Review #1,459: 'The Reckoning' (1970)

Indicator are a small British blu-ray label who seem to have made it their ultimate goal to unearth some of the best and weirdest forgotten gems from Britain's cinematic past, routinely releasing titles I've never even heard of that turn out to be well worthy of a remaster and rediscovery. One such title is Jack Gold's The Reckoning, a tough, lean thriller about a no-nonsense businessman who travels up North seeking vengeance. Sound familiar? The Reckoning has been compared to Get Carter, which was released the following year, and the two films certainly share some similarities. Yet tonally and thematically the two are worlds apart, with Gold's film more eager to explore class divide and national identity than Carter's more straightforward revenge fantasy. The Reckoning may also be the better film: a punishing experience full of off-putting characters that leaves more of a lasting impression than what many consider to be Michael Caine's finest hour.

It tells the story of Mick Marler (Nicol Williamson), a corporate ball-buster who has worked his way up the ladder over the years with a combination of ruthless business savvy and sheer intimidation. He seems satisfied with his high income and strong social standing, but also has a button-pushing, gold-digging wife (Ann Bell) to contend with. After putting the pieces in place for a business manoeuvre that will favour both himself and his boss (as well as doing away with his biggest rival), Mick heads up north to Liverpool to visit his working-class Irish family. Immediately upon arrival, he discovers his father has died from a heart attack, but is disturbed when he discovers bruising on his father's body. After doing some digging, Mick learns that his father got into a fight with some English 'teddy boys', suffering the fatal heart attack after being punched and kicked to the ground by one of the gang. With his Irish blood boiling inside of him, Mick decides that he must avenge his father, but he also has responsibilities back home.

Torn between his two worlds, Mick goes on a journey of self-discovery that ultimately makes him even more loathsome. When he is in the South, he laughs at the idea of being bound by blood and tradition to avenge his father, but when he is back North, a beast is awoken inside him, and he is irresistibly drawn to embracing his primitive instincts. It's a tough, ugly film that asks you to stick with this part-thug, part-corporate psychopath for just shy of two hours, but John McGrath's screenplay - based on the novel by Patrick Hall - trusts the audience to at least try to understand the man who breezes between two equally brutal, yet entirely different, worlds. This isn't action-packed or even violent as you would expect from a man-on-a-revenge-mission movie, but takes its time to develop this hateful yet fascinating character who used his working-class upbringing to batter his way into the world of lavish dinner parties and fast cars, and was both intrigued and repulsed by what he found. Williamson is excellent, managing to emote both outer ferocity and inner turmoil at the same time, and it's a puzzle why the actor didn't go on to land bigger roles. While it's chaotic at times, The Reckoning is a true forgotten gem that highlights how important the work carried out by Indicator really is.


Directed by: Jack Gold
Starring: Nicol Williamson, Ann Bell, Rachel Roberts, Zena Walker, Paul Rogers, Tom Kempinski
Country: UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,269: 'Mark Of The Devil' (1970)

Michael Reeves' horror classic Witchfinder General made an impressive turnaround at the box-office in spite of its modest budget. Following the witch-hunting exploits of Matthew Hopkins in 17th century England, the movie was disturbing, gruesome, and neatly disguised as a history lesson in an attempt to dodge the censors. The success of Witchfinder naturally led to more witch-trial horror films, most famously being Ken Russell's The Devils, although he denies he was inspired by a film he called "nauseous." It was a big hit in Germany, and their own stab at the folk horror sub-genre came in the form of Michael Armstrong's Mark of the Devil. Using clever marketing (posters warned of a V for Violence certificate and theatres handed out vomit bags to the audience), it was a runaway success, although it has spent the past few decades caught up in the video nasty storm and hacked to pieces in the editing room.

In a small town in early 18th-century Austria, residents are routinely treated to public executions of those accused of dabbling in the dark arts. In charge of finding the witches hiding in their midst and torturing them to confess is Albino (Reggie Nalder), an ugly man who accuses any unfortunate young woman who spurns his advances of performing witchcraft. Albino enjoys and abuses his position of power, until the dashing Count Christian von Meruh (Udo Kier) arrives in town, quickly catching the eye of beautiful, buxom barmaid Vanessa (Olivera Katarina). He is there to announce that famed and highly-respected witch hunger Lord Cumberland (Herbert Lom) will soon be joining him to put an end to the folly carried out by Albino and his cronies. But when Vanessa stands accused of false charges of baring the 'mark of the devil', the Count starts to question his master's methods and motivations, as well as that of the Church.

Mark of the Devil is one of those few horror movies that actually lives up to its reputation. While it certainly isn't the most horrifying film ever made and won't upset your stomach (as the poster claims), it revels in the many scenes of torture and death. Joints are ripped from sockets, digits are squashed, a tongue is removed, and many are burned alive, and almost every torture device imaginable is employed. These scenes initially have the desired effect, but the narrative quickly falls into a repetitive cycle of violence and badly handled love scenes between the Count and Vanessa frolicking on the grass, made all the worse by some atrocious dubbing. It does make a legitimate point however, and points a finger at the hypocrisy of an institution who torture and murder 'by the book' while looking down on the likes of Albino for doing the same for sexual gratification. It would be difficult to admit to 'liking' Mark of the Devil, but it sits as one of the more intriguing entries into the short-lived sub-genre.


Directed by: Michael Armstrong
Starring: Herbert Lom, Udo Kier, Olivera Katarina, Reggie Nalder, Herbert Fux
Country: West Germany

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,172: 'Nightbirds' (1970)

American director Andy Milligan is best known on the cult circuit for the numerous trashy exploitation movies he put out during the 1960s and 70s, namely the likes of Bloodthirsty Butchers (1970), The Rats Are Coming! The Werewolves Are Here! (1972) and, most famously, the video nasty The Ghastly Ones (1968). His work isn't fondly remembered, and his horror pictures are perhaps only worthwhile for their unintentional comedic value. However, Milligan occasionally dabbled in arthouse movies, and Nightbirds - made in Britain - is one of the most interesting, if plodding, things he's ever done. Thought lost for years, the combined efforts of Nicolas Winding Refn and the BFI have allowed the film to be pieced back together and re-released after decades in the wilderness.

On the grainy streets of late 60s London, a young homeless man named Dink (Berwick Kaler) is discovered puking his guts up by the striking Dee (Julie Shaw), who takes the hapless mummy's boy back to her decaying flat. While Dink is clearly socially inept and inexperienced with women thanks to years of mental abuse at the hands of his overbearing mother, he strikes up an intensely sexual relationship with Dee. The good times soon give way to jealousy however, as Dee disapproves of any woman Dink strikes up a conversation with, and Dink becoming increasingly frustrated at the frequent presence of Dee's creepy Irish neighbour. As they gradually attempt to control one another, the once blissful and sexually-charged relationship turns to cruelty and bitterness.

It barely saw the inside of a cinema screen during its release back in 1970, and its somewhat difficult to see how it will find an audience all these years later. It's a deliberately provocative piece, full of sexual imagery and foul language, but it's also incredibly slow-moving, even at a measly 74 minutes. While Kaler does well as the timid, neurotic Dink (who went on to have a successful career on British TV), Shaw struggles to emote much at all. Her character is manipulative and sexually dominant, and calls for a performance capable of handling such complexities, but Shaw barely manages to convincingly switch between happy and sad. Still, it's a nice change of pace from the usual free-loving and swinging 60s the movies usually inform us it was, and suggests that there was a little bit more to Milligan than the schlocky output he was best known for.


Directed by: Andy Milligan
Starring: Julie Shaw, Berwick Kaler, Elaine Shore, Bill Clancy
Country: UK

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,110: 'The Wizard of Gore' (1970)

Although he never again reached the dizzy 'heights' of his breakthrough Blood Feast (1963), I find myself repeatedly and inexplicably drawn to the seemingly endless works of the 'Godfather of Gore', Herschell Gordon Lewis. The films of Lewis, who sadly passed away just two months ago, continued on a steady decline from the just-about-bearable to the outright unwatchable after bringing blood and guts to the drive-in audience for the first time. Two Thousand Maniacs! (1964) was quite fun, and Color Me Blood Red (1965) had its moments, but by the time he reached The Wizard of Gore in 1970, his work had become entirely incoherent and just plain boring.

Magician Montag the Magnificent (Ray Sager) entertains disinterested crowds at night, introducing his act by condemning his fellow performers and promising to truly deliver what the audience has come to see. He doesn't merely do the girl-cut-in-two trick, but chainsaws a poor lady in half and then plays around in her guts. Moments later, she is fine, and the audience lap it up. Only a few hours later, the girl drops dead in a restaurant in two pieces. TV personality Sherry Carson (Judy Cler), who frequently attends Montag's show with her boyfriend Jack (Wayne Ratay). longs to get the entertainer on her show. But as more bizarre murders occur, Sherry and Jack feel that the sinister goings-on point straight to Montag.

He may not be a magician and he certainly isn't a wizard, but Montag the Magnificent is one hell of a hypnotist. During his many shows, in which Montag murders and dismembers various pretty ladies in a variety of grisly ways (punch press, sword swallowing, knife in the ear, etc.), his audience are placed in a trance as Montag fondles what must have been brought in from the local butchers. As the actual audience watching this mess, we are treated to both the illusion and reality, making for a incredibly confusing and badly-edited watch. The usual Lewis tropes of terrible acting, cheap-looking sets and laughable special effects (see the moment Sager clearly has trouble popping out an eyeball) are all present, but the worst sin of all is that The Wizard of Gore is a massive drag at a whopping 95 minutes. There's gore-a-plenty, but nothing else. And if anybody knows what that ending is about, please let me know.


Directed by: Herschell Gordon Lewis
Starring: Ray Sager, Judy Cler, Wayne Ratay, Phil Laurenson
Country: USA

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie

Review #970: 'Five Dolls for an August Moon' (1970)

Mario Bava arguably created the giallo; that very Italian brand of horror/thriller that combined psychosexual undertones with astonishingly beautiful women, a killer with black gloves, and penis-shaped weapons. Along with the likes of Lucio Fulci and Dario Argento, the giallo was highly inspirational to American film-makers such as John Carpenter, leading to the creation of that very American brand of horror, the slasher. As innovative as Bava was (and still is), his filmography contains a few duds, and Five Dolls for an August Moon is one example.

