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Terror of Mechagodzilla (1975)

Oct 081975

The surviving aliens from the 3rd Planet rebuild Mechagodzilla. With the aid of a bitter scientist and his android daughter, they gain control of the giant dinosaur, Titanosaurus, and send both creatures to destroy Tokyo. Godzilla, in his last appearance as a hero, stomps into town to defeat the bad guys.

A direct sequel to the previous year’s Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla, this is the final entry in the initial series of Godzilla films. Nine years would pass before the big lizard would appear again, and then it would be in a film that ignored all but the original Gojira/Godzilla, King of The Monsters. As the end of an era, they could have done worse. The franchise had dipped to spectacular lows with Godzilla’s Revenge, Godzilla vs. Gigan, and Godzilla vs. Megalon—all children’s films that assumed kids were mentally deficient chimps. Terror of Mechagodzilla isn’t meaningful or innovative, but it isn’t a bad way to spend some time on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

Of course, this is a rubber suit movie, and the suits are pretty sad. Titanosaurus is a man in a stretched-out chicken costume, with a broken neck (the man’s or the chicken’s, it is hard to tell) and a piece of wood nailed where its beak should be. Godzilla has looked worse, but he would have benefited from a lot more shadows. This is a suit where seeing less is much, much more. Mechagodzilla is the only critter that doesn’t look silly, but then robots are a lot easier to fake than living beings.

The story is typical spy and alien stuff—pretty old hat for Japanese monster films of the ’60s and ’70s. But the characters are more interesting than usual (perhaps not a strong recommendation). The scientist and his daughter add much needed drama, and the relationship between android girl and hero is almost touching. I might have been able to take it seriously if the aliens didn’t wear big jacks on their heads.

The giant monster melees (and that is what we are here for) are considerably better than what’s seen in most early Godzilla films. While there are plenty of silly wrestling and boxing moves, and even some gut-holding laughing by Titanosaurus, it is played as straight as Toho could manage at the time.

Terror of Mechagodzilla is a middling entry in the Godzilla series. If you’re a fan, you’ll want to catch it when convenient. If not, this isn’t going to convert you.

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Aliens, Foreign Language, Giant Monsters, Godzilla, Mad Scientists, Mad Scientists, Reviews Tagged with: One Reel

Logan’s Run (1975)

Oct 051975

In 2274, humans live decadent lives in an enclosed city. To keep the population consistent, everyone is killed at age thirty in an elaborate ceremony called Carousel. The few who try to escape this death, by “running,” are hunted down by executioners known as sandmen. Logan (Michael York) is a sandman with four more years to live. The computer that controls the city sets him on a mission to infiltrate the underground that helps runners, and find the mythical Sanctuary. To make his status believable, his “life clock” is changed to thirty so that it appears he is a runner. Finding Jessica (Jenny Agutter), a girl who wears the secret symbol of the dissenters, Logan teams with her in the search for Sanctuary, but his ex-partner (Richard Jordan), believing he is a traitor, pursues them both.

One of the last films in the political science fiction movement of the ’60s and ’70s, Logan’s Run is the conservative answer to the youth movement of the ’60s, so is less relevant today than most of its siblings. When watching, you can almost hear an old man shaking his cane as he yells, “You lazy kids, you never take responsibility for anything! Why don’t you get a job!”

Logan’s Run is both dystopian and post-apocalyptic, in equal parts. For the first half, we’re shown a future society where everyone lives in a big mall and most have a great time, although many of them appear to spend their days walking around on the hard tile floors (much like in Star Trek: The Next Generation where there’s a constant stream of people in the halls). Everyone is young and beautiful and few have responsibilities (why a few have jobs, such as plastic surgeons, while a majority do not, is never explained). They have sex with whomever they please without jealousy or guilt, take drugs without addiction or consequence, and appear to have no sickness. The downside to all this is that everyone dies at thirty. However, the film does a poor job of making that seem problematic. Until the post-apocalyptic portion, it is taken for granted that the viewer will see this as bad. But, from watching the society, the short lifespan of its citizens doesn’t make this a dystopia. Rather, the problems lie in the inequality of the classes. The sandmen are violent thugs, who enjoy killing and who intimidate everyone. Then there are the outlying slums for the disobedient children. Again, there is little explanation except that some children end up in a Lord of the Flies world, locked away from the rest of the city.

