Doctor at Large

The Mask of Fu Manchu (Charles Brabin, 1932)

Came to the shocking discovery that I had not seen Boris Karloff's turn as the diabolical Dr. Fu Manchu before. It could be because I might have mixed Karloff with another of his roles where he's caked up in highly problematic, ethnic make-up, like his private dick Mr. Wong, or more worryingly, the shite I tend to watch has given me brainrot and given me early dementia. My earliest introduction to the character of Fu Manchu were the Harry Allan Towers productions, starring none other than the legendary Christopher Lee as the moustachioed fiend. Loved the first two entries, but they got increasingly worse afterwards. Now, after seeing Karloff's portrayal of the evil genius in Charles Brabin's The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932), I'm kicking myself even more for the confusion, as it's the most outrageous pre-Hays Code films I might have watched thus far.

"I'm a Doctor of Philosophy from Edingburgh. I'm a Doctor of Law from Christ's College. I'm a Doctor of Medicine from Harvard. My friends out of courtesy call me Doctor."

The character of Dr. Fu Manchu was the creation of English author Arthur Henry Ward, under the unfathomably badass pseudonym Sax Rohmer. The Yellow Peril, a racially charged example of fear-mongering propaganda from the early 20th century, which implied violent retribution towards Western Imperialism, would appoint Fu Manchu as the chief architect of an epic race war. The mastermind would become the archetypal Bond villain well before Ian Flemming even put pen to paper. The success and popularity of Rohmer's books would result in numerous adaptations, ranging from radio programmes, episodic serials, and prior features such as The Mysterious Doctor Fu Manchu (1929). Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studios would deliver the biggest budget and most mainstream effort yet, and it would star the great Boris Karloff, hot from his iconic role in Frankenstein (1931).

"May the curse of the gods descend upon him and is forever who dares enter herein! I don't like to mar the beauty of these doors, but I have my orders, it's got to be done. Mack, give me the axe!

The plot to The Mask of Fu Manchu concerns a British archaeological expedition searching for the tomb of the legendary Genghis Khan. They aren't the only ones looking for the conqueror's final resting place, however. The diabolical doctor seeks to possess both the scimitar and mask of Genghis Khan in order to prove to the horde armies of the East that he is the reincarnation of the ancient ruler. With both these artifacts in his taloned grasps, he'll be able to wage an epic war against the White race. With the news of the dastardly villain abducting, the expedition's leader, Sir Lionel Barton (Lawrence Grant), by Fu Manchu's goons (disguised as Egyptian mummies), British Intelligence agent Nayland Smith (Lewis Stone), arch nemesis of the fiendish mastermind, is dispatched in finding the legendary artifacts with the team and stop Fu Manchu.

 "I have brought you here for great tidings. I am the most unfortunate of men; I have no son to follow me. Therefore, in shame, I ask you to receive a message from my ugly and insignificant daughter."

Not unlike Steven Spielberg's Indiana Jones films, Fu Manchu's devilish torture chambers bring a horror element to what's otherwise a straight laced adventure tale. From being tied to a seesaw above an alligator pit, and to being caught in the middle of metal spikes, these ingeniously sadistic sequences make up for some of the film's obvious plot holes. Sir Lionel Barton's refusal to reveal the location of Genghis Khan's tomb results in him being strapped beneath a giant bell. Karloff utters with sadistic glee to the unfortunate captive, "Seems harmless, doesn't it? Just a bell ringing. But the percussion and the repercussion of sound ringing against your eardrums will soften and destroy them until the sound is magnified a thousand times. You can't move, you can't sleep. You will be frantic with thirst. You will be unspeakably foul. But here you will lie, day after day, until you tell." After what feels like an eternity of torturous campanology to poor old Sir Lionel, the sadistic doctor offers water to the unfortunate archaeologist. It's filled with salt, however. The rotter!

"He is not entirely unhandsome, is he my father?"

"For a White man, no!"

A great rapport exists between Karloff's Fu Manchu and his daughter Fah Lo Suee (Myrna Loy). Both play complete sadists experiencing joy whilst their victims suffer in agonising pain. When the film's rugged hero Terrence Granville (Charles Starrett) presents a fake scimitar to Fu Manchu, he is stripped of his shirt, hung from the ceiling and whipped to orgasmic ecstasy of Fah Lo Suee. Both Karloff and Loy were constantly receiving new dialogue to learn, even whilst in the make-up chair. This would subsequently result in their performances coming across as tongue-in-cheek, attempting to outdo each other. Their shared scenes are some of the highlights of the film. After Terrence's torture, Fah Lo Suee is caught by her father going to kiss the unconscious do-gooder. His hilarious response to her question over Terrence's attractiveness, hints at Fu Manchu possibly being attracted to him too.

"You will think as I think! See as I see! And do as I command!"

Constantly, the film visually impresses with its copious eye catching sets and exotic costumes. Despite how much it reeks of a mere exploitation film, The Mask of Fu Manchu is a surprisingly breathtaking film to look at. Both Karloff and Loy seem to be dressed in a different, patterned silk robe in every scene they're in. At one point, Karloff wears a ridiculous fruit-looking hat that's more fitting for Carmen Miranda, whilst delivering a speech full of hate to an army of Asian and Middle -Eastern fanatics. Favourite set design is the room where Terrence is humiliatingly wearing an adult diaper and strapped to an operating table. It's a vast room with Fu Manchu in surgical garments, administering a mind control drug to him. Standing on pedestals are black subordinates in loincloths resembling Oscar awards. This looks like it belongs in a science fiction set in the future. The sci-fi aesthetic can also be witnessed in another sparse room, featuring the previously mentioned giant metallic spikes. Further evidence, is the room which houses a powerful death ray, turning out to be ever so handy for the final moments in the film.