Taking inspiration from, of all people, Agatha Christie and her novel Ten Little Niggers (now commonly referred to as Ten Little Indians, understandably), Five Dolls groups a bunch of wealthy people together at a weekend getaway owned by George Stark (Teodoro Corra). One of the guests is scientist Gerry Farrell (William Berger) who, as we come to learn, has made a revolutionary breakthrough in creating a new formula for industrial resin. Farrell quickly realises that he was invited to the retreat so Stark and his fellow industrialists can persuade him to sell his formula, which he declines. As frustration grows, the inhabitants shortly start turning up dead.

The film is sporadically fun, especially the running joke that has the victims wrapped in plastic and hung in the freezer one by one which, by the end, is almost overflowing. Yet, although the premise sounds like classic giallo material, Bava makes his group of characters so indistinguishable from one another (although there's no mistaking the stunning Edwige Fenech) that it's difficult to get engrossed by the increasingly outlandish plot. For a Bava film, the visuals are shockingly bland, with only brief glimpses of his famous visual flair and complex use of colour. There are also precious few memorable set-pieces to savour between the quieter moments, with many of the murders taking place off camera. Certainly lower-league Bava.


Directed by: Mario Bava
Starring: William Berger, Ira Von Fürstenberg, Edwige Fenech, Teodoro Corrà, Maurice Poli
Country: Italy

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #887: 'Blind Woman's Curse' (1970)

The dragon-tattooed leader of the Tachibana Yakuza gang, Akemi (Lady Snowblood's Meiko Kaji) tries to avenge the death of her father in a rain-drenched showdown, only when she is about to deal the final death blow, she slashes at the eyes of the rival's boss younger sister, rendering her blind while a mysterious black cat laps up her blood. Akemi spends three years in jail before returning to the head of the Tachibana clan, where she intends to stop the violence that is causing her city to bleed and live out her days in peace. With the help of a Tachibana turncloak, a rival gang headed by Dobashi (Toru Abe) starts to invade Akemi's territory, planting drugs in their stalls and fighting them in the streets.

Dobashi finds some unexpected help with the arrival of a blind female swordsman, Aiko (Hoki Tokuda), the woman from the opening scene who is seeking vengeance. It's here that the film starts to get seriously weird. Working as a knife-thrower at a carnival show, Aiko is accompanied by two assistants, a grotesque hunchback with a fetish for decapitation, and the black cat that Akemi believed put a curse upon her for mutilating an innocent. Soon enough, Akemi's gang are turning up dead, often with their dragon tattoo flayed from their back. Less of a threat and providing most of the film's comic relief is another gang boss permanently adorned in a thong and cursed with foul-smelling body odour.

Blind Woman's Curse's mix of sword opera, Yakuza gangster movie, horror and surrealism is an unbalanced and occasionally frustrating concoction. If the story wasn't out-there enough, Kaji's disappointingly limited screen-time means that there is little holding everything together. The supernatural elements occur so sporadically that they seem out of place, but thanks to cinematographer Shigeru Kitaizumi, are beautiful to behold. The carnival scene is a montage of macabre and vibrant colours, with strange dancing and avant-garde plays from it's performers, and the climactic showdown between Akemi and Aiko plays out against a lavish painted backdrop of spiralling clouds. It's completely nonsensical, but it's an experience like no other.


Directed by: Teruo Ishii
Starring: Meiko Kaji, Hoki Tokuda, Makoto Satô, Hideo Sunazuka
Country: Japan

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #759: 'Stray Cat Rock: Delinquent Girl Boss' (1970)

In the first of what would become a successful five-film series, Stray Cat Rock: Delinquent Girl Boss is a passable and sporadically entertaining introduction to the 'girl gang' genre and one of the key entries in a series of films known as 'pinky violence'. Anchored by a performance of undeniable presence by Akiko Wada, who plays a no-nonsense biker and who surprisingly didn't appear in any of the sequels, the film gets bogged down by a plodding series of events and set-pieces that are too free-spirited for it's own good, and lingers far too long on various pop performances from flavour-of-the-week bands.

Plot-wise, the film doesn't have much going for it. Ako (Wada) is a drifter who picks up Mei (Meiko Kaji - later to play the eponymous Lady Snowblood (1973)), who is caught up in a beef with a rival girl gang. A fight ensues, and Ako chases away the gang and the various yakuza that have gathered for the entertainment. It becomes apparent that Mei's boyfriend Michio (Koji Wada) is caught up in a plot with the Seiyu Group, a powerful Yakuza organisation, to throw a boxing match. Naturally, things don't go quite to plan and Michio is hunted by the Seiyu Group, but not if Ako has anything to say about it.

Visually, the film is often splendid, using ultra-chic locations, split-screens and obscure camera angles that give it a trippy aesthetic. It's colourful yet undeniably grim, encapsulating the rebellious hippy spirit that undoubtedly made it's way over from America in the late 1960's. Reversing the usual gender roles, the Stray Cat girls are a rather repulsive lot, even though they plays our heroes, and Ako especially berates men for being weak if they refuse to stand up and fight, even when one is beaten to a pulp during a boxing match. It's certainly interesting thematically, but as a piece of entertainment, it's often extremely dull, stretching out it's wafer-thin plot when it should be giving us girls kicking ass.


Directed by: Yasuharu Hasebe
Starring: Akiko Wada, Meiko Kaji, Kôji Wada, Bunjaku Han
Country: Japan

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #660: 'Bloody Mama' (1970)

"Blood's thicker than water," explains Shelley Winters' pious and psychotic Ma Barker. Based extremely loosely on the exploits of Ma Barker and her sons, who went on a crime spree during the 1920's and was chased by J. Edgar Hoover's newly formed F.B.I., director Roger Corman reverses the familiar pre-credits text by stating 'any similarity to Kate Barker and her sons is intentional." The truth is that the real Ma Barker had very little to do with the organisation of her family's criminal activities, but Corman gives her to Shelley Winters who grabs the role and runs away with it. This is a loud, crude, violent film, about a bunch of despicable characters. But Corman does something that is rarely done and delves into the psychology of these gangsters, and, although it's hardly Freud, comes up with some interesting and uncomfortable answers.

Leaving her home and husband in Arkansas, Ma Barker and her four sons - the towering brute Herman (Don Stroud), the practical Arthur (Clint Kimbrough), the submissive, bisexual Fred (Robert Walden), and the quiet, drug-addled Lloyd (Robert De Niro) - embark on a petty crime spree on the command of Ma. Herman and Fred find themselves locked away for petty theft, and inside, Fred is dominated by the violent Kevin (Bruce Dern), who joins Ma and her boys when they are released from prison. As their notoriety grows, the family kidnap wealthy businessman Sam (Pat Hingle) and hold him for ransom. When the boys start bonding with the father figure, cracks begin to appear in the gang.

On the surface this is just a cheap exploitation film made the master of the quickie, but it has recently received some acclaim for its unorthodox portrayal of its ugly characters. There's more than a hint of incest that runs throughout the film, conveyed in Ma's hyper-sexual activity and Herman's hesitation to leave his mother's breast. It is also often quite disturbing, as the lengths that Ma will go to in order to protect her sons becomes evident as she drowns an innocent young woman who Lloyd rapes. The performances are noticeably excellent too, especially Winters, who gives Ma a vulnerability in her need to have strong men around her, and Dern, who is creepy as the alpha-male whose sexual preferences is somewhat questionable. This is one of the finest examples of Corman's skill as a director, using limited resources to create a genre film that still stands out in a crowded marketplace, never ashamed to embrace it's exploitation roots, but bold enough to dig that little bit deeper.


Directed by: Roger Corman
Starring: Shelley Winters, Don Stroud, Bruce Dern, Clint Kimbrough, Robert De Niro, Robert Walden, Pat Hingle
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #619: 'The Aristocats' (1970)

In 1910 Paris, a cat named Duchess (Eva Gabor) lives comfortably in a mansion with her three kittens, Marie (Liz English), Berlioz (Dean Clark) and Toulouse (Gary Dubin), and her wealthy owner Madame Bonfamille (Hermione Baddeley). Madame writes her will along with her eccentric lawyer, and decides to leave her vast wealth to her beloved cats. Her dedicated butler Edgar (Roddy Maude-Roxby) overhears this, and, outraged at being left out of the will, kidnaps the cats and leaves them stranded in the countryside. Frightened and alone, they come across a charming drifter cat named Thomas O'Malley (Phil Harris), who teaches the privileged cats about the joys of being a wanderer.

Apart from the obvious similarities to Disney's previous efforts, Lady and the Tramp (1955) and 101 Dalmatians (1961), there are two things about The Aristocats that troubled me. The first is the plot, that paints clumsy butler Edgar as the villain. Of course, dumping a family of cats in the countryside to die isn't the nicest thing to do, but after hearing the woman he's dedicated his life to leave her fortune to a bunch of fucking cats, you can kind of sympathise with the poor guy. The other is the ending, that sees (spoiler ahead!) loveable tramp O'Malley welcomed into the aristocracy - shiny collar and all - because it seems the upper classes just won't have any individuality in their midst.

This was the final film Walt Disney greenlit before his death in 1966, and one that had five of Disney's so-called Nine Old Men on animating duties. It could be seen as one the final 'classic' animated films that Disney produced before they experienced a difficult decade or so, and it does retain that warm, familiar feeling that the likes of Beauty and the Beast (1991) and The Lion King (1994) lacked (although they are certainly considered amongst Disney's best achievements). The songs are wonderful, particularly the standout Everybody Wants To Be a Cat, headed by Scatman Crothers and featuring one of Disney's funniest casually-racist characters. Yet the similarities to other, better Disney classics damage the film, and apart from the beautiful, hand-drawn animation and toe-tapping tunes, The Aristocats struggles to stand out.


Directed by: Wolfgang Reitherman
Voices: Phil Harris, Eva Gabor, Scatman Crothers, Roddy Maude-Roxby
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #615: 'Husbands' (1970)

There's no doubting the film-making innovation of the pioneer of American independent cinema, John Cassavetes. But if any of his films were to be considered a stain on his CV, it would be Husbands. That is only because his filmography is so highly praised, and Husbands divided the critics between those who hailed it as one of the best films ever made, and those who found the whole experience relentlessly depressing and tediously long. I'm somewhere in the middle, finding the film occasionally dipping into awkward, slightly forced improvisations, while offering some quite distressing and powerful insights into men going through a midlife crisis.

After the death of their friend, three middle-aged men - Harry (Ben Gazzara), Gus (Cassavetes) and Archie (Peter Falk) - find it difficult to cope. We follow them over the course of two days, where they drink heavily, play basketball together, and have a boisterous singing contest with friends and family. After returning home from his binge, Harry is thrown out by his wife, and shortly after announces he is flying to London. Seemingly with nothing better to do, Gus and Archie decide to join him, where they indulge is more drinking, gambling, and womanising. Gus finds himself with a much younger woman named Mary (Jenny Runacre), who is wild and unpredictable.

In the same vein as Faces (1968), Cassavetes adopts a cinema verite style, while taking the story and characters to almost hyper-reality. This is not quite the world we live in, only it feels like it. It's a more extreme world, where everything is just a little bit more depressing and the inhabitants are always loathsome in one way or another. It's as if Cassavetes wants us to take a real look at ourselves, whoever we are, and be repulsed. Harry, Gus and Archie are despicable, taking no second thoughts when committing adultery, and ultimately being loud, angry and disgusting when in the presence of others. They are also empty, devoid of any real emotion, only finding any real solitude in each other's company.

Judging from the title, Cassavetes uses the film to summarise a broad idea as to why men must go through this at some point in their life. The trio are little more than wild children, only with sexual experience, and the camera, as usual, is close, capturing the slightest facial movement, almost to the point of infringement. It's a depressing, brutal experience, where scenes go on for much longer than they should, making us want to get away from these characters. But maybe that's the point, and Cassavetes takes it to the extreme to push his point across. The final scene is certainly worth the wait however, managing to depict a character in one simple close-up as both tragic and pathetic.

Directed by: John Cassavetes

Starring: Ben Gazzara, John Cassavetes, Peter Falk, Jenny Runacre

Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #485: 'The Dunwich Horror' (1970)

The Necronomican (a mythical book said to be a tool to open a gateway to an alternate universe) becomes the prized exhibit of Dr Armitage (Ed Begley) at the local library, and gets interest from the eccentric, and locally feared Wilbur Whateley (Dean Stockwell), who was born of a deformed mother who is now held in an institution. An encounter at the library leads him to Nancy (Sandra Dee), a pretty young blond girl; he seduces her and takes her back to his mansion - a local 'old dark house' shrouded in local fear and loathing to the population of the fictional town of Dunwich, Massachusetts. Nancy becomes embroiled in a necro-nightmare, where she has visions of strange ritualistic, tribal torture and sacrifice, and Wilbur manipulates her to become a vehicle to open the gateway open to let the "old ones" through to our world.

Based on the short story, published in 1929, by H. P. Lovecraft, the story is grounded in two of his most famous creations. One being the Necronomicon (a creation that has been used several times in popular culture - including Sam Raimi's Evil Dead Trilogy (1981 - 1992)), and the tentacled beasts of the other world, epitomised by Cthulhu (yeah, no one knows how exactly it is pronounced). Whilst much of his writings have now been adapted into films (most famously Re-Animator (1985) and From Beyond (1986)), his adjective-heavy prose is regarded less than the work of that other American horror writer, Edgar Allen Poe; perhaps symptomatic of his anti-Semitic attitudes in life.

Like the films pop art stylings of the Sandy Dvore title sequence, with it's bold colours and silhouetted figures, the films "horrific" action is marked with various coloured filters, giving a very '60's charm to it. Oranges, reds and blue filters flash on screen, the editing at times too quick to register, as the screams of victims, and the flight of a beast are signified simply, for budgetary purposes no doubt. Stockwell gives a fantastically hammy, yet suave performance as the tortured, yet controlling man, who's past is shrouded in mystery. The climax reveals a potent edge of cerebral, nightmarish horror, a conclusion of twisted, monstrous proportions. Produced by Samual Z. Arkoff's AIP, it sometimes feels like a very East-coast American Hammer film, but the tentacled monstrosity (which we don't really see exactly) is absolutely from the imagination of Lovecraft. It's preposterous, but a hell of a lot of fun - helped by Stockwell's furry eyebrows and moustache.


Directed by: Daniel Haller
Starring: Sandra Dee, Dean Stockwell, Ed Begley
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #435: 'The Losers' (1970)

The biker film was a staple of American exploitation cinema in the late 1960's, culminating in the "generation defining" studio funded classic, Easy Rider (1969). What we have here is somewhat of a genre mash up, placing a bunch of Californian bikers in the midst of an "exotic" war zone. Five gang members, led by Link (William Smith), are employed by the CIA, sent into the heart of darkness in Vietnam, to rescue a captured agent, Chet Davis (played here by director Jack Starrett - who most will recognise as the vicious police officer, Galt, from First Blood (1982)).

The first hour of the film is spent with the gang as they integrate into a small village, basically brawling, fucking, drinking and fomenting relationships with the all-too-easy ladies. It is a completely ludicrous premise; OK so perhaps this gang of low-life's were more expendable than the troops being sent out daily, but it is hard to believe. That being said, this is exploitation cinema at its most ridiculous.

The action accelerates in the last reel, as the bikers infiltrate a camp, their bikes armed to the teeth, but the action is repetitive, and with little merit: Bikes jump, huts blow up.  Besides this though, some of the characters are likable enough, with their dialogue of cliched, counter-cultural hyperbole, but it doesn't really save a pretty tedious affair - perhaps the trailer was exciting, so maybe you should just see that. Like all exploitation films of the time that were set in exotic climates, this was of course filmed in the Philippines (where filming is cheap!).


Directed by: Jack Starrett
Starring: William Smith, Bernie Hamilton, Adam Roarke
Country: USA

Rating: **

Marc Ivamy

Review #287: 'Deep End' (1970)

A British oddity (released through BFI's flipside series), written and directed by Polish emigre, Jerzy Skolimowski (whose previous work included the screenplay for Roman Polanski's masterful Knife in the Water (1962)), Deep End is a story of naive obsession. 15 year old Mike (John Moulder-Brown), takes a job in a typical Victorian, city bathhouse in London. The brooding, awkward teenager falls for Susan (Jane Asher), a beautiful redheaded attendant, with a colourful secret life, and a fiance. His obsession with her increases and he begins following her outside of work. In this act he falls upon a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Susan outside a strip club in the red-light district of Soho.

Whilst the film is primarily a marginally twisted drama, there are some intentionally funny scenes that elevate the narrative. A stand out moment in the bathhouse has Mike trapped in a room with Diana Dors' lady client, who coaxes him and pulls the unnerved child to her breasts, asking if he likes football, and then chanting "Georgie Best". Mike follows Susan and her fiance, Chris (Christopher Sandford), into a cinema and sits behind them. In a moment of  tactless teenage bravura, Mike grabs Susan's breast, and her reaction is to complain and press charges as the police arrive. Mike's futile stalking of Susan inevitably leads him to her secret world, which he does not favour, confronting her with the aforementioned two-dimensional replica of the topless Susan, demanding that she justify these occupations.

There is a coming-of-age narrative imbued in this film, with elements that many will recognise such as the inherent awkwardness that is teenage existence. And as our protagonist is male, he therefore has a deeply bungling nature, his hormones seething. The scale with which Mike's obsession with Susan becomes is bordering on the nature of John Fowles's Frederick Clegg character in his novel The Collector. He steals that Susan cardboard replica, throwing it into the swimming pool he stands over her floating duplicate on a diving board. A dive and sensual swim with it is reflected in the closing, relatively haunting closing images. An interesting, sometimes funny, but not altogether exciting piece of cinema.


Directed by: Jerzy Skolimowski
Starring: Jane Asher, John Moulder-Brown, Christopher Sandford, Diana Dors
Country: West Germany/UK

Rating: ***

Marc Ivamy

Review #262: 'The Wild Child' (1970)

Whilst Jean-Luc Godard focused on a more politically motivated form of cinematic expression in the late 1960's, his friend Francois Truffaut continued his own personal form of human experience cinema. Now that of course is no bad thing, when you consider this perfect little gem of a film. Not one of his most famous films, The Wild Child tells the true story of 18th century doctor, Jean Itard (Truffaut himself), and his discovery of the later named Victor (Jean-Pierre Cargol), a ferel child found in the forests and brought into Parisian civilisation.

The film is a more sociological exploration of what it means to be modern and civilised. When the boy is brought into the modern world, he obviously experiences many things that frighten and confound him. The child is forced to conform to what civilisation sees as correct. But what exactly is correct? Is order and formality the key to progression, or is it simply an understanding and connection with the natural world? It's interesting that Victor never cries, until he is in the stages of being civilised. It is exactly this kind of order that upsets the boy. Which raises the question, are it the confusions and pressures of civilisation the root cause for modern extremes of emotions?

Well, of course, we are not able to answer any of these questions that the film raises, and the film does not try to offer any. This aside, the film, shot in black and white, is a fundamentally beautiful story of the human condition, and the utter absurdity of the structures and societies we have constructed around us. The film was later reproduced for Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes (1984), but was not nearly as successful in creating such beguiling reactions, and questions on the nature of reality. Wonderful.


Directed by: François Truffaut
Starring: Jean-Pierre Cargol, François Truffaut, Françoise Seigner
Country: France

Rating: *****

Marc Ivamy

Review #249: 'When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth' (1970)

Blonde-haired cave woman Sanna (Victoria Vetri) is picked up by a seaside tribe after being thrown into the sea by her own tribe. Tara (Robin Hawdon), a member of the dark-haired seaside tribe becomes infatuated by her and woos her with the gift of his necklace. Ayak (Imogen Hassall - who tragically committed suicide in 1980) wants Tara for herself so becomes intent on removing Sanna from the tribe, but after they fight, Sanna's former tribe come looking for her and she flees for her life. Tara starts his journey to find her and bring her back, but he faces many dangers in the dinosaurs and creatures lurking in the jungles and mountains, and a tribal prophet has foreseen a tidal wave that could possibly devastate the planet.

This film is every bit as tedious as it sounds. One of a few prehistoric films produced by Hammer than depicted humans alongside dinosaurs, When Dinosaurs Ruled The Earth is nothing more than cheap fantasy that mixes the excitement of dinosaur attacks with big breasted women in cave girl costumes. Don't get me wrong, the sight of Vetri and Hassall all shaven-legged and oiled up wearing next to nothing and full make-up is not something I am complaining about, but that is just about all this film has going for it. The dinosaur scenes are mildly entertaining but are often repetitive, except for one scene which sees Sanna sleep in a broken dinosaur egg only to be adopted by the mother. Very silly but quite fun in it's own ridiculous way.

A small caveman language was created for the film ("Akita! Akita!"), which, according to IMDb, is based on Phoenician, Latin, and Sanskrit sources. Very admirable indeed, but it is strange that such attention was made to the language when the film ignores the obvious historical fact that humans did not co-exist with dinosaurs! It seems a pointless detail when the film is clearly going for fun and titillation rather than anything remotely resembling historical accuracy. All in all, an easy way to spend a lazy bank holiday afternoon, but a rather boring and unspectacular cinematic experience. I would expect more from the director of The Day The Earth Caught Fire (1961).


Directed by: Val Guest
Starring: Victoria Vetri, Robin Hawdon, Patrick Allen, Imogen Hassall
Country: UK

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #200: 'Beneath the Planet of the Apes' (1970)

With the recent release of franchise re-booter Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes (2011), it seemed like a good time to re-visit the sequels to the original Planet Of The Apes (1968) film. The original is enormously popular even now and contains many popular quotes, but the sequels I can remember little of. I watched them as a child, but cannot recall which ones I saw and even if I saw them in order. This is the first sequel, and carries on immediately after we watched Charlton Heston on his knees in front of the half-buried Statue of Liberty at the end of the first.

Taylor (Charlton Heston) rides off on his horse with mute simpleton (and co-incidentally beautiful) Nova (Linda Harrison). When being met by a giant wall of fire, Taylor goes to check it out only to disappear into the side of the mountain. Meanwhile, an astronaut on a rescue mission who has followed Taylor's path, John Brent (James Franciscus), has crashed on the ape-ruled planet, and discovers the apes plans to march on a mysterious underground city they believe may be run by humans. With the help of friendly ape Zira (Kim Hunter), he gets there first along with Nova, only to discover it is run by strange telekinetic humans in crap costumes that worship their God - a nuclear bomb.

While this was a perfect opportunity to develop and enlarge the franchise's mythology, the decision to introduce the mind-reading humans was a bad one. The best thing about the original was the role-reversal of the apes and humans, the former being vastly intelligent and powerful while the latter being silent and enslaved. The humans in there cheap-looking futuristic costumes and rather silly abilities, clash with the original's ideals. And the fact that so little action is focused on the apes takes the magic out of it. Though Heston does appear in what could be called an extended cameo, new lead Franciscus is simply a bland carbon-copy of Taylor's character and does not share the acting chops and gravel-faced talents of Heston. Franciscus would spend the majority of his career starring in Italian giallo films, namely Argento's The Cat O' Nine Tales (1971).

When I was ready to completely write the film off, however, then came the completely depressing and quite shocking ending, which certainly bumped the film up a few notches for me. But apart from that, the film is rather bland, silly, and does nothing to extend or improve upon the original, which still remains a very solid sci-fi film.


Directed by: Ted Post
Starring: James Franciscus, Kim Hunter, Linda Harrison, Maurice Evans, Charlton Heston
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #98: 'I Drink Your Blood' (1970)

Originally shown as a 2-parter alongside 1964's I Eat Your Skin (you can see what they did there) in the Grindhouse theatres of the 60's and 70's, the film follows a group of Satanic hippies as they arrive in a ghost town, devoid of inhabitants due to a mining project nearby. They make themselves comfortable in one of the many abandoned homes and attack a young girl. Her grandpa goes apeshit and confronts the Manson family-esque group, only to be dosed with LSD and almost killed. The girl's young brother rescues the old man, and exacts revenge by infected a tray of mince pies with rabies (!), only for the remaining occupants of the town to one by one become infected by the disease and begin a rabid, frothy-mouthed killing spree.