While in the city, the film moves along at a satisfying clip. Between the well-executed effects of the Carousel, the hunts for runners, the scantily-clad and occasionally nude citizens enjoying their hedonistic lifestyle, and the dangerous lasers of the plastic surgeon, there is always something worth seeing on the screen. Plus, the confused philosophizing of Logan and Francis and the mystery of Sanctuary keep the story moving.

But the movie doesn’t fare so well once it enters the post-apocalyptic half. After a laughable special effect explosion (laughable even by 1975 standards, or 1945 standards for that matter), the activity slows. Logan and Jessica walk through some trees. Then they walk through some more trees. Then they take a nap. There’s some more walking, and then a swim. And none of it is as exciting as I’m making it sound.

Eventually, they reach Washington DC, which is represented by amusing map paintings (who doesn’t like to see the seat of our government trashed?). Unfortunately, there is then an endless segment filled with chatting to a babbling Peter Ustinov. For some reason, the filmmakers thought it would be entertaining to see Logan and Jessica notice things we already know, then have Ustinov, playing a comedy version of a 100-year-old, make silly comments. They get to see cats, where Logan gets brilliant lines like “You call those cats?” Ustinov then adds, “What else would you call them?” Things continue in this uninteresting vein until an unsatisfying conclusion that uses a sad Star Trek cliché to wrap things up.

The march through the ruins is supposed to finally present a reason why you want old people around, but once again, it fails. Logan looks at some paintings and realizes that the past civilization was ruled by old white guys. Thus, it must be good to have old white guys around. I’d have thought the sight of the civilization in ruins, destroyed by the decisions of those same old white guys, would imply the opposite message. Add in the annoying, senile, old man and what we have is an argument for exterminating the elderly.

Not content with its unsupported rant against ’60s youth, Logan’s Run goes the whole conservative route. It turns out none of the citizens of the city can feel love because they aren’t in committed, monogamist relationships and aren’t naturally birthing babies. This, like so many assertions, is stated with no support.

Oh well. The first part of the movie looks cool.

Post-Apocalyptic, Reviews Tagged with: Two & 1/2 Reels

Rollerball (1975)

Oct 041975

In the near future, where corporations rule, the populous is kept docile with comfortable surroundings and the diversion of the brutal sport, rollerball. Jonathan E. (James Caan) is the greatest player the game has ever had, but before the playoffs, Bartholomew (John Houseman) of the Energy Corporation, tells him to retire. Not understanding why and bitter over an executive taking his wife, Jonathan does the unthinkable and refuses.

Every dystopian film runs into a problem: how do you make an exciting movie about a drab, unexciting future? Rollerball solves it by interspersing the lifeless everyday with violent, exhilarating games of rollerball. It works. This is a smart drama that gets your blood pumping with sport, and then makes you consider if there isn’t something seriously wrong with that. The film is split into five segments, the three rollerball matches and two sections of plot and character development.

Rollerball is roller derby on steroids. Skaters with studded gloves and their motorcyclist teammates fight their way around a circular track in an attempt to put a heavy metal ball into a goal. It’s not easy; it’s very dangerous; and it is surprisingly compelling for a made-up sport. The basics of the game are simple, and after a few minutes I understood the strategies involved and a good number of the rules. If you are the type to cheer at a hockey game, the rollerball matches should have you out of your seat.

The film starts with the normal trappings of a televised sports competition, and nothing appears out of place until players and fans are asked to stand for their corporate anthem. A major theme of Rollerball is the danger of escalating violence in sports and this is shown so well, with each match more violent and compelling than its predecessor, that many critics missed it. The last game ends in an insane bloodbath that left some, wrapped up in the mayhem, thinking the film was glorifying violence. But the absurdity of it, the sheer scope of the slaughter, nullifies that conclusion.

When not in the rink, the story follows Jonathan E., wonderfully underplayed by Caan, who feels something is wrong, but can’t grasp what. He is a product of his environment: docile, obedient, poorly educated, and respectful to his corporate masters. It takes a lot to make him rebel, and even then, it’s a soft-spoken revolution. Only while playing rollerball does he feel secure enough to confront the problems directly. And those problems, and the second theme of the film, have to do with the place of the individual in society and the ability to act freely. Jonathan’s ex-wife voices the corporate line, “Comfort is freedom.” Rollerball does an excellent job of refuting that point of view.

Ralph Richardson puts in a cameo as a comic relief librarian, but he is part of a message as well (this is a theme heavy film). In a world where the individual is nothing and everything comes from large faceless organizations, information can slip away. The main computer system (which has replaced all books) recently misplaced the 13th century, but the librarian explains that isn’t much of a loss as there was nothing besides Dante and a few corrupt popes.

This exciting, thought-provoking, emotional, dystopian, Sci-Fi film was remade in 2002 into a dull, mindless, detached, modern-day, action flick. Skip it and see the original.

Dystopia, Reviews Tagged with: Four Reels

Death Race 2000 (1975)

Oct 041975

In the far future year 2000, twenty-one years after the crash of ’79, the annual cross-country race is about to begin. The competitors include fan favorite, Frankenstein (David Carradine), gangster, “Machine Gun” Joe (Sylvester Stallone), Matilda the Hun (Roberta Collins), and Calamity Jane (Mary Woronov). To win, all they have to do is cross the finish line first; that and mow down as many pedestrians as they can.

Produced by the king of low budgets, Roger Corman, and directed by the always bizarre Paul Bartel, Death Race 2000 is a dystopian comedy that takes jabs at modern culture, but then tosses away any meaning in favor of the pure joy of cars running over people. And it is a lot of fun.

What surprises me is that there are so few films about flattening slow individuals under the wheels of hotrods. Has anyone ever gotten into a car without thinking, “Hey, I could take out that kid over there.” It’s universal humor (among those with cars).

When played for laughs, this is topflight drive-in entertainment. There are announcers cheerfully giving color commentary and reading off the points for babies verses old men. There are pedestrians who run in front of the cars as a game, and invalids who are wheeled onto the road for “Euthanasia Day.”

Even with its small budget, the race action is fast and exciting, several notches up from most big budget car chases. Too bad it all looks washed out. Plus, there’s a fist fight between Carradine and Stallone, which is not the height of choreography, but amused me as Stallone was beaten to a pulp. If only that could have happened more often in his later films.

The pauses at the end of race-days gives an excuse for a few gratuitous breast shots. There’s not much flesh, but enough for a mindless 1975 flick.

Unfortunately, the end is played seriously, with good, moral folks working to change the corrupt government and end the killing. Who wants to see that? Bodies made into pancakes, that’s where the kicks are.

Sure it’s violent, but that’s the way we like it.

Dystopia, Reviews Tagged with: Three Reels

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas (1974)

Oct 091974

After a rude letter in the paper angers Santa Claus, a clockmaker (voice: Joel Grey) suggests to the mayor (voice: John McGiver) and town council that they build a giant clock in honor of Santa. Meanwhile a father mouse (voice: George Gobel) attempts to find out who wrote the letter. 22 min.

Tripe for uneducated children, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas is another dose of unwatchable gibberish from producers Jules Bass and Arthur Rankin Jr. Already responsible for Frosty the Snowman, I’d have thought the duo would have the good graces to hide away from society, perhaps in some fanatical monastery, and carry out a daily ritual of self flagellation until that sin had been worked off by suffering.

Sadly, they didn’t.

Instead they made ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, with simple, unattractive animation and a ludicrous script (Santa’s mad so the town decides to construct a giant clock… A giant clock! Wouldn’t an apology be a better plan?). Added to the unimpressive dialog are bland, poorly performed songs (Even a Miracle Needs a Hand was put to more suitable use and actually sounded better in South Park: A Very Crappy Christmas.) To top it off, this entertainment for the young has a strong anti-intellectual, anti-education bent. Thinking and reading are the flaws that cause all the problems. Swell. There’s a message we need to get out to the kids.

Christmas Shorts, Christmas Shorts, Reviews Tagged with: Toxic

Scream of the Wolf (1974)

Oct 061974

When people are savagely killed by an unidentifiable wolf-like animal, Sheriff Bell (Philip Carey) asks John Wetherby (Peter Graves) for help. Unable to catch the beast, Wetherby tries to get his old friend and hunting companion, Byron Douglas (Clint Walker), involved, but Walker is only interested in Wetherby, not in helping on the case.

Producer/director Dan Curtis was responsible for a string of uninspired, genre TV movies (and the laughable theatrical release, Burnt Offerings). The mediocre The Night Stalker was his masterpiece. Scream of the Wolf was not.

Simplistically filmed, and covered in machine-generated fog, the film at least has Peter Graves, who is at least slightly better than everyone else. It also has a story that suggests one outcome early on, and then strolls directly toward it.

However, as an artifact of hidden homosexual filmmaking in the 1970s, it is amusing. Wetherby used to spend a lot of time alone with Douglas, “hunting.” At Douglas’s urging, they also enjoyed arm wrestling. However, Weatherby has turned from his hunting ways, and begun dating a girl. She is nervous around Douglas and doesn’t want Wetherby spending time with him. Douglas has a live-in employee that he met in a bar and then hired after some arm wrestling, but he really wants Wetherby to take up hunting again, and go off with him to South America. He tells Wetherby that he’ll help him track the creature, but only if he arm wrestles him for over a minute, asking him, “Can’t you even hold me for a minute now?”

Presented as straight cinema to a straight world, I wonder who even noticed what is so obvious now.

Reviews, Werewolves Tagged with: One Reel

The Mark of Zorro (1974)

Oct 031974

Spanish dueling champion Don Diego Vega (Frank Langella) returns to California to find that his father has been forced out as governor, replaced by the corrupt Luis Quintero (Robert Middleton) who has the peasants whipped, over-taxed, and generally abused. Realizing that he can help best in secret, he acts bored and effeminate in public, behaving like a hero of the people only when masked and using the name Zorro. All he has to do is force Quintero out of office, kill his muscle, Captain Esteban (Ricardo Montalban), and, since it is a Swashbuckler, win the heart of the beautiful Teresa (Anne Archer).

How did I miss this TV movie in 1974? There were far fewer channels then and I devoured anything with the slightest touch of Swashbuckling about it. But I did miss it and that’s just as well. It isn’t excruciating, if viewed in a vacuumed, but hardly something that would have fanned a boys love of a genre into a life-long obsession (I should note I like being obsessed). Of course, it can’t be seen in a vacuum. It is a remake of the 1940 Tyrone Power classic The Mark of Zorro, and that vastly superior version hovers over every mediocre frame.

While not falling into the pit of shot-for-shot remakes like The Prisoner of Zenda and Psycho, The Mark of Zorro ’74 doesn’t dance far a-field. It reuses Alfred Newman’s brassy score (a good choice) as well as the script from the 1940 movie with only a few added heroic speeches. While little is added, much has been cut. This version is sixteen minutes shorter, and that’s sixteen minutes of necessary story; the original had no fat. Several plot twists are gone, as is much of the character development (we hardly know Inez, Luis Quintero’s vain and greedy wife, and miss entirely Teresa falling in love with Zorro). But the film is different in more than just being briefer. Naturally it is in color—bright and pronounced, unfortunately used with drab, TV cinematography. The real difference, however, is in tone. 1940’s The Mark of Zorro was the most humorous classic Swashbuckler, but this version is devoid of laughs. It takes itself seriously, as if a man putting on a black mask and running around the countryside righting wrongs (and never being identified) is the most realistic thing in the world. As the fop, Langella plays it with restraint while he’s in deadly earnest as Zorro. Swashbuckling heroes are charming rogues, but this Zorro is closer to Dirty Harry. “Do you feel lucky Captain Esteban? Well do’ya?”

Everyone else joins in on the sincerity. Don Diego’s father was all bluster in 1940 and both the friar and Don Luis Quintero were comic relief. Here they are either determined politicians or straight-laced businessmen (this Luis Quintero could be dropped in the middle of a 1990s corporate corruption film).

Could this darker tone have worked? Perhaps, but only in the hands of geniuses. The heart of Zorro is the humor. The whole concept is silly, but the story knows it, and gets you laughing with it before you can laugh at it. Without that, you’re just left with a silly story.

Tone isn’t the only problem. The swordfights are few and far from impressive. The same is true of the chases. Worse, the romance is gone. Anne Archer is far too old for the role of an under-aged girl dreaming of what life could be like. When she pronounces that she’s “a woman, fully grown,” it isn’t as a girl who hopes that it is true, but as a woman who’s known it for ten years. (They’ve smartly cut the line about her upcoming eighteenth birthday.) She has little screen time with Don Diego (and even less without him) so any “courting” must have happened while the camera was somewhere else.

At least Ricardo Montalban understood the type of movie he was in. He’s sinister and larger-than-life, with a sparkle in his eye as the deranged ex-fencing instructor. But the poor man is competing with the memory of Basil Rathbone in that role, and he just can’t win.

It is fascinating to watch this and the 1940 version back-to-back. It proves that there is much more to a classic than the script. Skip this, and go for the classic.

Other Foster on Film Zorro reviews: The Mark of Zorro, The Legend of Zorro.

Back to Swashbucklers

Reviews, Superhero, Swashbucklers Tagged with: One Reel

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1974)

Sep 281974

Sinbad (John Phillip Law) finds himself in possession of a golden tablet, which combined with one held by the Vizier of Marabia, forms two thirds of a map to great riches and magical powers. The two set out to claim these treasures, along with a beautiful, tattooed slave girl, Margiana (Caroline Munro), and Sinbad’s loyal crew. Complicating the mission are monsters, savages, and the evil sorcerer Koura (Tom Baker), who wants the items for himself.

I’ve never awaited a movie with such anticipation as I did The Golden Voyage of Sinbad. I’d seen Jason and the Argonauts and Mysterious Island, so I knew what Ray Harryhausen was capable of, but I knew this would be so much more. The advertisement, just a B&W theater ad in the local paper, displayed the alien cyclopean-centaur along with a portion of a nimble sailing ship. It was going to be great, transporting me to mythic lands and unleashing hordes of monsters to be defeated by a foreign hero. I was twelve, and it was 1974, and I even cut out those poorly-inked newspaper pictures. How could any film live up to that?

Guess what? It did. It fulfilled every dream in my just-adolescent heart, and after all these years, it still does. One selling point is that, for a change, a film of the Arabian Nights puts an effort into being Arabian. While it’s at it, it tosses in a touch of India and the Far East, all of which are very far away from my everyday life. I can’t say how accurate the accents are, but it doesn’t matter (who knows what anyone sounded like in the time of Sinbad?) as long as no one sounds like they are my neighbor. Previous films, such as The 7th Voyage of Sinbad, always felt like they were cast by the local branch of the KKK. I swear they’re all in Kansas. Worse, they are in 1950’s Kansas, with appropriate hair cuts. But The Golden Voyage of Sinbad transplants the viewer to an ancient never-land of Arabia, where I can believe dark magicians and horrendous but wonderful monster abide.

This is a Harryhausen flick, so spectacular effects are expected, and he doesn’t disappoint, with work that is only rivaled by the bronze giant and skeletons of Jason and the Argonauts. Here we get the small, winged, demonic-looking homunculus (a new word for me in 1974), a walking ship’s figurehead, a one-eyed centaur, a griffin, and the real prize, a six-armed, sword-wielding statue of Kali. All are marvels, though the last stands out as Harryhausen’s single finest work. Its fight with Sinbad’s crew is the high point of the stop motion animation technique.

The acting is as good as it needs to be, with John Phillip Law (the blind angel from Barbarella) making a surprisingly effective Sinbad. He plays it less as a wild swashbuckler and more as a thoughtful, if impulsive, sea captain. Caroline Munro (a Bond girl in The Spy Who Loved Me) is one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the screen. She has little to do beyond looking stunning in her cleavage-baring slave girl costumes, but that’s enough. In most Harryhausen films, the creatures eclipse the actors, but Munro holds her own, making it difficult to know where to look.

But then there is Baker, who outshines them both. He is the real star of the show, and that’s what makes this the best Harryhausen movie; there is something better than the effects. Baker would go on to become the 4th Doctor in the long running British series Doctor Who, where he did excellent work, but I can’t help wondering if it wouldn’t have been better if he’d skipped that role so that he could have had more of a film career. He makes Koura gleefully evil. With a lyrical voice and a powerful bearing, he commands every scene he’s in. So many filmmakers fail to understand that the villain is more important than the hero. A good villain makes a film, and Koura can join the ranks of Dracula (Lugosi’s), Sir Guy of Gisbourne, Darth Vader, Hans Gruber, Hannibal Lector, and Agent Smith at the top of their profession. A problem with so many magical villains (and heroes) is their tendency not to use their powers. Even Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings is marred by Gandalf’s inexplicable reluctance to use his abilities (once it is shown he can repel all the the Ring Wraiths at once with a beam of light, it’s hard to figure why he never uses this skill again). But Koura has a reason, and it is so brilliant, intuitive, and simple, I can’t imagine why no one else ever uses it. Every time Koura casts a spell, the evil spirits he invokes take part of him, causing him to age. With such a cost, I’d be selective on what I did with my magic too.

Ray Harryhausen’s other features are The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953), It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955), Earth Vs. The Flying Saucers (1956), 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957), The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958), The 3 Worlds of Gulliver (1960), Mysterious Island (1961), Jason and the Argonauts (1963), The First Men in the Moon (1964), One Million Years B.C. (1966), The Valley of Gwangi (1969), Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977), and Clash of the Titans (1981).

Back to Fantasy

Fantasy, Giant Monsters, Reviews Tagged with: Five Reels

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974)

Sep 091974

While driving through rural Texas, Sally, her wheelchair-confined brother, Franklin, and three other late teens (or early twenty year olds) pick up a deranged hitchhiker. After tossing him out, they stop at the abandoned family home and then run into the neighbors, who include the hitchhiker, a chainsaw wielding maniac, and other assorted cannibals.

A direct descendent of Psycho (both claim to be inspired by the story of Ed Gein, but have as much in common with that Wisconsin murder case as they do with Mary Poppins), and parent to Halloween, all the trappings of the standard Slasher are here. The victims are young (and the girls are cute), the killer wears a mask and takes out his victims with hand weapons, and it all comes down to one screaming girl. Its significance to the sub-genre is enough reason to see The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, (and yes, in Texas, they can’t spell “chainsaw”). There’s nothing frightening in the film (all sorts of claims of its terrifying nature are tossed around, but usually as part of marketing), but it is a weird film with some gruesome (though not gory) scenes. The sudden hammer attacks and the meat hook (you can guess) have more impact than any Slasher murders outside of Psycho. This is basically a snuff film with filler; if that’s what you are looking for, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre won’t disappoint.

All is not well in this very low budget flick. The grainy 16mm look isn’t a big problem in bright scenes (though the glare is annoying), but in the many dark scenes it is hard to make out any details. The sound is worse, with no depth or separation. The acting is sub-par; that’s OK for the freaks (not exactly difficult roles) who come off as funny, but it makes the early scenes with the soon-to-be-victims a mess. Watching Sally and Franklin talk by the side of their van is painful. Franklin is always a problem; Tobe Hooper keeps changing the character. Sometimes he’s a reasonable adult, sometimes a bratty child, and sometimes he’s mentally retarded. Luckily, he gets killed so that takes care of that problem.

Reviews, Slashers Tagged with: Three Reels

Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla (1974)

May 231974

Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla isn’t much, but that still puts it miles above its predecessors. The aliens are now space apes, in human form, naturally. The big news is that Godzilla has just one opponent. That’s shaking things up. It is a laser-shooting mechanical Godzilla, so fearsome that the real lizard only stands a chance with the help of a man in a dog outfit. King Seesar, that’s the dog man, is an ancient god–except they still call him a monster–that a prophecy declares will rise up when the world is in greatest peril, and fight along side another monster (guess who). Apparently that peril only comes after the humans do a lot of wandering about, but they are less annoying humans than in the last five films, so their wandering isn’t a strain to watch. Mechagodzilla is a non-embarrassing foe, though we are served up some silly combat moves. I give this the mildest of recommendations to anyone who can get past the ridiculous pooch. I can’t.

Godzilla, Reviews Tagged with: One Reel

The Satanic Rites of Dracula (1973)

Oct 181973

Powerful government officials are meeting in secret, holding black masses, and planning some unknown threat against king and country. The head of the security service knows this is too politically hot, so calls in Inspector Murray (Michael Coles), who had faced dark forces in Dracula A.D. 1972. He in turn, calls in Professor Van Helsing (Peter Cushing). Might it all be the evil doings of Dracula (Christopher Lee)? Yes, yes it might.

Made by the same team as Dracula A.D. 1972, and with the same lack of talent, The Satanic Rites of Dracula doesn’t look or sound like a movie, but like any number of cop shows of the time. There’s simply no skill behind the camera.

However, once we get past basic film-making skills, things improve. Without the earlier film’s groovy ‘60s vibe, there’s space for mystery and suspense. A spy caper is several points up from yet another vampire revenge film. We have clear protagonists and clear aims, which allows us greater time with the characters who matter. Satanic Rites has arguably the best plot of any Hammer Dracula film (yes, that’s a low bar, but it is something) with an actual story that goes somewhere and can’t be explained with: “Vampire wants revenge. Get’s stabbed.”

It’s also nice to have a direct sequel, sharing multiple characters with the previous film, though in one case without much care. They were forced to recast the role of Jessica Van Helsing, taking on Joanna Lumley, who does a fine job, but I wonder why they didn’t bother with a blonde wig. Appearance aside, the character is completely different, now a brilliant assistant to her Grandfather without her hippy ways. But since I’m happy to forget the hip cats, I can live with the inconsistency.

Hammer had been awkwardly adding nudity to their films for several years, but had kept the nipples covered in their Dracula films. That changed here, with long and loving shots of a naked sacrifice, but it actually fits the film. It would be more awkward for her to have stayed dressed. For Hammer, that’s a significant success.

However, one thing doesn’t fit The Satanic Rites of Dracula: Dracula. Vampires make no sense in the movie, but Hammer wanted to squeeze a few more dollars from the name. Make Peter Cushing “Professor Johnson, special consultant to Scotland Yard” and Christopher Lee the “non-vampiric D. D. Denham, evil priest and industrialist” and you are all set. Dracula pretends to be just that for most of the film as is, and his plan to use modern technology doesn’t require a vampire. Vampirism just confuses matters and the cult makes it redundant. But I have to review the film for what it is, not what it should be, and what it is is one of the better Hammer Dracula films, though deeply flawed.

The other Hammer Dracula films are: The Horror of Dracula (1958), The Brides of Dracula (1960)—which lacked Dracula, Dracula, Prince of Darkness (1966), Dracula Has Risen from the Grave (1968), Taste the Blood of Dracula (1970), Scars of Dracula (1971), Dracula A.D. 1972 (1972) and The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires (1974).

Reviews, Vampires Tagged with: Two & 1/2 Reels

The Legend of Hell House (1973)

Oct 111973

Hired to determine if there is life after death, Lionel Barrett (Clive Revill), a physicist and psychic researcher, Ann (Gayle Hunnicutt), his wife, and two mediums, Florence Tanner (Pamela Franklin) and Benjamin Franklin Fischer (Roddy McDowall), investigate the extremely haunted “Hell House.”

A by-the-numbers retread of the standard ghost story, The Legend of Hell House is a dumbed-down version of The Haunting, which isn’t exactly rocket science to begin with. As in that film, four people, one being a scientist, and two being psychics, go into a haunted house to see what will happen. This has the same split of genders, and even has one woman as “the sexual” one. Where they differ is in the discernable effects of the ghosts. In The Legend of Hell House, voices mumble and plates are flying off tables from the beginning. There is so much activity, and it is taken so lightly, that I was expecting Florence would start asking spirits to turn off the lights at bedtime.

While the story shows no variation from the basic ghost story, that alone isn’t a huge problem since it is a good story. What is a problem is how incredibly dim these four people are, and how the plot can only progress as long as they keep acting stupidly. Three of the four don’t bother to get basic information on the house and the hauntings before showing up, and have to quiz Benjamin to get the details. Before venturing into a possibly deadly situation, I’d at least spend a few hours at the library. Benjamin’s slow exposition (oh, so slow) exists to spoon-feed the background to the viewer, but there are better ways to convey information. All of the characters speak in short, cryptic phrases, just to sound cool and make it more difficult to understand what they mean. Again, this is a dangerous place; would you really want to be unclear? They also split up as often as possible, choosing to sleep apart and wander into the basement alone. Some films can pull that off because the dangerous nature of the house is still uncertain, but there’s no such vagueness here. There’s been eight victims before our “heroes” even show up. Hey, it’s the ’70s; time to overcome that shyness and sleep in one room. But then, these are people that find it normal for physical object to fly about, but are shocked when it becomes dangerous. Whenever anything threatening happens, or someone acts strangely, the others panic, get angry, and blame each other. It’s obvious that the ghost is at work and they are being possessed, but no one takes that into account. Perhaps the worst case is when Lionel gets upset and his wife feels guilty after she propositions Benjamin while possessed. Ummmm, she’s possessed. Doesn’t that mean she isn’t responsible? But the stupidity goes on, such as when no one tries to restrain Florence when she is known to be psychologically deranged and deeply opposed to Lionel using his cheap-looking machine pulled from a bad ’50s space opera. Might she try and break the machine? No one else seems to think so.

I am curious about the local law. When they find a dead body, they simply bury it on the grounds. Hmmmmm. Shouldn’t they call the police? Or the coroner? Or somebody? It’s not as if they attempt to report any of the other events that would require the law to show up. Sure, they are way out in the middle of nowhere, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t time to start hiking.

It all ends in one of the least satisfying ghostly secrets on record. Not only does the mystery inspire more giggles than shrieks, but the manner of combating the ghost with the information makes the entire film a bad joke. I suppose the ending, and much of the rest of the film, could be forgiven if the whole affair was light and fun, but the filmmakers took it very seriously. The Legend of Hell House is presented as deep and horrific drama, even down to putting a note up at the beginning of the film from respected clairvoyant and psychic, Tom Crobett, that the events in the movie could happen. Is there such a thing as a respected clairvoyant and psychic? For a film that proclaims itself to be “realistic,” perhaps a bit less Hammer-type fog might have been clever.

While the cast overacts at every opportunity, Roddy McDowall is always a kick to watch and almost saves the film. Director John Hough went on to make Howling IV: The Original Nightmare, which explains a great deal about this production.

Ghost Stories, Reviews Tagged with: One Reel

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