As the World Burns

The Day the Earth Caught Fire (Val Guest, 1961)

The enduring British heatwave provides an opportune time to revisit the prescient science fiction classic The Day the Earth Caught Fire (1961), written by Val Guest and Wolf Mankowitz. Guest’s impressive filmography as a director reflected the thriving health of the British film industry through the 1950s; as evidenced by The Quatermass Xperiment (1955), Quatermass 2 (1957) and The Abominable Snowman (1957) for Hammer Films. The decline would also be mirrored by his sex comedies Au Pair Girls (1972) and Confessions of a Window Cleaner (1974). Fortunately, The Day the Earth Caught Fire was produced during a period when both the quality of Guest’s output and the state of British cinema were far healthier. Nevertheless, the film maker had to utilise his own influence and establish a production company to bring this personal passion project to fruition. The film was not considered a desirable property by other studios. 

Presented in a striking yellow hue, The Day the Earth Caught Fire opens with a car announcing an important countdown as it drives through a dystopian Piccadilly Circus, in central London. The purpose of this announcement, is yet to be revealed. The scene transitions to a solitary man walking through a deserted Fleet Street, the hub of the British press. This man is Peter Stenning (Edward Judd in his first lead role), a journalist at the Daily Express, who is unable to write what might potentially be his final article and that of mankind, because the ink ribbon of his typewriter has turned into a molten sludge. He finds a work around by transcribing it to the perspiring copy desk worker on the other end of his phone.

“It is exactly 30 minutes since the corrective bombs were detonated. Within the next few hours, the world will know whether this is the end or another beginning. The rebirth of man or his final obituary. For the last time, man pursued his brother with a sword, and so the final fire was kindled. The Earth that was to live forever was blasted by a great wind towards oblivion. It is strange to think that barely 90 days ago…” — Peter Stenning

Before Stenning can finish his monologue, The Day the Earth Caught Fire flashes back to a more palatable monochrome visual, depicting the busy offices of the Daily Express. It’s raining outside. Amidst reports of floods in Ascot and earthquakes in Jakarta, an even more concerning hot scoop has occurred: the simultaneous detonation of two atomic bombs by the United States and the Soviet Union. Stenning is reintroduced in a less ominous context.

Due to a messy divorce, it is revealed that our once gifted journalist has hit a career slump, and the bottle. If not for the watchful care of his professional colleague, science editor Bill Maguire (the best Number Two from The Prisoner, Leo McKern), Stenning would have already been out on his ear by now. In the wake of the detonations, our protagonist is sent on a menial task by the paper to learn more about the recent increase of sunspots. The’ve been causing havoc on aerial transmissions. After barging his way to speak with the big cheese at the British Met Office, our reporter encounters Jeannie Craig (Janet Munro), a typist there who Stenning had been rude to during an earlier phone conversation. He subsequently receives a slap in the face from her. Even more humbling for our protagonist, he misses his sunspots article deadline, and it’s Maguire who saves his skin, by both writing the article and crediting it to Stenning.

Despite its sensationalist title, The Day the Earth Caught Fire approaches its outlandish premise with maturity and intelligence. This is largely due to the enduring relevance of its anti-bomb message and its prophetic vision on extreme climate change. The gravitas of the premise is reflected with the absence of a dedicated score. No bongos in this '60s science fiction film!

The nuclear detonations have caused widespread outrage. While attending a nuclear disarmament protest in Trafalgar Square, Stenning witnesses an unexpected solar eclipse. Along with the unusual weather conditions occurring globally, the Daily Express’s editor-in-chief Jeff Jefferson (played by real life editor Arthur Christiansen, delivering some truly amateur levels of acting in the few scenes he is in) hypothesises that all the phenomena are linked to the nuclear tests. Evidently, he isn’t the only one who believes this, hence an unexpected television broadcast by the government denying the connection.

The record breaking heatwave is felt all over the nation. After spending quality time at the funfair with his young son, Stenning has a chance encounter with Jeannie once again, while she is sunbathing by the Thames river. This time, it’s a much friendlier meeting between the two, and the potential of a romance appears to be on the cards. “Look there’s a lunch place down there, by the boating pool. We can get fish and chips and pretend we’re in Venice.” Classy. During the flirtations, the local crowd rushes to the edge of the Thames. An eerie fog, not unlike the luminescent one from John Carpenter’s 1980 film The Fog, envelops the entire city. Maguire theorises that the heat mist is the result of the melting of the polar ice caps. He further speculates that the unusual weather conditions can be explained by a shift in the Earth’s axis caused by the two atomic tests. Maguire’s hypothesis is confirmed when Jeannie reluctantly turns whistleblower. The global emergency is further worsened when Jefferson’s source in the Soviet Union reveals that the Earth’s orbit has been disrupted by the atomic tests, and has sent the planet hurtling towards the sun. 

The meticulous attention to the film’s three main characters fosters a strong emotional connection with them. Edward Judd’s character undergoes the most development throughout the film; from his initial saturnine state of personal despair, to receiving a new lease of life with his relationship with Munro’s Jeannie. Val Guest appears to favour having Janet Munro in compromising situations that emphasise her physical attributes and vulnerability. One notable example is her home being invaded by a cult of doomsday beatniks, terrorising her while she is naked in her bath. One wanders what would have happened had Stenning not come to her rescue in time. I find it reminiscent of the motel scene in Touch of Evil (1958), where a menacing gang of leather jacketed, greased-haired juveniles drug and abduct a helpless Janet Leigh. Rounding the trio off, is Leo McKern’s Maguire, who, beneath all the world-weary cynicism, offers a paternal-like helping hand to Stenning (“Tell me about sunspots, Daddy!”), giving him multiple chances to redeem himself. Perhaps he perceives Stenning as a lab rat in determining whether or not mankind can be redeemed.

Val Guest manages to incorporate genuine newsreel disaster clips, as well as editing in actual footage from anti-bomb demonstrations into his film. They provide an air of cinéma vérité and build a sense of urgency and realism to his doomsday tale. In the context of the news, it is evident that Guest holds a high regard for the press; portraying it as an honourable profession, rather than the bunch of lying, manipulative bastards of today. The inclusion of Arthur Christiansen, a real editor with limited acting ability, in the film may be considered excessive for the sake of authenticity, but I’m willing to believe Guest might have perceived the journalistic class was cut from a different cloth back then. The director even includes the original Art Deco building on Fleet Street, which still remains as the London headquarters of the Daily Express to this day.

Beyond the three leads, the film’s appeal is further enhanced by its depiction of the British public’s reaction to the worsening ecological situation. Initially, the heatwave is met with widespread enjoyment, as women on the high street wear bikinis and revel in the sunny weather. However, when the heat mist blankets the city causing the public to become disoriented and unable to find their way home, concern begins to grow. When water amenities become scarce and force the populace into queues, the film depicts a return to the familiar wartime spirit. As society descends into chaos, particularly among younger generations, who engage in street parties and rioting, the narrative transitions from the whimsical style of the Ealing Studios film to the more sombre and nihilistic tone of science fiction films from the late 1960s and into the 1970s. Definitely a film ahead of its time, in many respects.

Filmed in a 2.35: 1 aspect ratio, The Day the Earth Caught Fire presents the devastation of extreme climate change in a panoramic view. Les Bowie’s special effects are particularly striking in this format. Familiar landmarks and cityscapes are smothered by an eerie fog or distorted by the scorching heat, creating a surreal atmosphere.

I feel obligated to mention a couple of uncredited actors in the film. Carry On stalwart Peter Butterworth appears in a few brief scenes as a Daily Express journalist. An unusual role for him, considering he is primarily associated with being a comedic actor. Finally, there is a minor bit part for a young Michael Caine as a policeman warning our Stenning to “Stay clear of Chelsea! They say it’s pretty rough down there”, in his ever so distinctive Cockney accent.

In a desperate attempt to correct this disaster, both the superpowers decide to detonate two additional bombs, at exactly the same positions as before, hoping to return the Earth back to its natural orbit. The film concludes with ambiguity regarding the outcome. Two Daily Express front pages are hanging off the printing press: one celebrating humanity’s successful attempt to save the world, and the other lamenting its total destruction. Stenning's final monologue reflecting the ambiguity of mankind's fate in the film.

“So man has sown the wind and reaped the whirlwind. Perhaps, in the next few hours, there will be no remembrance of the past and no hope for the future that might have been. All the works of man will be consumed in the great fire out of which he was created. But perhaps at the heart of the burning light into which he has thrust his world, there is a heart that cares more for him than he has ever cared for himself. And if there is a future for man, insensitive as he is, proud and defiant in his pursuit of power, let him resolve to live it lovingly, for he knows well how to do so. Then he may say once more, truly the light is sweet, and what a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to see the sun.” — Peter Stenning

Unless one considers the US release of the film, which added the sound of jubilant church bells signalling the world had been saved. This is not the only classic British film to have its finale altered for its transatlantic release. The 2005 film The Descent features a similarly upbeat alternative ending that was the basis for an inferior sequel.

Given its age, The Day the Earth Caught Fire may disappoint those expecting something more akin to a trashy science fiction B-movie. This is a distinctly more serious film with a heavy focus on character and emotional resonance. Beneath the veneer of the doomsday scenario lies a story of mankind as its central theme. There are no Martians intent on obliterating us; our destructive enemy is ourselves. And it is driven home by Val Guest's didactic sense of urgency that makes it even more relevant today.

The Day the Caught Fire is currently available on Blu-ray in the US by Kino Lorber and in the UK by the BFI.

The Man of Steal

Danger: Diabolik (Mario Bava, 1968)

Until recently, I had deliberately delayed reviewing Mario Bava’s deliriously, mad cap film Danger: Diabolik (1968) due to not having read any of the comics it was adapted from. The master thief known as Diabolik was created by Italian sisters Angela and Luciana Giussani in 1962. He was more of an anti-hero/villain, given his motivations and actions. From my understanding, the ingenious thief, with a maniacal laugh, would not hesitate to murder any innocent bystander who stood in his way. Hence, the book is allegedly more subversive than traditional comics of that era. Diabolik’s popularity spawned a whole sub-genre of Italian comics known as fumetti neri (dark comics) and gave rise to other notorious characters: Kriminal, Satanik and Sadik; some of which had their own film adaptations.

I found it challenging to locate an English translation of Diabolik . As an alternative, I decided to watch the recent trilogy of films directed by the Manetti Brothers: Diabolik (2021); Diabolik: Ginko Attacks! (2022) and Diabolik: Who Are You? (2024). Fans of the comic consider the trilogy to be more faithful to the source material compared to Bava’s film. After binge-watching all three films, I shan’t bother with the comic books. They are drab, dire and completely lifeless. The complete opposite of Bava's adaptation. All three of them are diabolically bad (I thought I was being clever here, but I'll probably regret typing that sentence whenever I reread this review). Therefore, I can confidently conclude Danger: Diabolik is the superior version; regardless of its deviation from the comic.

Danger: Diabolik is pure bork overload. A visually striking Italian-French co-production, characterised by Bava’s vibrant colour palette and camera wizardry; grandiose and opulent set designs; recognisable European actors in camp mode; and Il Maestro of film composers, Ennio Morricone, creating a distinctive blend of his trademark spaghetti western sounds, ecclesiastical organs, jazzy pop and lounge lizard muzak, furthering the psychedelic experience. The result is a demented Pop-Art film that easily sits between the early James Bond films and the kitsch Batman television series.

The film’s production history was fraught with difficulties. The Nanny’s Seth Holt was the original director when filming commenced in 1965; with Jean Sorel being cast as the titular character. Producer Dino De Laurentiis was dissatisfied with the dailies and production was brought to a halt until Mario Bava was hired to restart the film on a significantly reduced budget. Sorel was out by this time. Having already been familiar with the comic, John Phillip Law secured the lead after impressing De Laurentiis with his dastardly eyebrow expressions; a skill essential when having to wear a latex balaclava while racing around in a speedboat or a sport scar. Bava was unhappy with Catherine Deneuve as Eva Kent, Diabolik's beautiful girlfriend and partner in crime. The Austrian bombshell Marisa Mell was subsequently cast in her place. This proved to be a successful casting decision as Law and Mell exhibited great onscreen chemistry and contributed to the racy scenes in the film.

In terms of the film’s plot, Diabolik’s ingenious and daring heists have driven the nameless European country’s Minister of Interior, played by the gap-toothed, British toff Terry-Thomas, to extreme measures: by enforcing the death penalty on all criminals. His arch-nemesis, Inspector Ginko (Michel Piccoli), is counting on the crime syndicate, led by Ralph Valmont (Adolfo Celi, virtually reprising his villainous role as Emilio Largo from the 1965 James Bond film Thunderball) to rid them of the master thief. Following the kidnapping of his beloved Eva and a free-falling confrontation with Valmont, Diabolik steals the world’s largest gold ingot. Unaware that traces of the ingot were irradiated under Ginko’s orders, thus the objects serves as a homing device. This leads to the law's discovery of Diabolik’s secret lair and the film’s climactic finale.

Bava’s film presents an intriguing dynamic by positioning Diabolik against both law enforcement and the criminal underworld; forcing the master thief into an anti-hero. This is evident when he unleashes a bombing campaign against the state’s tax department after learning of their enforcement of the death penalty. By not permitting Diabolik to steal, he will reciprocate by preventing the government from doing the same. His anti-establishment and individualistic nature comes across as subversive and ahead of its time for a 1960s comic book character.

Danger: Diabolik is an exceptional visual experience for those who appreciate wonderfully eccentric and vibrant cinema. Mario Bava was a masterful filmmaker; renowned for his exquisite cinematic eye, autistic levels of detail to the mise-en-scène and ingenious visual effects. Bava demonstrated his ability to create a wonderfully whimsical and trippy comic book movie with the same care and attention to the sumptuous, atmospheric, gothic Italian horror he became renowned for. A very versatile and capable director, who was unjustly lumped as a poor man's Alfred Hitchcock.

The elaborate sets provide an exceptional playground that are a huge part to the film’s charm. The most notable is Diabolik’s underground lair. An eye-catching, post-modernist structure built within a vast cavern. It’s spectacular enough to rival some of Ernst Stavro Blofeld’s residences. The home is furnished with modern conveniences including his and hers groovy showers and a giant, rotating circular bed (you won’t find one of them in Dreams) where they make passionate love all day amongst all their stolen cash. Not exactly hygienic, but a lifestyle I can respect. The lair is surrounded by a fleet of Jaguar E-Types; the protagonist’s trademark wheels. With a subterranean entrance to the sea, Diabolik’s hideout comes complete with its own submarine. A convenient transport for moving a giant gold ingot. Above all, I’m particularly fond of the giant pipe organ which serves as the lair’s security alarm. A unique, yet very fitting device for any supervillain.