I thought I'd seen it all when I struggled through shit-fest Island Of Death (1977), but I Drink Your Blood is another example of how the genius of Grindhouse flashed an exploitative and lie-filled title in my face, only for me to giddily clap my hands in excitement only to be exposed to the cinematic equivalent of an anal raping. At least Island Of Death had a little bit of gore to appease my blood lust, but this just has a bunch of hippies waving their hands around and spitting what looks like soap from their mouths. Even though the film was one of the first movies to receive an X-rating due to violence rather than nudity, it spends most of its time painfully building up to violence that never comes. Utter crud.

Directed by: David E. Durston

Starring: Bhaskar, Jadin Wong, Rhonda Fultz

Country: USA

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie

Review #71: 'Valerie and Her Week of Wonders' (1970)

A story of a girl moving into adulthood. Valerie (Jaraslova Schallerova), a 13 year old girl, living with her grandmoma in a remote village in a 19th century Eastern European setting, has her first period. Valerie is surrounded by adults, pale and on the verge of death (or perhaps already dead). She then seemingly enters a world of dream-logic, where her suitor (or later as we learn, perhaps long-lost brother) Orlik (Petr Kopriva), attempts to protect her from adult subversion. A band of carnivalesque actors and missionaries arrive in the village - images reminiscent to the vaudevillian grotesques of Jodorowsky - like minstrels carrying in forbidden cultures to a drab medieval location.

Valeries' Grandmoma (Helena Anyzova), is already acquainted with the lead of this group, Tchor (Jiri Prymek) a very pale-faced haunting looking man who is later revealed to possibly be the father of Valerie. His make-up design is very obviously an imitation of the vampire in Nosferatu (1922); a startling image borrowed again in 1979 by both Werner Herzog (for his literal remake of Nosferatu), and Tobe Hooper's TV mini-series of Stephen King's Salems Lot (1979). Valerie's Grandmoma wishes eternal youth from Tchor, who abides.

These vampiric undertones are felt throughout the film. Cliches are abound. But this is certainly not the main element of the film. This is a story steeped in eastern European folklore, the dark fairytales of the brothers Grimm. Valerie wonders through a dream landscape of exciting, dark, and sometimes disturbing imagination. In this nightmare universe of vampires, religious hypocrisy and sexual lust, we are led to question even the nature of her psychological state.

In one episode, a Reverend approaches the young Valerie in her bedroom as she is undressing, only to force himself upon her, in an attempt to seduce her. After her protestation against this act, he publically denounces her as a witch and she is burned to death at the stake; whilst this occurs she playfully mocks the Reverend. This sequence is possibly (or though not necessarily), a comment on the ease in which persons are branded witches in a dark age of mysticism. The obvious parallel is the Salem witch trials. Later to be interpreted by Arthur Miller, in his cold war, communist/McCarthyism inspired play the Crucible. This would have obvious relevance in Soviet occupied Czechoslovakia.

There is no absolute linear narrative to the film. It is simply a lyrical, and beautifully shot dream/nightmare that conjures up the quite obvious Lewis Carroll/Alice in Wonderland connection, but also plays with some of the imagistic dream ideas of Jean Cocteau's Orphee (1950). There are certain elements of story and character that are not fully developed, but this does not hinder the piece whatsoever. The dream logic quality of the film actually draws you in further; the high quality of imagery backs this notion. We are all a part of the rich tapestry of allegorical nightmare.

Jaromil Jires' film was made during the Czech New Wave. Much like the rest of Europe, it was experiencing a new-found experimentalism in art, and particularly cinema (such as the most obvious French New Wave of Godard and Truffault et al). But unlike its western European artists, Czechoslovakia was under a strictly soviet-controlled censorship since the occupation in 1968. Therefore, filmmakers were either forced to move abroad to make films (such as the highly successful Hollywood director Milos Forman), or to make fantasy films that would seem innocuous on paper, but when released, display ambiguous political statements.

Valerie's parents - who are absent through the film until the end - are peripherally brought back, now not dead (as her Grandmoma had told), who are artists. This could possibly represent the wealth of parents who had to leave Soviet occupied Czechoslovakia due to restrictions made on expression.

Valerie's 'week of wonder' is a fantasy; a dream that is out of the participants control. It is also the story of a girl on the brink of adulthood. Her 'trip' into this fantasy world is a trigger into the adult world of sexuality. The images and actions she views are of the obscure, the depraved and sometimes negative side of sexual promiscuity. Her actions are simply to voyeuristically watch, as even her now young looking grandmoma seduces young men and a blood lust to maintain her youthful appearance.

Valerie's naivety is unprepared for the depravity that is displayed to her. (as an aside, I have point out that these descriptions are more lurid than they are on-screen. I serve to just perpetuate the ideas involved). There are many ambiguities in this film. Ambiguities always win in me. I'm a fan! What can be more pleasing in a film than beautiful imagery, a story that seems to make no sense? Art should raise more questions than it should answer, and this is what lies beneath this stunningly sumptuous cinematic dream. After all, aren't films the dream makers? And aren't dreams illogical narratives of complete ambiguity?

Directed by: Jaromil Jires
Starring: Jaroslava Schallerová, Helena Anýzová, Petr Kopriva
Country: Czechoslovakia

Rating: *****

Marc Ivamy