"Kill the White man and take his women!"

Undoubtedly, the most glaring issue in The Mask of Fu Manchu is its racist content. Ninety years later, it's equally as uncomfortable for lefty pearl-clutchers as it once was for authoritarian conservatives in the past. Horseshoe Theory in full effect. For this humble blogger, one who's watched a veritable smorgasbord of depraved films, and frequented the metaphorical Wild West of early 2000s Rap message boards, The Mask of Fu Manchu is a treasure trove of derogatory stereotyping and blissful ignorance, which could never realistically be replicated today (in the First World at least). Sure, Karloff in garish prosthetic make-up looks like an offensive caricature of an Asian; and yes, both Asian and other non-White racial stereotypes are also featured in the film. However, there's also a strong anti-White sentiment in the film that would even have Netflix execs deeming it extreme even for them, which at the very least, balances the scales for me. In true racial equality, it offends everyone equally. And even if it didn't, it still wouldn't compel me into spewing some obligatory defensive apology like the morons over on Letterboxd. I found the The Mask of Fu Manchu entertaining and funny — even when it pointed its finger at my own kind.

The Mask of Fu Manchu is an outrageous, yet amusing gem from the pre-Code era. Like one of Fu Manchu's concoctions, the fact that it's over ninety years old and still a potent mix of sex, sadism and racism, makes it cinematic gold for me. A very strong recommendation for any thick skinned fan interested in early Hollywood cinema. 

Early Dors

Yield to the Night (J. Lee Thompson, 1956)

J. Lee Thompson's part crime noir, part prison drama Yield to the Night (1956)* would cause a stir (no pun intended) thanks to its mistaken association with a true crime event which occurred a year prior. Thompson's soon to be wife Joan Henry, an author with first hand experience of the the penal system, would author Yield to the Night only for it to have a striking resemblance to the case of Ruth Ellis, the last woman hanged in the United Kingdom. Ardently opposed to capital punishment, Thompson abandoned the safety net of British post-war film entertainment, and delivered a gut-wrenching, judicial tale for the masses. Thompson would produce a powerful piece of art staunchly opposed to Great Britain's death penalty (which would not be fully abolished until 1969).

With such a serious premise, Yield to the Night's biggest surprise would be in its casting of the blonde bombshell Diana Dors. Described as Britain’s Marilyn Monroe (she loathed the comparison), the actress wasn't given much variety to flex her acting chops and would often be typecast into playing superficial eye candy. Her ravishing beauty, platinum blonde hair and shapely hourglass figure had unexpectedly been something of a curse. Therefore, Yield to the Night was a rare opportunity for her to show off her acting skills, along with proving to Thompson he was right to cast her. Her portrayal of condemned Mary Hilton, committing murder in the first degree before the film's opening title's even commence, and to then turn herself into a convincingly sympathetic and utterly tragic figure, makes Diana Dors an underrated actress. Her performance is a genuine eye opener. Prior to Yield to the Night, both Thompson and Dors were involved with The Weak and the Wicked (1954), another prison drama also penned by Joan Henry and based on her first hand experience being a jailbird. Dors would play a supporting role. The Weak and the Wicked's light and optimistic tone would lack the stylish grit and emotional weight inherent in its successor. Call it a dress rehearsal!

Yield to the Night's cold opening sequence has Dors travelling through central London. It's largely shot in oblique low angles, framing a sense of purpose and intensity. Our lead reaches her destination and brutally guns down a mysterious woman outside her home. We don't know who the victim is, or the motive for her premeditated murder, but we do know that our shooter is without a shadow of a doubt guilty of homicide. From herein, Yield to the Night splits into timelines: Mary Hilton in the present day, locked inside a prison cell and awaiting her execution; the other, is a series of flashbacks recollecting how she went from working behind a perfume counter to behind bars. Interestingly, it's the prison scenes which are my favourite parts of the film, and perhaps Thomspson's too, as much of the film's real commentary stems from this section — a bleak contrast to the melodrama told via flashbacks. 

Unpleasantly ghoulish are both the door with no handle in Mary's cell, which eventually opens to a room with gallows, along with a suicide watch light, continuously staying lit until it’s time for the prisoner's execution. With both of these elements being a constant reminder, it's little to wonder our film's lead undergoes so much mental anguish. Although confined alone in her cell, Mary is surrounded by a surprisingly friendly bunch of prison guards. They fuss over her constantly. A diversion of mindless chit chat, yarn spinning and card games to pass the time. It's akin to the locked up Medieval queen inside the Tower of London and with her loyal handmaidens. The dark irony of the staff keen to want Mary to be in a physically state before she's hung, is not lost in Thompson's satirical eye. Amongst these carers is MacFarlaine (Yvonne Mitchell), a sympathetic guard who finds Mary's plight all the more tragic as she befriends her. Mitchell's nuanced performance being another strong highlight.

Diana Dors undergoes an obvious physical transformation while locked in her cell. Her glamorous appearance and socially appealing persona from the outside world is replaced with the visage of a sullen woman in prison garms. Without any make-up, her face looks puffy with beads of sweat shining off her skin. Dark roots and unkempt replace her perfectly sculpted, blonde locks. Juxtaposing all this, is the process of hope turning into despair. A torturous scene is when the prison warden enters Mary's cells apparently holding a document. Much like Mary, the viewer is under the illusion this might be the urgent governmental reprieve required to save her. Alas, this is not to be. Yet, despite the oppressive doom and gloom, Mary's generally amiable persona remains unresolved. At one point she snatches a cigarette from one of the guards to avoid her getting into trouble when her superior walks in. Credit to Dors for displaying all this in her performance; proving that she really was an underrated actress in the long run.

The flashbacks aren't quite on the same level of quality as the prison scenes, sadly. They're perfectly adequate, of course, but the time jumps feel choppy in comparison to the torturously slow days inside the prison. Some unexpected humour comes from Hammer veteran Michael Ripper as a boisterous, drinking acquaintance admirably trying his best to score with Mary. More importantly, we meet Jim Lancaster (Michael Craig — for genre heads, better known as Charles Thatcher in the Ozploitation gem Turkey Shoot (1982) no less!!!) who wins over Mary's heart, and the incentive to walk out from a loveless marriage. And yet, Jim is utterly obsessed with Lucy (Mercia Shaw) —  a downgrade, in my opinion. Are you blind, mate? When he's dumped by the socialite, he hits the skids, while Mary's affections for Jim, aren't appreciated. Thus, both Mary and Jim become two obsessed individuals. Comically, Thompson's depiction of unreciprocated love and obsession feels akin to Danny Boyle's Glaswegian heroine junkies from the overrated Trainspotting (1996). Jim can't go on living without Doris, which in turn leads to him taking his own life. Biggest insult of all, is Mary reading his suicide note left behind — and it was meant for Lucy. It's the final insult to Mary and answers the questions raised during the film's opening sequence.

Not sure if Yield to the Night would rank in any top twenty prison films list if I were ever bothered to compile one. [There are way too many definitive films  —  Brute Force (1947), Le Trou (1960) The Great Escape (1963), Female Prisoner #701: Scorpion (1972), Porridge (1979), Scum (1979), Chained Heat (1983), Riki-Oh: The Story of Ricky (1991), Starred Up (2013) and Brawl in Cell Block 99 (2017), would possibly be major candidates.] Regardless, Yield to the Night is still an unquestionably compelling prison drama that has earned my appreciation, along with an increased respect for its star, Diana Dors.

Caught the last half an hour of Yield to the Night around 3am on Talking Pictures TV not too long ago. Obviously made a mental note of it on account of Diana Dors playing the lead in a women's prison film, along with it being directed by the mighty J. Lee Thompson - responsible for numerous gems from each respective decade in his career — Ice Cold in Alex (1958), The Guns of Navarone (1961), Conquest of the Planet of the Apes (1972) and the fantastic Charles Bronson thriller 10 to Midnight (1983) are just a few worth mentioning. Hence, this film curiosity turned out to be the most rewarding bout of insomnia since seeing Max Von Sydow running around in his boxer shorts and murdering folk in The Night Visitor (1971), also late night via Talking Pictures TV. Dors claimed Yield to the Night to be one of her best films. It's hard to argue with this opinion, given how great she is it and how successfully it drives its message home. As a child of the Seventies, I'm more aware of her as a bit part actress in classic British horror films from this era, namely Theatre of Blood (1973) and From Beyond the Grave (1974) along with various comedies. More recently, however, it's been an entertaining trip seeing some of her much earlier films like Tread Softly Stranger (1958) and Passport to Shame (1958), despite only being in supporting roles. Yield to the Night is easily the biggest standout from this era I've watched thus far and proof Dors deserved to be a lead in plenty more films. A strong recommendation from me.

* No online trailer available.

Diamonds Aren't Forever

Co-directors Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani, were two of the notable names who helped spearhead the neo-Giallo boom of the late 2000s and early 2010s. Admittedly, both Amer (2009) and The Strange Colour of Your Body's Tears (2013) were just as much surreal art house films as they were throwbacks to Italian thrillers of a bygone era. As a result, these two films were either lauded for their beautifully retro aesthetics by gif-making Tumblr bloggers, or heavily criticised for their incoherence by traditional purists. (For the record, I really enjoyed both of these films; despite making neither sense of them.) The duo expanded their appreciation for Italian genre cinema even further with Let the Corpses Tan (2017), which harkened to Spaghetti Westerns and Poliziotteschi films of the Sixties and Seventies.

 

Now they're back with another ode to the past with the bizarrely titled, Reflection in a Dead Diamond (2025). The synopsis reads:

When the mysterious woman in the room next door disappears, a debonair 70-year-old ex-spy living in a luxury hotel on the Côte d’Azur is confronted by the demons and darlings of a lurid past in which moviemaking, memories and madness collide.

Euro-spy films flourished after the success of the Bond franchise, so it's kind of a win for Cattet and Forzani in casting none other than Italy's very own Sean Connery, Fabio Testi, for their latest movie.

 

Reflection in a Dead Diamond | Trailer

Hélène Cattet & Bruno Forzani | 2025

The trailer looks suitably cinematic and stylish. I'm all in after seeing the rear projected driving scene featuring a masked latex person in a sports car. An obvious homage to Mario Bava's classic comic book caper Danger: Diabolik (1968).

Whether or not Reflection in a Dead Diamond is any good remains to be seen, but given all the awful slop around right now, this is definitely the potential gem to offer some respite.

In Darkness

The Descent (Neil Marshall, 2005)

The first real sign of a British horror renaissance came with Neil Marshall's action horror comedy Dog Soldiers (2002). It turned out to be one of the few lycanthrope themed movies post An American Werewolf in London (1981) that was actually any good. The low budget gem would serve as an appetiser to the Danny Boyle main course that was 28 Days Later — essentially the game changer which gave new life to zombie films. Marshall avoided the dreaded sophomore jinx by delivering his own masterpiece, with the subterranean horror The Descent (2005).

Dog Soldiers had trained men fending against a pack of werewolves; The Descent would follow a similar formula with chicks an all girl, extreme sports collective pitted against the horrors beneath the surface of the earth. Chicks with picks! Ingeniously, Marshall would utilise the dark horrors of a huge underground cave system as a metaphor for trauma, loss and grief. These elements would appear nuanced, initially, becoming increasingly evident throughout the progression of his film.

From The Descent's opening credits, showcasing three of its adventurous characters white water rafting, the audience is introduced to a secret affair. The scenes are short, but linger long enough to imply there is something going on between ultra sporty Juno (Natalie Mendoza) with the husband of Sara (Shauna MacDonald), our protagonist. This is also witnessed by Beth (Alex Reid), Sara's closest friend. We're barely given time to process this situation when a tragic car accident results with the fatalities of Sara's husband and young daughter, Jessica. Sara wakes from her hospital bed, calling for Jessica as she wanders a liminal corridor. The harsh fluorescent lights swiftly turn off as she runs from the darkness. If this isn't a metaphor, I don't know what is.

A year after the tragedy. The three women are joined by three more adrenaline junkies; Holly (Nora-Jane Noone), Rebecca (Saskia Mulder) and Sam (MyAnna Burning), for the latest adventure organised by Juno. This time, it's cave exploration in the Appalachian mountains (it's really filmed in the UK). Call it reckless stupidity, but Juno tricks the clique by taking them to a completely different cave than they were meant to be exploring. Worst of all, she couldn't be bothered to notify any park ranger or a non-party individual of their actual location, either. Therefore, should anything go wrong, a search and rescue team would be sent looking for them in the wrong cave. Genius.

The situation turns serious once the claustrophobic tunnel they've just crawled through collapses, blocking their entrance and possibly, their only exit. Their only choice, is to go further into the cave and search for another way out. As one would predict, events go from bad to worse for the party. From having to traverse across a subterranean ravine, to Holly's succumbing to a broken leg after a fall, to the hundreds of animal carcasses they discover which are littered everywhere. Meanwhile, Sara has apparently gone doolally to everyone when she spies a distant man in the caverns. Worst case scenario is when she turns out to be right, but also, the added bonus of an entire clan of subterranean denizens, nowhere near as likeable as Wombles, holed up with them. Have a guess what their dietary preferences are?

Dubbed as Crawlers, there isn't much suggestion in the film as to what they really are, but the prehistoric cave art is an obvious clue. During the behind the scenes feature, Marshall reveals that the Crawlers are the evolutionary outcome of those human ancestors who had remained in the caves. The design of these feral creatures is first-class. The has made them blind. Also, the lack of any sunlight has made their skin alabaster white and clammy — a bit like Scottish folk. Their hearing, is far more acute than ours; with almost bat-like ears. The creatures emit dolphin sounding clicks as a sonar to navigate, possibly to communicate with one another, too. Very reminiscent of the Predator species sound. Crawlers are also incredibly nimble and dexterous at clambering over the rock surfaces. The male species are bald and hairless, while the females Crawlers have long, black hair.

For a film that's set beneath our feet, The Descent has an immense amount of visual interest to soak in. For instance, there are a variety of different looking areas of all shapes and sizes within this cave system. From expansive areas full of stalactites and stalagmites, to frightfully claustrophobic enclosures. My favourite mise-en-scène is the gruesome pool of blood. These were of course produced in a studio, for obvious safety reasons. An additional benefit, is how atmospherically lit the film is, considering it's entirely set in dark caverns. The use of flares cast a red illuminating light to everything, making it literally look like Hell. Chemical light sticks provide a sickly green glow, while the aid of night vision from the digicam adds a layer of found footage horror, which was commonly part of the trend in the 2000s thanks to the worldwide commercial success of The Blair Witch Project (1999).

Considering the era it was produced, what's truly advantageous about The Descent is its writing. Marshall expertly balances the tight rope of giving enough information about his characters, without burdening them with unnecessary exposition which would drag and potentially suffocate his film. Also, given how its predominantly all female characters, it's a blessing they're not eye-rolling, invincible girl bosses, as is the norm today by lazy and uncreative screenwriters. Juno for instance, has all the hall marks of your typical girl boss, and yet, beneath her tough veneer, is a flawed individual, who serves the film as both a secondary antagonist as well as character being somewhat sympathetic whilst striving to redeem herself. In contrast, Sara develops from an unreliable protagonist and a possible detriment for the clique, to a fighter battling both her own personal demons as well as the very physical ones. This culminates in an intense, and personally speaking, a cruel resolution between Sara and Juno in the film. Making it all the more memorable in the film.

Perhaps the worst offence committed upon The Descent, is the US cut completely editing out Marshall's downbeat ending, ruining Sara's psychological plight which is both prominent and pivotal to the true ending of the film. In a swift and choppy sequence, Sara manages to burrow out from her hell hole and drives as far away as possible. The twist being, it was only a dream. Sara is still trapped down below in the cave. Envisioning her deceased daughter blowing out a birthday cake. Twisted respite before the Crawlers finally reach Sara. Unfortunately, the imaginary escape is seen as the official ending, as the inferior The Descent Part 2 (2009) adheres to the terribly American ending. It isn't enough that Sara escapes, but she foolishly returns to the same cave for the sequel!

 

As enjoyable as some of Neil Marshall's later films were  — I'm quite fond of his obvious Escape from New York, 28 Days Later and Mad Max mash-up, the ridiculous Doomsday (2008), he never hit the same high as The Descent before working on more TV orientated work. Therefore, it makes it all the more invaluable in proclaiming The Descent is one of the best horror films of the 21st century, which by default, makes it one of the best films in general for your genre biased host. Considering, Dog Soldiers already received some 4K UHD boutique love, is it too much to request the same treatment for Marshall's masterpiece? One would say, no!

Viewings: March 2025

What if Federico Fellini delivered a film that wasn't the equivalent of NyQuil? That's exactly what his frequent script collaborator and artistic advisor, Brunello Rondi, achieved with proto-The Exorcist horror, The Demon. Provocative, disturbing and ahead of its time. An early Italian horror gem blessed with a career defining performance from Daliah Lavi.

Film:

 Cash on Demand (Quentin Lawrence, 1961)

The Demon (Brunello Rondi, 1963)*

Straw Dogs (Sam Peckinpah, 1971)

The Legend of Hell House (John Hough, 1973)

Assault! Jack the Ripper (Yasuharu Hasebe, 1976)*

Looking for Mr. Goodbar (Richard Brooks, 1977)

Madame Claude (Just Jaeckin, 1977)*

The Brood (David Cronenberg, 1979)

Scanners (David Cronenberg, 1981)

Der Fan AKA Trance (Eckhart Schmidt, 1982)*

Night of the Creeps (Fred Dekker, 1986)

In the Mood for Love (Wong Kar-Wai, 2000)*

A Bittersweet Life (Kim Jee-woon, 2005)*

The Descent (Neil Marshall, 2005)

The Prestige (Christopher Nolan, 2006)

Popeye the Slayer Man (Robert Michael Ryan, 2025)*

Television:

V (Kenneth Johnson, 1983-1983)

V: The Final Battle (Richard T. Heffron, 1984-1984)

Andor - Season 1 Episodes 1 & 2 (Tony Gilroy, 2022)*

Adolescence - Season 1 Episodes 1-4 (Philip Baratini, 2025)*

 

* First time viewings.

 

Dada Debaser Notes:

• Mentioned A Bittersweet Life being an obvious blind spot in my recent Picks of 2005 post. Having seen it, I can confidently confirm I didn't miss out on Kim Jee-woon's attempt at mimicking Guy Ritchie's gangster flicks.
• Watching anything Star Wars related is like getting back with an ex. Two episodes of the critically acclaimed Andor was enough for me to call it quits. So bored. The magic can never be rekindled.
• Finally got to watch the notorious Nikkatsu Roman Porno Assault! Jack the Ripper. About a couple who get off on sexually assaulting and murdering random women. Utterly depraved and definitely not for the easily offended. Colour me surprised this was recently made available in my region uncut. Thank you, Natasha Kaplinsky!
• Speaking of offended. File Der Fan as a rare film that's way too uncomfortably problematic even for me. Do like a couple of songs off its synth pop soundtrack, though.
• My take on the whole Adolescence hype: Phenomenally great performances, particularly impressive screen debut from child actor Owen Cooper, but the writing is laughably cringe. The one-take gimmick out stays its welcome after the first episode. Didn't need to waste what felt like twenty minutes on Stephen Graham driving to a B&Q.
• The dreaded Dada Debaser death curse struck twice. My mention of Wings Hauser had him galloping to the big rodeo in the sky a couple of weeks later. This was later followed by Clive Revill drifting to the spirit world days after my blog post on The Legend of Hell House. Really ought to watch something with James Corden to make the world right.
• Also revisited V and V: The Final Battle. Has aged considerably, but Jane Badler's scenes as Diana, the Alexis Colby of fascist space lizards, are still top notch.

The Moment I Feared: Part 10

Structures Sonores Lasry-Baschet | Manège

N° 4 | 1965

It was a rare treat in Gen X classrooms when the school TV on wheel coasters was rolled out by the school teacher, as it meant a break from having to do any work. More often it would be a terrifying safety video or a dated educational program. One such program contained a revolving ornate, antique box being accompanied by a haunting, eerie theme from some bygone era. This was the opening sequence to Picture Box (1965-1993), a ten minute educational series by Granada TV, which showcased short films from around the world.

Usually presented by actor Alan Rothwell — known for playing Ken Barlow's brother, David, on the sexagenarian British soap Coronation Street (1960 -) and heroin junkie Nicholas Black on Brookside (1982-2003) — none of the included short films were anywhere near as memorable as the utterly demented music in the intro. The theme was far more appropriate for some scary looking, abandoned sideshow carnival than a children's series.

The show's theme, known as Manège, was created with an instrument known as a baschet, a musical organ consisting of glass rods and played with wet hands, achieving its uniquely ethereal sounds. The instrument's creators, French experimental sound musicians the Baschet Brothers, would become part of the group Structures Sonores Lasry-Baschet specialising in this type of music. Manège would be the most widely recognised them from the group, thanks to its association with Picture Box.

Decades later, Manège lives on as an unwanted and haunting earworm for folks like me. It's the last piece of music one would want to hear before retiring for the night. It's been expanded further into even more sinister territory, thanks to its psychological effect and cultural significance upon Gen X.

