Review #642: 'The Fall of the House of Usher' (1960)

Up until 1960, Roger Corman's American International Pictures (AIP) were making low-grade movies, mainly in the science-fiction and horror genre, but also branched out into JD and teen rebellion movies. They were making profit but little of it, mainly due to the rise in household televisions, and when people went to the movies they wanted to see a big budget and big stars, not square-jawed block heads and men in rubber suits. So, trusting Corman's abilities as a director, AIP coughed up the dough, brought in real film stars, and created what is widely believed to be their finest film, The Fall of the House of Usher, loosely based on the short story by Edgar Allen Poe, and what was the beginning of the Corman-Poe cycle of movies.

Philip Winthrop (Mark Damon) arrives at the House of Usher, a grand mansion that has fallen into decay, surrounded by murky swamps and a ghostly graveyard. He seeks his fiancée Madeline Usher (Myrna Fahey), but is instead met by her strange brother Roderick (Vincent Price). Roderick has a crippling disease that heightens his senses, meaning that a loud noise or any physical contact causes him extreme pain. Madeline, he says, has fallen deathly ill and is waiting to die, as is he. They will die along with the house, which is close to collapse. Philip is not convinced, and vows to stay until Madeline leaves with him, but Roderick is adamant that she will stay, and put an end to a cursed bloodline that has bred for centuries.

This has little similarity to the atmosphere of Poe's short story, and screenwriter Richard Matheson naturally takes creative liberties with the text. Poe's story is surrounded by mystery and metaphors on the human psyche, whereas Corman gives us less to imagine or ponder, and creates something that feels more like a traditional haunted house story. But this is not a criticism, as Corman had few pages of text to work with and so naturally expanded the story to fit the movie screen, and the film is absolutely beautiful. Bringing in cinematographer Floyd Crosby, who won an Oscar for his work on F.W. Murnau's Tabu (1931) and did extraordinary work on High Noon (1952), the camerawork creates a sense of claustrophobia. There is also a standout scene that uses colour saturation to create what feels like another level of reality, as the Usher spirits gather in the basement.

And, of course, it has Vincent Price, here without his moustache and almost peroxide blonde hair that evokes an albino, giving a performance of effortless creepiness. The man was simply born to do horror - his voice, appearance and undeniable presence is perfectly suited to the genre. His character is interesting - he is undoubtedly mad, crippled by a strange disease and a sense of guilt for his family's blood-stained legacy, but has arguably good intentions. It's the subtlety of his performance that makes it so effective, as is the subtlety of the movie as a whole. It doesn't need a monster or a vengeful ghost, or even a 'bad guy' at all, as it's the house that looms over them all. This is a fine film, efficiently polished and tightly directed by Roger Corman, who you would swear had been directing A-grade features for years before this.


Directed by: Roger Corman
Starring: Vincent Price, Mark Damon, Myrna Fahey, Harry Ellerbe
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #628: 'Black Sabbath' (1963)

Fresh off the international success of his credited début, Black Sunday (1960), Italian horror icon Mario Bava was brought in to to direct this trio of horror tales. Opening with a tongue-in-cheek introduction from genre legend Boris Karloff, in which he stands amidst a bright orange and blue landscape, Black Sabbath delves into three unrelated stories, all of which seem to employ a different aspect of the horror genre. Typical with anthology films, the stories also vary in quality, which may have led to them being shuffled around and even altered with the American version (which also omitted Karloff's introduction), but this is a review for the original Italian version, which begins with the giallo 'The Telephone'.

Rosy (Michele Mercier) is a high-class call-girl in Paris, who gets home one night to be plagued with threatening phone calls by a man claiming to be watching everything she does. Believing it to be her former pimp Frank (Milo Quesada) who has just escaped from prison, Rosy confides in her lesbian lover Mary (Lidia Alfonsi). The Telephone is certainly the weakest of the trio, offering little in the visual department when compared to the other two, but is important due to the fact that it was one of the first giallo's ever made. Bava's patient approach certainly brings tension to the story, but it is relatively simplistic and somewhat predictable.

The central piece, The Wurdalak, is the finest (and longest) segment in the film, with a story so rooted in gothic, fairytale ideals, that Bava goes to town with it. Set in 19th century Russia, Vladimir (Mark Damon) comes across a headless corpse with a knife in its back. He takes the lavishly decorated blade and rides on, eventually coming to a small cottage. On the wall of the cottage is a set of swords with a vacant space that matches the shape of the one Vladimir pulled from the corpse. Giorgio (Glauco Onorato) explains that the knife belongs to his father, who has been missing for five days in the hunt for the deadly outlaw - and suspected Wurdalak - Ali Beg. The father, Gorca (Karloff), arrives home, carrying the head of Beg, but his increasingly erratic behaviour cause the family to believe that he himself is now a Wurdalak.

Similar to Black Sunday, The Wurdalak is rooted in gothic and fairytale sensibilities, so Bava is naturally at home. But this isn't shot in the black-and-white of Sunday, but in full lavish colour, and Bava injects some truly beautiful moments into this story, especially the night-time horse ride with Karloff as he laughs manically after having kidnapped his grandson. Also similar to Sunday, the creature of the Wurdalak is as ominous as Sunday's 'vampires', but that is beside the point. This is seeped in atmosphere and anchored by a terrific performance from Karloff, one of the finest of his career.

The final film, The Drop of Water, features one of a precious few moments in cinema that have genuinely terrified me. English nurse Helen (Jacqueline Pierreux) is called out to a house to dispose of the body of an elderly lady. While dressing the body, she notices a sapphire ring on her finger which she steals, and is suddenly plagued by a buzzing fly. When she gets back to her apartment, Helen notices the fly again, and the old woman's corpse starts appearing to her. This is again a very basic concept that follows the traditions of a standard ghost story, and it is the face of the corpse that will stay in your memory. Twisted with death, whoever created the prosthetics deserves a medal for creating one of the most genuinely unsettling moments in horror history.

The Drop of Water also continues The Wurdalak's beautiful visuals, employing red and blues in places where they don't belong, but instead blurring the reality of the proceedings and creating a kind of warped insight into Helen's torment. It's the visuals that will no doubt stay with you after watching Black Sabbath, but Bava injects a moment of pure madness with his final scene. Apparently he was told by Italian producers to end on a happy note, but what drove Bava to film what he did is beyond me. I won't ruin it for those who haven't seen it, but personally, I liked it, as it cements Bava's reputation as a true visionary and gives us an insight into the man's sense of humour. Whether you love it or hate it, you can't say you saw it coming. All in all, one of the most beautiful horror films ever made.


Directed by: Mario Bava
Starring: Michéle Mercier, Lidia Alfonsi, Boris Karloff, Mark Damon, Jacqueline Pierreux
Country: Italy/UK/France

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie