Theatre of Blood.

Review #2116: Theatre of Blood.

Cast: 

Vincent Price (Edward Lionheart), Diana Rigg (Edwina Lionheart), Ian Hendry (Peregrine Devlin), Harry Andrews (Trevor Dickman), Robert Coote (Oliver Larding), Michael Hordern (George Maxwell), Robert Morley (Meredith Merridew), Coral Browne (Chloe Moon), Jack Hawkins (Solomon Psaltery), Arthur Lowe (Horace Sprout), Dennis Price (Hector Snipe), Milo O'Shea (Inspector Boot), Eric Sykes (Sgt. Dogge), and Diana Dors (Maisie Psaltery) Directed by Douglas Hickox.

Review: 

"I think of myself as an interpretive director. I'm a narrative director, basically. An audience should become totally involved in the film, the actors and the story. They shouldn't be aware of the director at all or of how things are done."

I'm sure you are familiar with The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971) or its sequel. That film was directed by Robert Fuest with Vincent Price as the star that involved deaths with a bit of a theme to them (mostly in the original, which honed familiarity to the plagues). Fuest was actually asked about doing this film but declined by saying he didn't want to be "the guy who makes Vincent Price theme killing movies" (irony, as Fuest basically doomed his career by directing The Devil's Rain two years later). Instead, the film was directed by Douglas Hickox. He had directed a variety of musical shorts and commercials before becoming a feature director at the age of 41 in 1970. He directed a handful of films that had name actors star, whether that involved John Wayne in Brannigan (1975) or Burt Lancaster in Zulu Dawn (1979) to go with a few television shows before he died in 1988. Stanley Mann and John Kohn came up with the idea for the film before Anthony Greville-Bell wrote the screenplay. Apparently, Price later listed the film as one of his favorites he ever made. The theme for this film, if you didn't already guess, involves an actor-turned-killer going around reenacting the words of William Shakespeare while trying to get revenge of a considerable group of critics that apparently denied him the honor he most wanted as an actor to the point where it looked like he killed himself years before; this all starts with a man getting stabbed by a mob of people...on March 15, the Ides of March, the same day that Julius Caesar was murdered (as also covered in the Shakespeare play of the same name). As probably guessed, the film was a British production done on location, complete with filming a decent chunk at the Putney Hippodrome Theatre (auditorium, stage area, exterior) in the last significant use of the building before it was demolished in 1975.

Now this is one that seems practically made for folks like me, or at the very least people who adore Vincent Price in his element. How could you resist the urge for a film that has him act out the words of William Shakespeare going around trying to do creative death sequences? It manages to be better than both Phibes films when it comes to great theatricality in the face of amusing horror, and I would actually argue that it is Price at his best possible moment as an actor. The fact that the film also happens to contain a few other noted names in British cinema also helps make for a diverting film of pathos and humor in the best way. The 104-minute runtime is paced pretty well when it comes to Price and the others around him, mostly because it goes from the jump on ideas before eventually settling to some exposition and then its fiery climax. Price moves along from scene to scene by also getting to do a bit of dress up, which at one point sees him act as a hairdresser. This is the kind of material he was born to play in terms of horrific charm that is more than just scene-chewery but flat-out dominance of composed elegance. He had saved a whole bunch of films before from just being blank mediocrities or just fine B-films (at least until his roles became a bit slower by the mid-1970s), here is one just for him to hold in lunacy. Of course, folks like Rigg do pretty well too, since she plays support in derangement for a semi-significant part that is fairly fun as well. Hendry is the leader among the folks trying to avoid the ax, which mostly involves tempered snobbery that lends interest for the ones who are less fortunate (such as Morley, who gets to be a bit flamboyant right before having to realize that he is being fed pies...made from his dogs), while O'Shea plays the resident authority figure trying to make head or tails of it.  The buildup for the climax does slow the film down a bit when it comes to some oddly included exposition (hey, a man looks like he jumped into the Thames, who needs explanation?), but at least the ending seems just about on point for one more enduring line about critics and the nature of performances. This was a film released in the midst of a decade that saw horror perhaps shift a bit grislier away from the stuff that made Price an attraction, but everything still mostly clicks here for enjoyment that has also not aged after a half-century because of its entertaining composure and timing that is held in check by one really damn fun actor for all it is worth. It isn't a perfect film, but it probably is up there as one of Price's best showcases, and that is a really good thing to say from a horror perspective.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next: Cabin Fever.

if....