Could It Be Tragic

Looking for Mr. Goodbar (Richard Brooks, 1977)

Depressing films focusing on the protagonist's journey of self destruction, aren't exactly a major selling point for me. They tend to be one time only affairs. Witnessing Nicolas Cage drink himself to death was enough for Leaving Las Vegas (1995) was enough for me to never bother watching again. Abel Ferrara's Bad Lieutenant (1992) is possibly the only exception to this rule, but even then, I've still had to go in mentally prepared to rewatch it. For the record, I much prefer Werner Herzog's 2009 remake on account of it being lighter in tone and nowhere near requiring the same mental effort. Richard Brooks's Looking for Mr. Goodbar (1977) is another downbeat film which still haunts me. Way too young to understand its theme and plot when first experiencing it on television sometime in the '80s. The film's shocking climax a permanent memory and garnering enough curiosity for me to want to revisit it once again as an adult.

Adapted from Judith Rossner's 1975 New York Times best seller of the same name, Looking for Mr. Goodbar was inspired by the horrific murder of school teacher Roseanne Quinn. The grisly crime had shone a light on the perils of cruising bars and one night stands. The film rights were already snapped up before Rossner's book was even published. Brooks was hired to adapt the screenplay and helm the film. Aged sixty-five at the time, the director may have been too old to accurately depict the lifestyles of young people hitting the bars and disco clubs of this era.  More importantly, Brooks was not a fan of Rossner's book and made significant changes, including turning the book's theme of female independence into a cautionary morality tale. Dismayed after seeing the adaptation of her novel, Rossner remarked in The Washington Post, "I feel like the mother who delivered her 13-year-old daughter to the door of Roman Polanski and didn't know what was going to happen". Ironically, Roman Polanski turned down the offer to helm the film.

Our heroine, Theresa "Terry" Dunn (Diane Keaton) is a young woman desperate to break from the oppressive roost of her Roman Catholic father (Richard Kiley). Back surgery scarring from childhood scoliosis has left Terry with both Ugly Duckling Syndrome. Adulthood has her fantasising sexual liberation. Her earliest sexual awakening manifests from her affair with a university professor, Martin (Alan Feinstein). Despite Martin's mistreatment of her, she is always wanting. Martin ending their relationship leads to her dreaming of walking into the road and being run over by the ex.

The fantasies lead to Terry seeking escapism in various bars and clubs. At first, she appear capable to balance her night life with her job as a school teacher for deaf children. But burning the candle at both ends becomes costly and harder to control. The duality of her existence bleeds into one and affects both her professional career and her personal life. During her descent she exclaims, "I'm alone! I'm alone, I'm not lonely." which comes across in Keaton's delivery as an obvious cry for help than a yell of her independence.

Terry is not the only woman in the Dunn family experiencing reckless sexual abandon. Her older sister, Katherine (Tuesday Weld and received an Oscar nomination in this film) is divorced, pregnant and eager to get an abortion in Puerto Rico. Eventually, Katherine remarries a property owner, where they watch adult films and host group sex parties. Terry's other sister, Brigid (Laurie Prange), is barely in the film, but is generally characterised as being more homely, but completely unhappy in her scenes.

The men of the film are perhaps the most exaggerated characters. If Terry's father and Martin aren't enough representations of dominating figures in her life, then they're positively tame compared to the rest of the indisputable red flags Terry hooks up with. There's Tony (Richard Gere), a precursor to his Jesse Lujack in Breathless (1983), a jack-the-lad womanizer, who she meets at a bar whilst reading Mario Puzo's 1969 novel The Godfather (obvious reference to Diane Keaton being in the Francis Coppola film), and dancing in his jockstrap with a glow-in-the-dark switch blade. Later on, he picks her door lock with it and breaks into her apartment. James (William Atherton, best known for being dickless and the odious reporter from the first two Die Hard films) is caseworker, masquerading as a do-gooder, winning over Terry's parents with his Catholic boy charm, only to be a creepy stalker. Then, there's Gary (Tom Berrenger). Introduced to us very late in the film, is a man in complete denial of his homosexuality  "I'm a pitcher, not a catcher!" he says to his boyfriend whilst dressed in drag. Perhaps his best line, "In my neighbourhood if you didn't fight you were a fruit. In prison if you didn't fight you spread ass." It's fairly evident he belongs in a psych ward when you see how wildly out of control and dangerously volatile his behaviour is to anyone with a shred of common sense - except of course, the unfortunate Terry.

The look of Looking for Mr. Goodbar is one that revels in its grime and sleaziness. Brooks demanded William A. Fraker, his cinematographer, to make the film look as dark as possible. This was in order to conceal the copious amounts of nudity and the explicit nature of the film. So dark, I couldn't tell if it was lint, or an unkempt lady garden protruding from Diane Keaton's arse crack in one scene. It would also possess that shabby and beat-up look one would find from other acclaimed films with an urban setting from this era, like The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974), Taxi Driver (1976) and Saturday Night Fever (1977). The latter receives the most comparisons with Looking for Mr. Goodbar; largely because they were both from the same year, filled with disco anthems and contained dark moments. Fortunately, Saturday Night Fever ends with an uplifting and positive scene for its protagonist, Tony Manero: can't say the same for Terry Dunn.

Not the wisest decision to include a whole bunch of recognisable '70s song anthems (see the list below) in the very opening credits to any film. Hence, the reason Looking for Mr. Goodbar was stuck in a legal quagmire over music licensing and never got a proper release beyond video until now (extremely limited release on DVD at one point, however). As a result, the film became a holy grail for many cinephiles to have on Blu-ray, even making it on a prior wish list of mine. It's also rather bizarre that boutique, distribution label Vinegar Syndrome, a label synonymous with deluxe packaging and great film transfers of absolute turds, managed to achieve the impossible and release it on 4K no less; automatically making it one of the best home releases of 2024 for me.

Top Five Songs off the Looking for Mr. Goodbar soundtrack:

Diana Ross - Love Hangover

The O'Jays - Backstabbers

Bill Withers - She's Lonely

Donna Summer - Prelude to Love/Could It Be Magic

Boz Scaggs - Lowdown 

Overall, revisiting Looking for Mr. Goodbar again after so many decades has been really worthwhile. Apart from a documentary about the actual murder case and a Madonna song inspired by it, it's generally regarded as a forgotten film.  Achieving critical acclaim upon its release, notably for Diane Keaton's performance (also winning the best actress Oscar in the same year for Annie Hall (1977)), to a worryingly problematic film by today's standards. Which makes Looking for Mr. Goodbar an appealing film for an unapologetic exploitation head like myself with the occasional flirtation in more serious cinema. 

A bleakly depressing drama with an unforgettable ending. But a film that both satisfied my curiosity and  made me more appreciative of as an adult.

One-Off Slashers

Randomly had the urge to compile a list of slasher films that never received a sequel or the remake treatment. Which is insane considering sequels are usually more achievable for horror films than most other film genres.

By no means a definitive list, but these are titles which scored favourably from me on Letterboxd at some point in time.

Rituals (Peter Carter, 1977)

Don't Go in the House (Joseph Ellison, 1979)

Tourist Trap (David Schmoeller, 1979)

New Year's Evil (Emmett Alston, 1980)

Nightmares (John D. Lamond, 1980)

The Burning (Tony Maylam, 1981)

Butcher, Baker, Nightmare Maker AKA Night Warning (William Asher, 1981)

Deadly Blessing (Wes Craven, 1981)

Eyes of a Stranger (Ken Weiderhorn, 1981)

Ghostkeeper (James Makichuk, 1981)

Graduation Day (Herb Freed, 1981)

Happy Birthday to Me (J. Lee Thompson, 1981)

Hell Night (Tom DeSimone, 1981)

Hospital Massacre (Boaz Davidson, 1981)

Just Before Dawn (Jeff Lieberman, 1981)

Madman (Joe Giannone, 1981)

Night School (Ken Hughes, 1981)

The Prowler AKA Rosemary's Killer (Joseph Zito, 1981)

Girls Nite Out AKA The Scaremaker (Robert Deubel, 1982)

Humongous (Paul Lynch, 1982)

The New York Ripper (Lucio Fulci, 1982)

Pieces (Juan Piquer Simón, 1982)

Pranks AKA The Dorm That Dripped Blood (Stephen Carpenter, Jeffrey Obrow, 1982)

Unhinged (Don Gronquist, 1982)

Curtains (Richard Ciupka, 1983)

The Funhouse (Tobe Hooper, 1983)

The Prey (Edwin Brown, 1983)

Sweet Sixteen (Jim Sotos, 1983)

Blood Tracks (Mats Helge, Mike Jackson, 1985)

Killer Party (William Fruet, 1986)

Slaughter High (Mark Ezra, Peter Litten, George Dugdale, 1986)

Doom Asylum (Richard Friedman, 1987)

Stage Fright (Michele Soavi, 1987)

Cheerleader Camp AKA Bloody Pom Poms (Joe Quinn, 1988) 

Intruder (Scott Spiegel, 1989)

Shocker (Wes Craven, 1989)

Popcorn (Mark Herrier, 1991)

Happy Hell Night (Brian Owens, 1992)

Skinner (Ivan Nagy, 1993)

Brainscan (John Flyn, 1994)

Kolobos (Daniel Liatowitsch, David Todd Ocvirk, 1999)

Shredder (Greg Huson, 2003)

All the Boys Love Mandy Lane (Jonathan Levine, 2006)

Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon (Scott Glosserman, 2006)

F (Johannes Roberts, 2010)

Hush (Mike Flanagan, 2016)

Haunt (Scott Beck, Bryan Woods, 2018)

Candy Land (John Swab, 2022)

Totally Killer (Nahnatchka Khan, 2023)

Said it before and I'll say it again: 1981 was a golden year for horror and the slasher!

Don't Go in the Hell House

Don't | Short Film

Edgar Wright | 2007

Feeling like a complete philistine not realising Edgar Wright's fake film trailer Don't (2007), as featured in the Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez's double bill Grindhouse (2007), took inspiration from the opening titles in John Hough's British supernatural chiller The Legend of Hell House (1973) until now.

The Legend of Hell House | Opening Titles

John Hough | 1973

On another revelation related to The Legend of Hell House, I never realised how masterfully atmospheric the electronic score from Delia Derbyshire and Brian Hodgson (both were music composers for the long running BBC sci-fi series Doctor Who) was. Haunting would be an understatement.

Unfortunately there hasn't ever been an official release of the soundtrack, just an extremely limited edition of a bootleg:

Sumner of Sam

Straw Dogs (Sam Peckinpah. 1971)

From cowboys to cowboy builders! One might have thought American director Sam Peckipah, a film maker synonymous with violenct westerns, would have taken a change in direction with Straw Dogs (1971), considering it being his first feature outside of the genre. The psychological thriller set in an idyllic part off the Cornish coast in the Southwest of England, would be even more problematic than his ultra violent The Wild Bunch (1969). Peckinpah's shocking and cumbersome depiction of rape would forever mire the film with controversy. As a result, Straw Dogs would be banned in the UK during the mid Eighties, despite some cuts. Time to revisit the grand daddy of home invasion films.

