of his old teacher Professor (and Sir!) James Forbes (Andre Morell) who arrives with his daughter Sylvia (Diane Clare). Soon strange sightings are seen of zombie-like creatures, and suspicion is aroused with the aggressive behaviour of a group of fox hunters and the reclusive Clive Hamilton (John Carson). Is this the work of black magic and voodoo, or scientific experimentation gone wrong?

This is probably Hammer's most shamelessly entertaining film. This doesn't have the cutting edge politics and satire of Romero's original zombie trilogy, or the over-the-top cheap gore of Raimi's Evil Dead films, but has the distinction of being a typically British film, only with zombies! It's predictable and silly but it's bloody good fun. It's also made with Hammer's high production standards, beautiful sets and a surprisingly sinister edge. These aren't zombies that will eat your brains, and to be honest they only properly turn up in the last twenty minutes or so, but the film moves fast and has a great lead performance in stiff-upper-lipped Andre Morell. Not bad for a film that was the supporting feature in a Hammer double bill.

Directed by: John Gilling

Starring: André Morell, Diane Clare, Brook Williams

Country: UK

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #10: 'One Million Years B.C.' (1966)

The thing best remembered about this Hammer fantasy is not the movie itself, but the iconic image of Raquel Welsh, which has donned many a students’ wall throughout the decades. The movie itself is a bit of fun, but relatively forgettable.

It tells the story of Tumak, a neatly-bearded cavemen. One of two sons to the tribe’s leader, he is a member of the Rock tribe who seem to spend their time jumping on top of warthogs, squabbling over chunks of meat, and having dramatic stick-fights. His overbearing father rules over the camp like a nomadic Hitler, and banishes Tumak after a squabble over chunks of warthog meat leads to a dramatic stick-fight. After walking the land for a while and meeting some of ancient Earth’s giant monsters, he walks upon a tribe who seem to exist with a more peaceful outlook on life. Also, the women in the tribe are all blonde, skimpy-dressed, and seem to shave their legs.

It’s a vision of man’s beginning as seen through the eyes of Karl Pilkington. The giant creatures created by Ray Harryhausen are, as usual, fantastic to watch, but as the film goes on I started to wonder where the creators got their crazy ideas from. Obviously, the film wasn’t ever going to strive for historical accuracy, but when I saw the scene in which a giant turtle attacks the tribe I was gazing open-mouthed at the TV. It’s the kind of lunacy that makes the Hammer films of lesser quality still so endearing. Harryhausen defended the film, stating that he “didn’t make it for professors.”  Take Harryhausen’s words and just enjoy the sights on show, be it a giant gecko, a dinosaur fight or Raquel Welch.

Directed by: Don Chaffey
Starring: Raquel Welch, John Richardson, Percy Herbert
Country: UK

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1: 'Rasputin the Mad Monk' (1966)

For a keen horror fan, I have seen precious little of the Hammer horror universe. You can imagine my delight when I was gifted the Hammer DVD Collection for Christmas which consists of 21 films from the vault of the great British institution. I felt spoiled for choice. When opening the box I was greeted by the mad eyes of Christopher Lee, gazing out from amongst a gigantic beard and El Topo (1970)-esque haircut. I felt obliged to choose this as my introduction to what will no doubt become a fixation with Hammer, and the film I will remember years into the future when I'm no doubt walking the Earth, trying to find all the tiny forgotten films Hammer produced before they became famous.

For those of you who don't know, Grigori Rasputin was a real-life Russian mystic/hypnotist/con-artist who had a heavy influence on the Tsarist government of Emperor Nicholas II and his wife Alexandra, after apparently healing their son Alexei as he lay dying from haemophilia. The film is less concerned with the politics of the time, and instead focuses on Rasputin's love for drinking, women, and generally being a bit of a bastard, as he hypnotises and heals his way through society and into the bed of lady-in-waiting Sonia (Barbara Shelley).

The film wastes no time introducing Rasputin's maverick attitudes to monkhood, as he heals a saloon owner's wife on her death bed so he can get served a drink, and proceeds to sing and drink the night way before hacking a man's hand off in a fight. Fleeing to Moscow after being hauled in front of the bishop for his unorthodox ways, he gains influence over a disgraced doctor and begins to plan his rise to power.

The film's main strength is undoubtedly Lee's performance as the mad Russian, as he dominates every scene with his intense, piercing eyes and booming voice, with his towering frame overshadowing everyone that comes across his path. The scene in which he does a celebratory dance after beating a challenger in a drinking contest only to mistake some onlookers for laughing at him is both weird and intimidating as he demands an apology. It is a great mix of thespian presence and gothic camp that makes the Hammer films, and more notably Christopher Lee's performances for the studio, that extra bit special.

Rasputin The Mad Monk is a thoroughly enjoyable film, anchored by Lee's performance and Hammer's usual beautiful Technicolour cinematography, and is made all the better by leaving out the politics and concentrating on creating a memorable film character.


Directed by: Don Sharp
Starring: Christopher Lee, Barbara Shelley, Richard Pasco
Country: UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie