Category Archives: retrospective

Two on a Guillotine (1965) – A Middling Slice of Horror

29 Thursday Aug 2024

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In the vast landscape of 1960s horror cinema, Two on a Guillotine occupies a curious space. Directed by William Conrad, the film aimed to combine psychological thrills with a touch of macabre humour, but unfortunately, it never quite manages to pull off either convincingly. What we get instead is a somewhat paltry entry that fails to leave a lasting impression, both in its execution and in its impact on the genre.

The film stars Connie Stevens as the daughter of a famous magician (played by Cesar Romero) who mysteriously disappeared years before. Upon her father’s death, she is tasked with spending seven nights in his creepy mansion in order to inherit his fortune. The setup is classic horror fodder, but the film struggles to deliver on its promises. The haunted house elements, complete with secret passages and ominous shadows, are all there, but they feel more like props in a stage play than genuine sources of dread.

Stevens, better known for her work in television and musicals, is serviceable in the lead role, but her performance lacks the depth needed to carry a horror film. Romero, on the other hand, brings a certain charm as the sinister magician, but his screen time is disappointingly brief. His presence, though magnetic, isn’t enough to elevate the film above its middling script.

One of the film’s biggest issues is its pacing. At nearly two hours, it feels overly long, with many scenes dragging on without building the necessary tension. The plot meanders through a series of predictable twists, and while there are a few moments of genuine suspense, they are few and far between. The supposed scares, like the titular guillotine, never quite deliver the thrills one might hope for. Instead, they come off as more gimmicky than terrifying.

Two on a Guillotine attempts to balance its horror elements with light-hearted humour, but this balance feels off-kilter. The comedic moments often undercut the tension, leaving the viewer unsure of whether to be scared or amused. It’s a tonal mishmash that ultimately works against the film’s intended atmosphere.

The production values, while decent for the time, don’t do much to make the film stand out. The sets are uninspired, and the cinematography, though competent, lacks the stylistic flair seen in other horror films of the era. Even the score, which could have added a layer of tension, feels generic and unmemorable.

The Prognosis:

Two on a Guillotine is a film that had potential but never quite realized it. It’s not outright bad, but it’s certainly not a standout either. For those interested in 1960s horror, there are far better options to explore. This film, while not entirely without merit, ultimately feels like a footnote in the genre’s history—a curiosity rather than a classic.

  • Saul Muerte

“Coalescing Madness: A Retrospective Look at Pyro… The Thing Without a Face (1964)”

23 Friday Aug 2024

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Pyro… The Thing Without a Face is a lesser-known entry in the psychological horror-thriller genre that attempts to carve its niche by blending elements of revenge, disfigurement, and the madness that ensues. Directed by Julio Coll, the film stars Barry Sullivan as Vance Pierson, an American engineer whose life spirals into a nightmare of revenge after a tragic love affair.

The film draws upon a rich tapestry of influences, coalescing into a narrative that’s both familiar and unsettling. One can trace the roots of Pyro back to the brooding atmosphere of classic noir, with shades of films like The Big Heat (1953), where the theme of vengeance is just as central. In The Big Heat, Glenn Ford’s character pursues a relentless quest for revenge after the murder of his wife, setting a precedent for the kind of obsession that drives Vance Pierson in Pyro. This thematic coagulometry creates a bridge between genres, infusing Pyro with a sense of dread and inevitability.

The film also owes a debt to the disfigurement horror trope, seen in earlier features like Eyes Without a Face (1960) and The Phantom of the Opera (1962). In these films, physical deformity becomes a symbol of internal turmoil and madness, a concept that Pyro adopts with Vance’s disfigurement following an act of arson. His transformation into a vengeful figure echoes the pathos of these earlier characters, though it lacks the same depth and psychological complexity.

While Pyro seeks to meld these influences into a cohesive whole, it often falters in execution. The film’s pacing is uneven, and the script occasionally struggles to maintain tension. The character of Vance, though compelling in his descent into madness, doesn’t quite reach the heights of other tragic figures in cinema. Sullivan’s performance is solid, yet the material doesn’t allow him to explore the full range of his character’s psychological unraveling.

Where Pyro does succeed is in its atmosphere. The cinematography captures the stark landscapes and claustrophobic interiors, reflecting Vance’s isolation and obsession. The score, while somewhat generic, complements the film’s darker moments, enhancing the sense of impending doom.

The Prognosis:

In the broader context of horror-thrillers, Pyro… The Thing Without a Face is a film that attempts to build on the foundations laid by its predecessors but ultimately falls short of greatness. Its coagulometry of influences from film noir, revenge thrillers, and disfigurement horror is evident, but the final product is more of a patchwork than a seamless blend. Still, for fans of vintage horror and psychological thrillers, Pyro offers enough intrigue and atmosphere to warrant a watch, even if it doesn’t leave a lasting impact. A solid effort that stands as a curious footnote in the evolution of maniacal cinematic narratives.

  • Saul Muerte

Onibaba: The Demon That Haunts Global Cinema

22 Thursday Aug 2024

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When Onibaba was released in 1964, it quickly carved out a place for itself in the annals of cinema history. Directed by Kaneto Shindō, this Japanese horror film transcended the boundaries of its genre, offering not only a chilling narrative but also a profound exploration of human nature and survival. Set in the war-torn landscapes of 14th-century Japan, Onibaba masterfully weaves elements of horror, eroticism, and drama, creating an atmosphere that is as suffocating as it is haunting.

One of the most remarkable aspects of Onibaba is its cultural resonance. The film draws heavily from Japanese folklore, particularly the legend of the “Onibaba,” a demon woman, which Shindō reinterprets through a lens of realism. The demon mask, central to the film’s terror, has since become iconic, symbolizing the thin veneer between human and monster. This cultural specificity did not, however, limit the film’s appeal. Instead, it enhanced its global impact, as audiences worldwide were captivated by its universal themes of fear, desire, and the struggle for survival.

Globally, Onibaba became a touchstone for filmmakers and cinephiles alike, inspiring a new wave of interest in Japanese cinema. Shindō’s innovative use of sound, with the incessant rustling of reeds and the eerie silence of the swamps, created a soundscape that added to the film’s unsettling atmosphere. This auditory experience, coupled with Kiyomi Kuroda’s stark black-and-white cinematography, influenced a generation of filmmakers, both in Japan and abroad.

The film’s raw portrayal of sexuality and the human condition was groundbreaking at the time, challenging the conventions of both Japanese and Western cinema. Onibaba blurred the lines between horror and art, pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable on screen. This boldness not only solidified its status as a classic but also opened the door for future films to explore similarly taboo subjects with nuance and sensitivity.

Despite its age, Onibaba continues to be a vital piece of cinema history. Its influence can be seen in a range of films, from the psychological horrors of The Babadook to the atmospheric dread of The Witch. Shindō’s masterpiece reminds us that true horror lies not in the supernatural but in the depths of the human soul.

The Prognosis:

With its rich cultural roots and lasting global impact, Onibaba remains a film that both haunts and inspires, earning its place as a significant work of art that transcends the boundaries of genre and geography.

  • Saul Muerte

The Masque of the Red Death (1964): A Gothic Gem with Some Tarnish

17 Saturday Aug 2024

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Roger Corman’s The Masque of the Red Death (1964), featuring the incomparable Vincent Price, is an adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe’s chilling short story. This film, known for its rich Gothic atmosphere and striking visuals, is often celebrated for its ambition and stylistic flair. However, despite its strengths, it has its share of shortcomings that prevent it from reaching the heights of other Corman-Price collaborations.

The film’s plot revolves around the tyrannical Prince Prospero (Vincent Price), who retreats to his castle with a group of nobles to escape the deadly Red Death plague ravaging the countryside. Within the castle’s opulent walls, Prospero indulges in decadent and cruel festivities, believing himself immune to the horrors outside. As the plague encroaches and the masked figure of the Red Death makes its ominous appearance, Prospero’s delusions of grandeur and invincibility are challenged.

Vincent Price, in one of his most memorable roles, delivers a performance that is both sinister and charismatic. His portrayal of Prospero as a sadistic and morally bankrupt nobleman is captivating, adding depth and nuance to a character that could easily have been one-dimensional. Price’s commanding presence and distinctive voice elevate the film, making his scenes the most compelling.

The film’s visual style is one of its standout features. Cinematographer Nicolas Roeg, who would later become a renowned director, brings a lush and vivid palette to the screen. The use of color, particularly in the various rooms of Prospero’s castle, symbolizes different aspects of human experience and emotion, enhancing the film’s thematic depth. The art direction and set design also contribute to the film’s rich Gothic aesthetic, creating a world that is both beautiful and foreboding.

However, The Masque of the Red Death is not without its flaws. The pacing can be uneven, with certain sections feeling overly drawn out and lacking in momentum. Some of the supporting performances are less convincing, and the dialogue occasionally veers into melodrama. These issues detract from the overall impact of the film, making it less cohesive than it could have been.

Despite these drawbacks, the film’s conclusion is powerful and thought-provoking. The inevitable arrival of the Red Death within the castle walls serves as a stark reminder of the futility of attempting to escape one’s fate. This key message, underscored by Price’s chilling final scenes, resonates strongly with audiences and reinforces the film’s central themes of mortality and hubris.

The Masque of the Red Death is one of several adaptations of Poe’s works by Roger Corman, who helmed other notable films like The Fall of the House of Usher (1960) and The Pit and the Pendulum (1961). While it may not reach the heights of these earlier efforts, it remains a significant entry in the canon of Gothic horror films.

The Prognosis:

The Masque of the Red Death is a visually stunning and thematically rich film that showcases Vincent Price at his best. Its flaws, while notable, do not overshadow its merits entirely. For fans of Gothic horror and Poe adaptations, it is a film worth watching, if only to witness Price’s masterful performance and Roeg’s captivating cinematography.

  • Saul Muerte

The Last Man on Earth (1964): A Mixed Adaptation of a Sci-Fi Classic

16 Friday Aug 2024

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The Last Man on Earth (1964), directed by Ubaldo Ragona and Sidney Salkow, is the first film adaptation of Richard Matheson’s seminal 1954 novel, I Am Legend. Starring the legendary Vincent Price, the film presents a bleak vision of a world ravaged by a plague that turns humans into vampiric creatures. While the movie has its merits, it also falls short in several areas, leading to a mixed reception that persists to this day.

The plot follows Dr. Robert Morgan (Vincent Price), the apparent sole survivor of a global pandemic that has transformed the population into nightmarish, undead beings. By day, Morgan methodically hunts these creatures and works on a cure, while by night, he barricades himself in his home, fending off the relentless attacks of the infected.

Vincent Price, known for his distinctive voice and charismatic presence, delivers a solid performance as Morgan. However, his casting was a point of contention for Richard Matheson, the novel’s author. Matheson, who initially adapted his own work for the screen under the pseudonym Logan Swanson, was reportedly dissatisfied with Price’s portrayal, feeling that it did not capture the everyman quality he envisioned for the character. This misalignment between the author’s vision and the final product is one of the film’s notable shortcomings.

The film’s atmosphere is one of its strongest aspects. Shot in stark black-and-white, The Last Man on Earth effectively conveys a sense of desolation and hopelessness. The empty streets and decaying urban landscapes create a haunting backdrop for Morgan’s lonely existence. The minimalist approach to the horror elements, focusing more on psychological dread than overt scares, sets it apart from many other films of its time.

Despite these strengths, the film struggles with pacing and execution. The narrative can feel sluggish, particularly in the middle sections, where Morgan’s daily routine is depicted in a repetitive manner. Additionally, some of the special effects and make-up work, though innovative for their time, have not aged well, detracting from the film’s overall impact.

The Last Man on Earth is only one of several adaptations of Matheson’s novel. It was followed by The Omega Man (1971), starring Charlton Heston, which took a more action-oriented approach to the story, and I Am Legend (2007), featuring Will Smith, which leaned heavily on CGI and modern horror tropes. Each version brings its own interpretation to the source material, but none have managed to fully capture the essence of Matheson’s original vision.

The film’s key message revolves around isolation and the human struggle for survival in the face of overwhelming despair. Morgan’s battle against both the external threat of the infected and his own internal demons reflects a universal theme of resilience and the quest for meaning in a seemingly meaningless world.

The Prognosis:

The Last Man on Earth is a film of contrasts. It boasts a memorable performance by Vincent Price and a hauntingly effective atmosphere, but it is also hampered by pacing issues and miscasting concerns. While it may not be the definitive adaptation of Matheson’s I Am Legend, it remains an intriguing and significant entry in the history of science fiction and horror cinema.

  • Saul Muerte

Kwaidan (1964): A Haunting Masterpiece of Japanese Horror

15 Thursday Aug 2024

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Kwaidan (1964), directed by Masaki Kobayashi, stands as a monumental achievement in the annals of horror cinema. This anthology film, based on Lafcadio Hearn’s collections of Japanese ghost stories, is a hauntingly beautiful exploration of the supernatural, presented through four meticulously crafted tales. Nearly six decades after its release, Kwaidan remains a testament to the power of atmospheric horror and visual storytelling.

The film comprises four segments: “The Black Hair,” “The Woman of the Snow,” “Hoichi the Earless,” and “In a Cup of Tea.” Each story delves into the eerie and the ethereal, weaving tales of love, betrayal, and spectral encounters. Kobayashi’s direction is masterful, imbuing each segment with a distinct mood and style while maintaining a cohesive thematic thread throughout the film.

One of the most striking aspects of Kwaidan is its visual style. Cinematographer Yoshio Miyajima, in collaboration with art director Shigemasa Toda, creates a series of stunning tableaux that blend traditional Japanese aesthetics with surreal, otherworldly elements. The use of color, particularly the bold and expressive hues, enhances the dreamlike quality of the narratives. Each frame is composed with the precision of a painting, making Kwaidan a feast for the eyes.

The performances are equally compelling, with standout roles from Tatsuya Nakadai, Rentarō Mikuni, and Takashi Shimura, among others. Their portrayals bring depth and nuance to the characters, drawing the audience into the world of the supernatural with a sense of authenticity and emotional resonance.

The film’s sound design and score, composed by Toru Takemitsu, are integral to its chilling atmosphere. Takemitsu’s avant-garde approach to music and sound creates an auditory landscape that is as unsettling as it is beautiful. The haunting melodies and eerie sound effects heighten the sense of dread and unease, making the ghostly encounters all the more impactful.

Kwaidan is not without its flaws. The pacing, particularly in the longer segments, can be slow, and modern audiences might find the deliberate, measured approach to storytelling challenging. However, these are minor quibbles in the grand scheme of the film’s achievements.

The key message of Kwaidan lies in its exploration of the human psyche and the thin veil between the living and the dead. Each story serves as a cautionary tale, reflecting on themes of memory, guilt, and the inescapable nature of fate. Kobayashi masterfully uses the supernatural to delve into the depths of human emotion, creating a film that is as thought-provoking as it is terrifying.

The Prognosis:

Kwaidan is a haunting masterpiece that continues to resonate with audiences nearly six decades after its release. Its blend of stunning visuals, compelling performances, and evocative sound design make it a standout in the genre of horror. For fans of atmospheric and psychological horror, Kwaidan is an essential viewing experience, deserving of its place among the classics of world cinema.

  • Saul Muerte

The Gorgon (1964): Hammer’s Ambitious but Imperfect Gothic Tale

10 Saturday Aug 2024

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Hammer Films’ The Gorgon (1964) stands as a notable entry in the studio’s prolific output, featuring the legendary trio of Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, and Barbara Shelley. Directed by Terence Fisher, this film had all the makings of a classic Hammer horror, yet it fell short of its full potential. Despite its flaws, The Gorgon remains an enjoyable feature and a must-watch for fans of the iconic British horror production company.

The story revolves around a small European village plagued by a series of mysterious deaths, all seemingly linked to the mythical gorgon Megaera. Screenwriter John Gilling crafted a compelling script that promised a rich blend of Gothic horror and mythological intrigue. However, Gilling’s satisfaction with his script was tempered by disappointment when significant portions were cut from the final version, diluting the narrative’s depth and impact.

Barbara Shelley, cast in the dual role of Carla and Megaera, was particularly disheartened by the decision to reduce her involvement. Originally intended to portray both the innocent Carla and her monstrous alter ego, Shelley believed that this dual role could have elevated The Gorgon to one of the best Gothic films ever made. Unfortunately, the role of Megaera was reassigned to Prudence Hyman to prevent prematurely revealing the story’s outcome, a choice that Shelley felt undermined the film’s potential.

Under Terence Fisher’s direction, the film benefited from his seasoned expertise in crafting atmospheric horror. Fisher’s collaboration with Cushing, Lee, and Shelley promised a cinematic experience that embodied the essence of Hammer Films. Cushing and Lee, as always, delivered magnificent performances, with Cushing playing the determined Dr. Namaroff and Lee as the insightful Professor Meister. Shelley’s portrayal of Carla added a layer of vulnerability and complexity to the narrative.

Despite these strong elements, The Gorgon struggled to connect with audiences. The film’s pacing issues, coupled with the aforementioned script cuts, resulted in a disjointed story that failed to fully capitalize on its intriguing premise. Additionally, the special effects, particularly the portrayal of Megaera, did not meet the high standards set by other Hammer productions, further impacting the film’s reception.

The Prognosis:

The Gorgon is a mixed bag—a film that showcases Hammer’s strengths while also highlighting some of its weaknesses. It’s an enjoyable feature that offers glimpses of what could have been a masterpiece. For fans of Hammer Films and classic Gothic horror, it remains a worthwhile watch, if only to appreciate the performances of Cushing, Lee, and Shelley, and to ponder the film that might have been.

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Revisiting The Flesh Eaters (1964): A Surprisingly Fun Low-Budget B-Movie Horror

09 Friday Aug 2024

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In the realm of 1960s B-movie horror, The Flesh Eaters (1964) stands out as a surprisingly enjoyable entry despite its low budget and modest production values. Directed by Jack Curtis, the film delivers a blend of thrills and chills that keeps audiences entertained, even if it doesn’t reach the heights of more polished horror classics.

The Flesh Eaters centres around a group of characters stranded on a remote island, only to discover that the waters around them are infested with microscopic creatures that devour flesh. This premise, while simple, is executed with a sense of fun and creativity that elevates the film beyond its budgetary constraints. The special effects, though primitive by today’s standards, are effective enough to create a genuine sense of menace.

Director Jack Curtis, who also appeared in Mario Bava’s Planet of the Vampires, brings a certain charm and energy to the project. His direction, while not groundbreaking, is competent and keeps the pacing brisk. Curtis’s dual role as both director and actor showcases his versatility, contributing to the film’s overall appeal.

Veteran actor Martin Kosleck adds a layer of gravitas to the cast, delivering a performance that balances the film’s campy elements with a touch of seriousness. Kosleck’s presence elevates the material, providing a reliable anchor amidst the more outlandish aspects of the story.

While The Flesh Eaters doesn’t aim for high art, it succeeds in delivering a fun and engaging horror experience. The film’s modest ambitions are met with a spirited execution, resulting in a B-movie that entertains without pretense. Its low-budget nature is part of its charm, offering a nostalgic glimpse into the era of drive-in horror flicks and creature features.

The Prognosis:

The Flesh Eaters holds up as a testament to what can be achieved with limited resources and a creative approach. It may not be a masterpiece, but its entertainment value and the dedication of its cast and crew make it a noteworthy entry in 1960s horror cinema. For fans of vintage B-movies, it’s a film that delivers just the right amount of thrills and fun.

  • Saul Muerte

Revisiting The Evil of Frankenstein (1964): A Visual Feast Undermined by a Weak Script

08 Thursday Aug 2024

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In the annals of Hammer Films’ storied Frankenstein series, The Evil of Frankenstein (1964) holds a unique yet somewhat controversial place. Directed by Freddie Francis, who was rising as a notable figure behind the camera, this film brought a fresh visual style that showcased his expertise in cinematography. Despite its aesthetic triumphs, the film struggled to captivate audiences and critics alike, often regarded as the weaker entry in the Hammer Frankenstein saga.

Freddie Francis, known for his distinguished work as a cinematographer, brought an unparalleled visual flair to The Evil of Frankenstein. His directorial approach was marked by a keen eye for composition and lighting, elements that elevated the film’s atmosphere. Francis’s insistence on an elaborate laboratory set was a testament to his commitment to creating a visually compelling environment. The laboratory, with its intricate details and Gothic grandeur, became a highlight of the film, reflecting the meticulous craftsmanship behind the scenes.

Peter Cushing reprised his iconic role as Baron Frankenstein with his usual dedication and intensity. Known for his commitment to performing his own stunts, Cushing’s involvement in the film’s climactic finale was particularly noteworthy. The scene where he swung into the burning laboratory was not without consequence, reportedly resulting in third-degree burns for the veteran actor. Cushing’s performance, marked by his characteristic blend of charm and menace, remained a strong point even as the film faltered in other areas.

A significant aspect of The Evil of Frankenstein was its association with Universal Pictures. This partnership allowed Hammer Films to utilize elements from Universal’s classic Frankenstein series, including the iconic monster design. While this brought a sense of legitimacy and continuity, it also highlighted the film’s struggles to carve out its own identity. The reliance on established tropes and visual cues from Universal’s Frankenstein films, while nostalgic, often felt like a retread rather than a reinvention.

Despite these promising elements, The Evil of Frankenstein ultimately stumbled due to its weak script. The narrative lacked the depth and intrigue that characterized the earlier entries in the series, resulting in a disjointed and uninspired story. The film’s reception reflected this, with audiences and critics finding it a lackluster addition to the Frankenstein mythos. Its poor performance at the box office further cemented its reputation as a misstep for Hammer Films.

The Prognosis:

The Evil of Frankenstein remains a visually stunning yet narratively flawed entry in the Hammer Frankenstein series. Freddie Francis’s directorial prowess and Peter Cushing’s unwavering dedication brought moments of brilliance, but these were not enough to overcome the shortcomings of the script. While it may not stand as a pinnacle of Hammer’s horror legacy, it serves as a testament to the creative risks and collaborations that defined the studio’s golden era.

  • Saul Muerte

Castle of the Living Dead: A Quirky Blend of Gothic Horror and Behind-the-Scenes Mysteries

03 Saturday Aug 2024

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In the annals of 1960s horror cinema, Castle of the Living Dead (1964) stands as a peculiar entry, notable more for its behind-the-scenes controversies and unique casting than for its cohesive narrative. This Italian-French production, while not without its charms, ultimately presents a mixed bag of elements that result in an average yet intriguing film.

The film’s plot centers around a troupe of performers invited to a sinister castle by Count Drago, played with eerie aplomb by Christopher Lee. Drago’s macabre hobby of preserving his guests as lifelike statues quickly sets the stage for a tale of gothic horror. However, the narrative soon becomes a mishmash of disjointed scenes and underdeveloped subplots. This lack of narrative cohesion can make the film feel more like a series of loosely connected vignettes than a streamlined story.

Adding to the film’s enigmatic nature is the controversy over its direction. Officially, Castle of the Living Dead is credited to Warren Kiefer, but rumors and speculations have persisted for decades about the actual extent of his involvement. Some accounts suggest that Italian directors Luciano Ricci and Riccardo Freda may have had substantial, albeit uncredited, roles in shaping the film. This uncertainty over the true directorial hand contributes to the film’s fragmented feel, as it seems to struggle with a unified vision.

Despite its narrative flaws, the film features several standout performances, most notably from the late Donald Sutherland. In a testament to his versatility, Sutherland takes on multiple roles, including a bumbling soldier and an eccentric witch. His ability to shift between these characters adds a layer of surrealism to the film, even if it sometimes veers into the territory of unintentional comedy. Sutherland’s presence alone elevates many scenes, infusing them with a quirky energy that keeps the audience engaged.

Christopher Lee, as always, brings a commanding presence to his role as Count Drago. His portrayal of the sinister aristocrat is suitably chilling, providing a solid anchor for the otherwise erratic storyline. The supporting cast, while competent, often finds themselves overshadowed by the film’s more flamboyant elements and the larger-than-life performances of Lee and Sutherland.

The Legacy:

Castle of the Living Dead remains a curious artifact of 1960s horror, appreciated more for its individual components than as a whole. Its mishmash narrative and the mystery surrounding its direction make it a topic of interest for film historians and genre enthusiasts. While it may not achieve the heights of other contemporary horror films, its unique qualities and the memorable performances of Donald Sutherland and Christopher Lee ensure that it retains a place in the horror canon.

The Prognosis:

Castle of the Living Dead is a film that embodies the eclectic spirit of 1960s horror cinema. Its flaws are apparent, but so are its moments of brilliance. The film serves as a reminder of a time when horror was experimental, unpredictable, and often wonderfully bizarre. It is a piece of cinematic history that, despite its imperfections, continues to intrigue and entertain.

  • Saul Muerte