American mathematician David Sumner (Dustin Hoffman) and his young, English wife Amy (Susan George) have moved to the latter's family home in Cornwall. The reason why is somewhat vague in the film, although it's hinted that David felt disillusioned or possibly scared over America's social climate during that time. Consequentially, the fight or flight theme would develop into an invaluable proponent to David's development as a character. Similarly, it would also highlight a very clear divide between him and Amy.

From the opening scenes, Straw Dogs depicts the Sumners in a marital struggle. A mismatched couple: he, a cowardly individual devoted to his work; Amy, the young and beautiful trophy wife, desperate for affection. Their relationship appears strained. Locating to the village where Amy was born and raised, is a last ditch effort for the Sumners to get things working again. Subsequentially, this proves to be a mistake, with Amy's old flame Charlie Venner (Del Henney) is around and still harbouring feelings for her. Venner's complete lack of respect for their marriage being unashamedly on display from the offset. Foolishly, Charlie is hired to help speed up the urgent work needed at the Sumner's farm. A leering Norman Scutter (Ken Hutchison), who also lusts for Amy, and odious rat catcher Chris Cawsey (Jim Norton) have taken too long to finish repairing the farm roof at the Sumner's residence.

A very clear cut of yin and yang can be seen with the characters Tom Heddon (Peter Vaughan) and Major John Scott (T.P. McKenna). Heddon, being the drunken and oafish bully, while the Major being the closes thing to the local sheriff. In some ways, Straw Dogs is a Western; albeit being set in the South West of England. The disdain between these two characters is obvious on-screen. The pleasantries are short, abrupt and insincere. The equilibrium destroyed in the third act, leading to the siege on the Sumner's home.

Peckinpah was battling some serious demons during the film's production. Various interviews with cast and crew mention how the director was drinking heavily and seriously in ill health, one person describing it as"walking pneumonia". Actor, Ken Hutchison reflects on the time when Peckinpah would tell him to come drinking with him at 3:00am in Land's End. During filming, Peckinpah would swap his coffee thermos with one containing scotch. The producers were concerned enough to order a replacement director to lurk on the film set should Peckinpah be unable to continue with the production. It's a miracle Peckipah managed to complete the film, in all seriousness.

This explains how the controversial double rape scene was handled. According to Susan George, a relative unknown at the time, she felt understandably worried about shooting the controversial scene. Intimacy co-ordinators didn't exist in the Seventies, and Peckinpah's withholding what he required from her, resulted with George threatening to quit from the film. What unfolds on film is a deeply unpleasant watching experience; then again such a traumatising experience always is. The sexual assault upon her by Venner is portrayed as being ambiguous, making it problematic. Amy's appears to be enjoying it in some instances. The scene is intercut with a pathetic looking David alone and abandoned at the hunt engineered by Venner to separate the couple. What's less of a grey area is the brutal second rape by Scutter, with Venner pinning Amy down during the horrific process.

Ironically, it's not the rape of his wife which turns the timid David Sumner into a shotgun wielding protector (he's unaware of it, after all), it's his deep seated urge to protect an unknown he's taken into his care after hitting him with his car. The stranger in question being local weirdo and possible nonce Henry Niles (David Warner, uncredited) fleeing from the scene after accidentally killing Heddon's daughter. When the whereabouts of Niles are revealed, Heddon and his drunken vigilante mob, consisting of the very same yokels who've wrought hell upon the Sumners, descend upon the Sumner's home. The result is a violent and drunken siege, which almost comes across as surreal at times, with David no longer running away, "This is where I live. This is me. I will not allow violence against this house." It also reveals just how different David and Amy really, along with the extent of the deterioration of their marriage. In one instance, when Scutter invades Amy's bedroom, she yells for both David and Charlie to help her.

Adapted from Gordon Williams's 1969 book The Siege of Trencher's Farm, Peckinpah made some major changes (e.g. the omission of the couple's daughter from the film adaptation), which angered the author. Amusingly, Peckinpah considered the book as "drowning in your own vomit" and went on record with saying, "I thinks Mr. Williams has a penchant for his own work. I don't." Furthermore, Peckinpah continued to explore his trademark themes centred around masculinity and violence. Hence, what would make such a timid and diminutive intellectual like David Sumner finally snap and smash a man's brains in with an iron poker while Scottish bagpipes are blaring in the background? This isn't a scenario that manifests spontaneously, and that's the beauty of Straw Dogs. The intense violence is built up thanks to a variety of nuanced verbal exchanges before they become physical. Which makes Straw Dogs an incredible ticking time bomb of a film, even after half a century.

Peckinpah's direction creates a sense of nihilism throughout, tainting the idyllic beauty of the Cornish locale. With the exception of possibly the Major, there aren't any real good guys within the film. Everyone appears to be portrayed as either deeply vile or completely damaged goods; including the Sumners. This makes Straw Dogs a pessimistic film, but a deeply engrossing one, however. Essentially, a film which requires a certain frame of mind, and not something to watch on the whim.

Ironically, Peckinpah wasn't the only American auteur to brings plenty of film controversy to the Great Britain that year, Stanley Kubrick would unleash a bit of the old ultra violence with his dystopian film A Clockwork Orange (1971). The two films would often draw comparisons, and were both subsequentially banned. However, given just how much Peckipah was always obsessed with the male machismo, I personally find Ted Kotcheff's seminal Australian thriller Wake in Fright (1971) a more fitting partner to Straw Dogs. They would also make for a suitable film double-bill. Can't comment on the Straw Dogs (2011) remake, as I never bothered with it.

Classic British thriller.