Sources suggest the reason a sequel was never made was that Bava did not enjoy his experience working with De Laurentiis. Alternatively, the film’s commercial failure is a more plausible explanation. If Danger: Diabolik had been successful, a sequel would have been produced even without Bava’s involvement. Regardless of which is true, it is now considered a cult film and often listed amongst the best comic book movies by various media. 

Danger: Diabolik did not leave the same first impression on me as Bava's gothic horror films initially did. The film has greatly grown on me with subsequent revisits. I think it might have been Diabolik’s quintessential European stylings and campiness being not to my taste during my edge lord youth. This was a time when Batman had long abandoned the campiness of the ‘60s television series and embraced the dark and gothic sensibilities as reflected by Tim Burton’s 1989 Batman film. Since then, however, I have found Danger: Diabolik deeply refreshing in comparison to the irreverent deconstruction and revisionism committed to familiar comics book characters today. They are trends that have become increasingly tiresome and clichéd for me. Hence, a fictional character who steals for the adrenaline rush and to support his lavish lifestyle with his sexy girlfriend, is both beautifully simplistic and far more appealing to me than the latest Marvel and DC slop.

One of Mario Bava’s greatest films.

Eureka has recently released a superb 4K UHD of Danger: Diabolik as part of its Masters of Cinema series. This is perhaps my favourite boutique film release of the year. Alternatively, I would highly recommend that those who have not seen the film to check it out for free on YouTube. Deep, deep down, you know you want to!

Be Seeing You (Again)

Three types of people I do not trust: politicians, journalists and those who pretend to know all the answers to The Prisoner. The latter was a one-off series consisting of seventeen episodes that aired on ATV in the United Kingdom from 1967 to 1968. It followed the trend of spy shows at the time, particularly the popular series Danger Man (1960–1968). Both of which commissioned by the cigar-smoking TV impresario Lew Grade and featured actor Patrick McGoohan in the lead. McGoohan would also be the series's co-creator; as well as writer and director on several episodes. Where The Prisoner differed from its predecessor was in its deliberate subversion of the traditional formula. Instead, it embraced 1960s counterculture and postmodernist allegories.

The opening titles sequence sets up the series's premise perfectly. The titular character storming into his boss’s office and angrily handing over his letter of resignation (I love it when the tea cup leaps up from the saucer when McGoohan bangs his fist on the table with the sounds of a thunder clap), before being subsequently gassed and abducted from his home. Our hero awakens to find himself in a cell designed to resemble his actual apartment in an idyllic coastal village.

Despite his defiant protest of not being a number, McGoohan’s unnamed protagonist would be identified as Number Six by both his warders and fellow prisoners. Number Six would be subjected to dastardly scenarios designed to probe his mind and break his spirit in order to obtain vital information; namely the reason for his resignation. The ingenuity of these methods were worthy of being films themselves; ranging from the use of psychotropic drugs, elaborate role plays and mind-swapping; in fact the plot to A. B. and C. is strikingly similar to Christopher Nolan's 2010 espionage sci-fi thriller Inception; albeit, without the bloviated run time, gimmicky cityscape effects and Han Zimmer's BWAAH horns.

The prison without bars would also house a number of other individuals; presumably from a similar background to our hero. Number Six’s constant dilemma would be distinguishing between the inmates and the warders. What was abundantly clear was Rover, a white weather balloon that belted out a terrifying scream whenever appearing on screen, which served as the Village's guard dog. The bouncing spherical menace would retrieve escapees with their horrified faces imprinted on its latex surface; the stuff of nightmares for any child at the time. Who knew a balloon could be this scary?

Number Six's desperation to escape from the ever surveillant confines of the Village was halted by a constantly changing rota of actors (including Leo McKern Peter Wyngarde and Guy Dolman) playing Number Two; the main antagonist. The predominantly British cast in the series, indirectly suggested Number Six's captors were possibly his former employers. Considering The Prisoner was produced during the height of the Cold War, the series does however allude to both sides being indistinguishable. 

What is indisputable is how The Prisoner foresaw a dystopian world of mass surveillance and blatant abuse of our privacies. In the episode The Chimes of Big Ben, Number Two describes the Village as “an international community, a  perfect blueprint for world order. When the sides facing each other suddenly realise that they're looking into a mirror, they'll see that this is the pattern for the future.” Eerily prophetic. 

The rivalry between Number Six and the differing incarnations of Number Two was a key element of the series’s appeal. Each Number Two utilised a distinct method to extract information from his fellow "lifer", Number Six. In turn, Number Six would exploit any potential weaknesses he found in his enemies. In the episode Hammer Into Anvil, Patrick Cargill’s sadistic Number Two is driven to insanity by our hero after inciting a female prisoner to committing suicide.

Throughout the series, the recurring questions were: who was the eponymous prisoner before he became Number Six, and why did he resign? For the tuned-in audience, however, the identity of Number One was the biggest mystery of them all. By the time of Fallout, the final episode, the busy surrealism, head-scratching symbolism and absolute insanity would prove perplexing enough for it to be analysed and discussed for nigh on sixty years. Thus, apart from its overtly avant-garde 1960s visual aesthetics, much of The Prisoner’s enduring cult appeal stemmed from theorising interpretations of it. 

If Number Six represented the defiant individual, then the Village epitomised a collectivist world of conformity. Ironically, once Number Six’s right to be an individual is finally recognised by a kangaroo court in the climactic finale, a masked collective, representing various societal aspects, mockingly repeats his first word, "I!" And so, the mechanism of the collective hive mind continues on. Back in London, the sound of Number Six’s front door sounding like his cell in the Village invites the theory that both he and the viewer are both prisoners in the grand scheme of it all. Certainly food for thought, but frustrating for those expecting straightforward answers to recurring questions rather than symbolic allegories. 

When Fallout premiered, the viewers were so disappointed, they jammed up ATV's switchboards; eventually McGoohan was forced to go into hiding with his family. Time, however, has been much kinder to both the series and its star. The Prisoner has also been fortunate to be niche enough not to be dragged into a culture war battleground like other nerdcore properties; which is ironic, given many of the show's themes and subject matter are even more relevant today.

Considering McGoohan’s lifelong scrutinisation regarding The Prisoner, it is possible to categorise him as either a brilliant mind whose work was misunderstood by the "rotten cabbages", or as the perpetrator of one of our greatest media pranks, à la Orson Welles’ 1938 War of the Worlds radio broadcast and Panorama’s spaghetti tree hoax in 1957. Regardless, The Prisoner remains a compelling work that is worth revisiting for its sheer mind fuckery. It's also a lot of fun watching people getting accosted by a weather balloon, too.

Depending on where you are, you can watch The Prisoner for free on YouTube, along with Century 21 Films' superb feature length documentary about the series, The Making of the Prisoner: Don't Knock Yourself Out. 

Out of Sight (and Sound)

Despite Letterboxd being another example of narcissists ruining another social media platform with their awful opinions, I do concede it's an invaluable medium for collating data on films being watched.

What's particularly noteworthy are the one hundred films from the 1960s which got a score of four stars or higher from me on the site. Haven't ventured further back than the '70s when compiling films picks from various years on this blog, so this list serves as as something of a curiosity. In any case, it does prove the '60s was a more productive decade than the measly eighteen films from the 2020s which also scored the same ratings as them.

By no means is it a best of list, but it does show everything that I've liked and logged there between 2014-2016 and my return in 2022 to the present day.

 

Beat Girl (Edmond T. Gréville, 1960)

Black Sunday (Mario Bava, 1960) 

The City of the Dead (John Llewellyn Moxey, 1960)

Eyes Without a Face (Georges Franju, 1960) 

Le Trou (Jacques Becker, 1960) 

Peeping Tom (Michael Powell, 1960) 

Psycho (Alfred Hitchcock, 1960) 

Spartacus (Stanley Kubrick, 1960)

The Time Machine (George Pal, 1960) 

Village of the Damned (Wolf Rilla, 1960) 

Cash on Demand (Quentin Lawrence, 1961)

The Curse of the Werewolf (Terence Fisher, 1961) 

The Day the Earth Caught Fire (Val Guest, 1961)

The Guns of Navarone (J. Lee Thompson, 1961)

The Innocents (Jack Clayton, 1961)

Yojimbo (Akira Kurosawa, 1961) 

Cape Fear (J. Lee Thompson, 1962)

Carnival of Souls (Herk Harvey, 1962) 

Dr. No (Terence Young, 1962) 

The Manchurian Candidate (John Frankenheimer, 1962)

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (John Ford, 1962) 

What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (Robert Aldrich, 1962) 

The Birds (Alfred Hitchcock, 1963) 

Black Sabbath (Mario Bava, 1963)

Blood Feast (Herschell Gordon Lewis, 1963) 

The Demon (Brunello Rondi, 1963)

The Girl Who Knew Too Much (Mario Bava, 1963) 

The Great Escape (John Sturges, 1963) 

The Haunting (Robert Wise, 1963)

Jason and the Argonauts (Don Chaffey, 1963)

L'Immortelle (Alain Robbe-Grillet, 1963)

The Sadist (James Landis, 1963) 

The Servant (Joseph Losey, 1963)

The Whip and the Body (Mario Bava, 1963) 

Blood and Black Lace (Mario Bava, 1964) 

First Men in the Moon (Nathan Juran, 1964) 

A Fistful of Dollars (Sergio Leone, 1964) 

Carry On Cleo (Gerald Thomas, 1964)

Goldfinger (Guy Hamilton, 1964) 

It Happened Here (Andrew Mollo, Kevin Brownlow, 1964)

The Last Man on Earth (Ubaldo Ragona, Sidney Salkow, 1964) 

Onibaba (Kaneto Shindō, 1964)

The Train (John Frankenheimer, 1964)

Two Thousand Maniacs! (Herschell Gordon Lewis, 1964)

White Slaves of Chinatown (Joseph P. Mawra, 1964)

Zulu (Cy Endfield, 1964) 

Bunny Lake Is Missing (Otto Preminger, 1965)

The Collector (William Wyler, 1965) 

Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (Russ Meyer, 1965) 

For a Few Dollars More (Sergio Leone, 1965)

The Hill (Sidney Lumet, 1965)

The Ipcress File (Sidney J. Furie, 1965) 

Motorpsycho! (Russ Meyer, 1965)

Mudhoney (Russ Meyer, 1965) 

The Nanny (Seth Holt, 1965)

Repulsion (Roman Polanski, 1965) 

Alfie (Lewis Gilbert, 1966)

The Battle of Algiers (Gillo Pontercovo, 1966)

Carry On Screaming (Gerald Thomas, 1966) 

Daleks' Invasion Earth: 2150A.D. (Gordon Flemyng, 1966)

Django (Sergio Corbucci, 1966)

Dracula: Prince of Darkness (Terence Fisher, 1966) 

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (Sergio Leone, 1966)

Kill, Baby... Kill! (Mario Bava, 1966)

The Plague of the Zombies (John Gilling, 1966) 

Trans-Europ-Express (Alain Robbe-Grillet, 1966)

The War Game (Peter Watkins, 1966) 

Belle de Jour (Luis Buñuel, 1967)

Bonnie and Clyde (Arthur Penn, 1967)

Cool Hand Luke (Stuart Rosenberg, 1967)

Death Rides a Horse (Giulio Petroni, 1967)

The Dirty Dozen (Robert Aldrich, 1967) 

In the Heat of the Night (Norman Jewison, 1967)

Hombre (Martin Ritt, 1967) 

Point Blank (John Boorman, 1967) 

Quatermass and the Pit (Roy Ward Baker, 1967)

Le Samouraï (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1967) 

Spider Baby (Jack Hill, 1967)

Carry On Up the Khyber (Gerald Thomas, 1968)

Barbarella (Roger Vadim, 1968) 

Danger: Diabolik! (Mario Bava, 1968) 

The Devil Rides Out (Terence Fisher, 1968) 

The Great Silence (Sergio Corbucci, 1968)

Night of the Living Dead (George A. Romero, 1968) 

Once Upon a Time in the West (Sergio Leone, 1968)

Planet of the Apes (Franklin J. Schaffner, 1968) 

Rosemary's Baby (Roman Polanski, 1968)

The Swimmer (Frank Perry, 1968) 

Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968)

The Thomas Crown Affair (Norman Jewison, 1968) 

Twisted Nerve (Roy Boulting, 1968)

Where Eagles Dare (Brian G. Hutton, 1968)

Witchfinder General (Michael Reeves, 1968) 

Army of Shadows (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1969)

Blind Beast (Yasuzō Masumura, 1969) 

Camille 2000 (Radley Metzger, 1969)

Carry On Camping (Gerald Thomas, 1969) 

The Italian Job (Peter Collinson, 1969) 

The Laughing Woman (Pierro Schiavazappa, 1969)

The Wild Bunch (Sam Peckinpah, 1969)

 

Not entirely sure what the list reveals about your host, other than finding Gerald Thomas, the director of the Carry On films, being a far more prolific film director compared to revered auteurs Akira Kurosawa, Stanley Kubrick and Federico Fellini.

Curious to revisit those Alain Robbe-Grillet films, as I doubt I would have rated them so highly today compared to whenever I logged them on Letterboxd.

Destination Skaro

Dr. Who and the Daleks (Gordon Flemyng, 1965)

Speculation over the fate of the BBC's flagship sci-fi series Doctor Who (1963 - 2025) has been rife recently. Rather than offer my own uninformed opinion to the mix, like everybody else, what better way to side-step it all by revisiting Dr. Who and the Daleks (1965)? The first feature film outing of the renowned space and time traveller.

Adapted from Terry Nation's 'The Daleks', the second ever story in the long running series, the titular doctor (Peter Cushing) inadvertently travels to a mysterious distant planet with his TARDIS (Time and Relative Dimension in Space) ship. The Doctor is joined by his three companions; his two grand daughters, the prepubescent Susan (Roberta Tovey) the beehived Barbara (Jennie Linden), and Barbara's comical boyfriend, Ian (Roy Castle). Die-hard Whovians will no doubt already be seething just reading all this, as Susan is the only real relation of the Doctor in the television series, and the other two characters, are her school teachers. The Doctor also happens to be human in this film. Nerds are on on Def Con One just reading that.

This isn't going to be a run down pointing out all the differences between the televised serial and the abridged film adaptation, otherwise we'll be here all day. It's merely to make aware various elements were either changed or omitted from the televised seven part serial, which was almost three hours long in total, to work with the confines of an eighty-three minute feature film. The screenplay was written by American film writer and producer Milton Subotsky, the creative mastermind of the legendary film company Amicus Productions. While ageing Whovians might be disgruntled with all the inaccuracies inherent in the film adaptation and driven to leaving bitter reviews on IMDb, Subotsky's production does triumphantly showcase the fun aspects of a Doctor Who adventure; something tragically forgotten today.

The plot to Dr. Who and the Daleks is a little reminiscent to H.G. Wells's dystopian science fiction novella The Time Machine. Both concern a time travel adventure set millennia after a post-apocalypse involving two contrasting races. One being the monstrously cruel oppressor; the other being docile, peace-loving hippies. Caught in between both societies, is the Doctor and his companions. The film shows our characters trying to make sense of the planet and the situation. It then shifts into our cast helping to tip the balance. Thus, the Thals, the hippie-like pacifists, described by film critic Kim Newman as "The gayest tribe in the universe", are Wells's Elois. The pepper pot, space Nazis known as the Daleks being comparable to the grotesque Morlocks.

Dr. Who and the Daleks' biggest highlight is its superb production. The film is a visual treat to the eye. The petrified forest under a turquoise light evokes Mario Bava gothic horror vibes. Adorned on the walls of the Dalek city is metallic coloured foil and various lava lamps in the background. They intersperse the omnipresent salmon pink and silver grey rooms and hallways of the city. The Doctor's very own transport, the TARDIS, is a big contrast to the one featured in the television series, as it resembles a mad professor's laboratory with wires hanging everywhere compared to the pristine and clinical one found in the show during this era.

The real success is the beefed up design of the Daleks. The iconic sink plunger is absent on some of the film Daleks, and replaced with a metallic claw. Their bumper trim is much thicker, and the light bulbs on their metallic domes are much larger. The metal armoured casings which house the mutants aliens are in various different colour ranges; reflecting the different ranks in the Dalek hierarchy. The leader is possibly the coolest of the lot with its black and gold casing. It's no surprise that the Daleks would be the obvious enemies involved in the Doctor's first film outing, and not the last either.

Peter Cushing's portrayal of the Doctor might not be canonical to diehard Whovians, but his performance is top notch, regardless. If anything, playing a cantankerous, elderly inventor on an adventure through space and time, is far more believable and entertaining than some of the actual legitimate incarnations of the character in the series. Cushing obviously borrows from William Hartnell's performances of the Doctor, which was the first incarnation of the character at the time. However, Cushing is obviously more animated as the grey haired grand father, as he was still in his early fifties. Cushing would deliver more of the same dotty old grand dad eccentricities in the sequel Daleks' Invasion Earth 2150 A.D. (1966) and the unrelated At the Earth's Core (1976), both of which also Amicus films produced by Subotsky.

Tonally, the film is inconsistent, which, along with its '60s production design, makes it a surreal viewing experience at times. This is due to Dr. Who and the Daleks containing a rather serious plot concerning the very existence of the Thals being critical, but the film offsets it with some light entertainment comedy scattered here and there. It's bizarre seeing Roy Castle performing a Norman Wisdom style slapstick routine trying to open an automatic door, while in another scene, the chilling screams of a Thal can be heard while being devoured by a bog monster. Perhaps the most horrifying sight, is the mutated hand of a Dalek emerging from underneath a plastic shower curtain which was comically used in killing it. But I suppose these tonal shifts make sense, as the youngest grand daughter, Susan is depicted as a child in the film as opposed to her TV incarnation, thus the dread in the series is more subdued. The light hearted tone also balanced out the bleakness of its post-apocalyptic setting aids.

Ultimately, it's the Doctor tricking the Thal leader, Alydon (Barry Ingham) into fighting back against the Daleks, by threatening to turn in his woman to them, that leads to the hippies making a stand. And not a moment too soon, as the Daleks are planning to detonate a neutron bomb which would eradicate the entire planet (it's never mentioned that it's the planet Skaro, but we all know it is, regardless).

Despite personally preferring its sequel (no space hippies in that one), Dr. Who and the Daleks is still a fun sci-fi adventure flick. A gorgeous film that's perfect viewing on a lazy bank holiday afternoon. You can't really go very wrong watching the charismatic Peter Cushing headlining any movie, unless it's the utterly depraved and sleazy Corruption (1968), or when he rapes Veronica Carlson in Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed (1969), or the entirely dreadful Nazi zombie movie Shockwaves (1977) for that matter, but my point still stands regarding the English legendary actor (I think). Watching Cushing pitted against the iconic Daleks in a gloriously colourful and sumptuous looking production, is absolute film magic. Better than modern Doctor Who and who really cares if it's not canonical, if it's this entertaining.

What an Excellent Day for an Iconoclasm

The Demon (Brunello Rondi, 1963)

Alarm bells tend to ring for me whenever a film is labelled as neorealism. There's nothing remotely real about them for me. Hence, going into Brunello Rondi's The Demon (AKA Il Demonio, 1963) came with a degree of hesitation. Thankfully, the frequent Federico Fellini (AKA Tinto Brass without all the smut) collaborator managed to bypass my defences with a compelling and virtual documentary like film set in the peasant confines of Lucania, Southern Italy. The Demon distinguishes itself from the cut and paste Bava-esque gothic horrors from this era by drawing a series of damning parallels between peasant superstitions to that of the Catholic church. The film would subsequently be banned by the Italian censors. A huge shame, as it's an excellent film from the Italian horror canon of the 1960s.

Allegedly based on a "recent, tragic true story" The Demon tells the tale of Purificazione (Daliah Lahvi), Purif for short, a beautiful peasant woman who is driven to madness and obsession after being given the push from her lover Antonio (Frank Wolff). Antonio is something of a player, as he's been seeing Purif on the side whilst engaged to another woman (a monumental downgrade in the looks department). The rejected woman's behaviour results with her becoming increasingly ostracised by both her superstitious family and Lucania's townsfolk. One example has her throwing a dead cat outside Antonio's home, making everyone think she is might be a witch or possibly possessed by the Devil. 

What's engrossing about The Demon is witnessing how the bizarre and superstitious customs of the townspeople are being equally as disturbing as Purif's actions. Before even getting to consecrate their marriage, Antonio and his bride are made to wait outside their bedroom while the elders prepare the room. A scythe is placed under the newly wed's bed ("to cut Death's legs."), while dried raisins are scattered in the form of a cross over the sheets to absorb any evil. Another scene involves Purif and other folk carrying heavy rocks to the town centre to metaphorically unload their sins. Each individual confessing their sin; from stealing a chicken, to having incestuous desires with their children. What a messed up town.

With such a restrictive and highly superstitious belief system, this makes Purif a sympathetic character in The Demon to a degree, as she is constantly treated cruelly by others for being perceived as evil. This is strikingly similar to Florinda Balkon's tragic witch lady from Lucio Fulci's Don't Torture a Duckling (1972). At one point, Purif is accused of straying the soul of a sick boy from drinking water leading to his death. She is beaten by her father. In another instance she is hog-tied and raped by a shepherd. A revered, local shaman is equally as bad as he sexually assaults her while masquerading in attempting to rid her demonic possession. These terrible events culminate to an unforgettable scene where Purif is desperately given the exorcism treatment by a Catholic priest in a church. Lavi's dancing experience pays off, as she spider walks for what is perhaps the most disturbing point in the film. Possibly inspiring the infamous deleted scene from William Friedkin's horror masterpiece in The Exorcist (1973).

Daliah Lavi's exotic looks and powerhouse performance are an irrevocable eye opener. Her role in Mario Bava's beautifully gothic and supernatural S&M The Whip and the Body (1963) was a real standout amongst her obviously-there-as-eye-candy roles elsewhere. Numerous camp '60s films such as James Bond cash-in O.G. Casino Royale (1967) and James Bond clone Some Girls Do (1969) are perfect examples of her talents being wasted, in all honesty. The Israeli soldier turned actress was essentially seen as the Gal Gadot of her era, sadly. In The Demon, however, she at least flexes some real acting prowess, fortunately. Lavi is mesmerising in her role. According to the late actress, this was her favourite role in her film career and understandably so.

Other than Daliah Lavi, American actor, Frank Wolff is the only other actor with the most screen time, as he is both the catalyst and antagonist in the film. Considering how insane Purif is, to the point that the townsfolk believe she is possessed, it's hard to be sympathetic to his character whilst he is taking advantage of her during her worsening state. Wolff appeared in countless Italian films; particularly spaghetti westerns. Perhaps his most recognisable role is his moustachioed Brett McBain, in a harrowing scene where he and his family are massacred by Henry Fonda's gang in Sergio Leone's all-time classic Once Upon a Time in the West (1968). Personally, I'm even more traumatised from the scene where he's turned on by Nieves Navarro seductively eating grilled fish in Luciano Ercoli's giallo Death Walks on High Heels (1971). (I'm totally aware the grammar of that film title is wrong. Blame the film makers!)

Carlo Bellero's lush black and white cinematography in The Demon manages to capture the ambience of Italian gothic horror while his documentary style footage of various religious traditions and customs appear like they're lifted from a vintage mondo film. That would explain why this formerly obscure Italian folk horror is sometimes tagged as neorealism, in some respect. A far more successful blending of two filmic treatments in comparison to Luigi Bazzoni and Franco Rossellini's convoluted, rustic giallo The Possessed (1965), which is obviously inspired by the look of Michelangelo Antonioni's films.

Didn't have any major gripes with The Demon, but I did find the whole convent scene before the climax of the film a tad trivial. Purif's previous run-ins with the clergy were effectively realised prior, so her brief time with the fearful nuns felt like unnecessary padding. Still, Purif's run-in with the nuns does result in some breathtaking scenery outside of the convent. The scene where Purif walks through a barb wire fence around a sacred tree being obviously symbolic.

As a staunch defender of exploitation films in general, it's somewhat disappointing Rondi went that direction. Any director who delivers a thought-provoking, subversive and beautifully crafted film like The Demon and to later helm sexploitation films like Sex Life in a Women's Prison (1974) and Black Emanuelle, White Emanuelle (1976) kind of missed their chance at being a world class director, to be honest.

Another gem from Severin's legendary All the Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium of Folk Horror Vol. 1; a box set that's still too expensive for me. However, I have managed to cover some great films from the collection which I eventually discovered down the line: Alison's Birthday (1981) Eyes of Fire (1983) and Celia (1989). The Demon is objectively the best film I've watched so far, which makes the set even more desirable than before. It's also another fine example why physical media is so important, since The Demon is rescued from relative obscurity and readily available for today's film aficionados with a penchant for world cinema and folk horror.