Review #2087: If....

Cast: 

Malcolm McDowell (Michael Arnold "Mick" Travis), Richard Warwick (Wallace), Christine Noonan (The Girl), David Wood (Johnny Knightly), Rupert Webster (Bobby Philips), Robert Swann (Rowntree), Peter Jeffrey (Headmaster), Arthur Lowe (Mr. Kemp, Housemaster), Mona Washbourne (Matron), Ben Aris (John Thomas, Undermaster), Robin Askwith (Keating), Robin Davies (Machin), and Hugh Thomas (Denson) Directed by Lindsay Anderson (#1792 - This Sporting Life)

Review: 

Five years after The Sporting Life (1963), Lindsay Anderson followed up his feature debut (after a decade of documentary film work) with if...(1968). Well, actually, there was one other film in between with The White Bus (1967), a collaboration with playwright Shelagh Delaney that was meant to be part of a three-segment anthology film called "Red, White and Zero", but only Anderson's film had received release. At any rate, the film came about after years of development, since David Sherwin wrote the story with John Howlett by the early 1960s as shaped by their experiences at Tonbridge School in Kent. They had tried to approach filmmakers such as Seth Holt and Nicholas Ray to direct, but this did not come to pass; Anderson (a fellow with his own memories of boarding schools such as Cheltenham College) was introduced to Sherwin by Holt and the rest is history. Anderson has acknowledged Jean Vigo's French classic Zéro de conduite (1933) as an influence on the film, particularly with the climax. Malcolm McDowell made his debut as an actor in film with this one, but only because he was deleted from the final cut of Ken Loach's Poor Cow (1967). It just so happened that a couple of months into filming in 1968, Paris had a series of demonstrations from youths that led to civil unrest for a month. Anderson, McDowell, and Sherwin would do two further films together in a triad of films with "Mick Travis" in O Lucky Man! (1973, involving a coffee salesman-turned-star) and Britannia Hospital (1982, involving a critique of the National Health Service), although they aren't "sequels" in any sort of sense.

It never kills for a good satire about the education system, particularly ones of places filled with just boys and people that call themselves men. When taken literally beyond the mix of color and black-and-white images, it is easy to see how the film could have generated some controversy, particularly since it was given an X certificate by the British Board of Film Classification. Well, that and the idea that the only pure acts may very well involve "violence and revolution", which results in a fairly incendiary feature that relies on reputation more so than a definitive piece of great entertainment. It may be violent, but, well, only in its own time when not busy looking upon the differences that come with the terrors of hierarchies in boarding schools (no, not exactly Lord of the Flies, despite what impulse might think first). One supposes that life is a bit cloudy to see in the facets of color when it comes to viewing the absurdities that comes among the age groups with "school tradition" (well, actually the color changes related to the lighting of the school chapel before Anderson liked how it gave texture, but I think you get my inference). The distance between student and teacher seems pretty apparent when it comes to understanding who they are talking to in a changing environment of ravenous energy. It seems more of a casual stink bomb lobbed at the establishment rather than something with great fiery depth that just happens to be carried by an entertaining performance by its lead actor. McDowell has a conniving charisma to him that just draws one in, a figure of devilish delight. Incidentally, the performance done by McDowell led to Stanley Kubrick to cast him in A Clockwork Orange (1971), but the performance that he delivered in that ensuing film was helped by a phone call with Anderson that talked about an "ironic smile" he gave in the earlier film. He handles the crash of amusement that comes in a cast that handles carefully-cut satire with some ease, although for the life of the me the scene that best sticks in my head is probably, well, the climax involving the idea of terror that gets that one perceived blow of chaos through the illusion of order. As a whole, I wish I really liked the film for what it is rather than just considering what it meant at the time of filming, because really it is a pretty good second feature for Anderson, who seems to have loved and loathed British society all in one, which compares fairly (but not mostly) to his previous This Sporting Life. But, as a showing of the potential of its lead man in McDowell, it is one you can't really miss.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

This Sporting Life.

Review #1792: This Sporting Life.

Cast: 

Richard Harris (Frank Machin), Rachel Roberts (Margaret Hammond), Alan Badel (Gerald Weaver), William Hartnell ("Dad" Johnson), Colin Blakely (Maurice Braithwaite), Vanda Godsell (Mrs. Anne Weaver), Anne Cunningham (Judith), Jack Watson (Len Miller), Arthur Lowe (Charles Slomer), Harry Markham (Wade), George Sewell (Jeff), and Leonard Rossiter (Phillips, Sports writer) Directed by Lindsay Anderson.

Review: 

"I suppose I'm the boy who stood on the burning deck whence all about he had fled. The trouble is I don't know whether the boy was a hero or a bloody idiot."

The British New Wave may have been just another style of films released in the 1960s reflecting its country, but it surely merits interest for the directors and stars that came out of its brief wake. Sure, it had similarities to the French New Wave (features imitating documentaries trying to capture a form of real life not seen in prior films in its country), but there is still something worth looking into when talking about British voices, particularly Lindsay Anderson. Anderson was born in British India in 1923. He had a scholarship for classic studies at Wadham College, Oxford before he took service in the Army as a member of the 60th King's Royal Rifle Corps and as a cryptographer. He returned to Oxford after the War and shifted his studies to English before graduating in 1948. He took up writing around this period, which included founding a magazine dedicated to film journalism in Sequence alongside people such as Karel Reisz. In the next decade, he would develop a philosophy of cinema that is referred to as "Free Cinema", in which they advocated for a British cinema that focused on being free from the constraints of demands for documentary filmmaking of the time (i.e. one that aimed for the working class to be seen on screen). From 1948 to 1967, he directed a handful of documentary short films (through funding from sources like Ford of Britain), and his earliest noticed short was Thursday's Children (1954), which he did with Guy Brenton about deaf children and their education. The two were awarded an Academy Award for Best Documentary Short. He also started doing work in the theatre in 1957, which he would do on-and-off for the next three decades. Anderson had his feature directorial debut with this film, and he would follow it up with six further features and two documentaries before his death in 1994.

You have to understand that the film wasn't exactly a roaring success upon release, since producers saw that people likely preferred escapism more so than gritty or bleak realism movies. This New Wave wasn't exactly long for the world, starting with stuff like Room at the Top (1959) and ending with this film and Billy Liar (1963), all with their varying levels of "kitchen-sink realism". Of course, the British New Wave just happened to come around in the time of "Angry young men" era of playwrighting (well, sort of, since that term was coined to promote John Osborne's 1956 play Look Back in Anger). The movie is adapted from the 1960 novel of the same name, with its author David Storey (generally considered one of the writers in the "Angry young men" group) serving as screenwriter. Storey was a former rugby player before he became a novelist and playwright (incidentally, Harris was also a rugby union player in his native Ireland). Consider it like this: "kitchen sink realism" might not have rocked all of British cinema, but it did influence future directors over the next couple of decades, most notably with Ken Loach. The movie is essentially the story of a blunt instrument more than of a man. We are talking of someone who tries to express feelings with sensitivity yet can only respond with a punch for anything. It doesn't compromise at any point in its 134-minute run-time because anything else would seem like a great lie, particularly since it wants to capture what it means to see such raw emotion pour out on screen, whether on or off the rugby pitch (being familiar with football before seeing rugby being played is interesting though). It captures such a unique dynamic between Harris and Roberts, one that teeters between stormy and clumsy when it comes to the idea of togetherness. Harris (who in later life stated once that he would trade all his accolades to play with a senior team back home in Ireland) fits the bill for everything that Anderson wants from him in terms of a brute that is always fascinating to view in his attempts in bravado or even when he is clenched when singing in public (it is easy to see why he moved from supporting roles to star with this performance). He tries to move in romance like he does on the pitch in terms of force, if only because the pitch is the only place where he is in control of himself (working class or not, this is something one can see quite clear). Roberts and her balance between melancholy and abrasive when one sees her on screen against Harris, one made quite clear in the dinner scene when it comes to seeing just who they are in public. Badel and the other castmates are fairly effective in their contrast to the main two, if only because one isn't watching a movie bound to only to the rugby pitch or bound to sentimentality (Hartnell is the warmest of the folks, and it was this role that helped cast him for his most famous role in Doctor Who). The editing by Peter Taylor and cinematography by Denys Coop help in making such a starkly effective film come through in all the layers required, one that is bleak but always on the level in worthwhile entertainment. Dour or not, the best thing that can be said for this film is that it has managed to endure so well for itself in how it doesn't flinch at looking within misery that makes a winning feature film after a half century.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Putney Swope (1969).