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.

The Moment I Feared: Part 9

Watching a bootleg copy back in the day of James Glickenhaus's classic vigilante thriller The Exterminator (1980) at a mate's house might have been the first X rated film for your host. Didn't get to see the whole film the first time as my friend's older sister turned off the VHS player so she could watch Little House on the Prairie (1974 - 1983) on TV — the Philistine! It was too late, The Exterminator poured enough nightmare fuel into my mental tank to leave a fearful impression for decades.

The pre-credits PoW camp sequence featuring a gruesome decapitation was frightening enough, but it was mafioso boss Gino Pontivini being lowered into an industrial meat grinder and ending up as potential spag bol that brought pure terror to a young Sparty. The screams are still haunting.

It was also the sequence where Robert Ginty uttered the line "If you're lying, I'll be back!". Heads like myself have often pondered whether Arnold Schwarzenegger's famous quote might have been lifted from The Exterminator. The infamous line would also appear as text on some of the film's promotional posters. What is an absolute certainty is Robert Ginty never looked anywhere near like the Mad Max style biker on the posters. Regardless, The Exterminator will always be a B-movie classic and deserves its spot in the vigilante movie hall of fame

The Moment I Feared: Part 8

The Two Ronnies (Teeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Queer Street)

(Season 9 - Episode 3, 19th December, 1981)

 

There are few statements as incontestable as 1981 being one of the greatest years in Horror ever: An American Werewolf in London; Possession; The Evil Dead; The Beyond; The Howling; Dead and Buried; Friday the 13th: Part 2; My Bloody Valentine; The Prowler - there are a bucketload of classics from that year. But the frightmares weren't just restricted to the big screen; a fine example comes unexpectedly from a musical sketch by the legendary British comedic duo, The Two Ronnies.

Aired on BBC's Saturday night TV slot, the duo performed a musical sketch parodying the infamous Penny Dreadful tale of Sweeney Todd - The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. The story revolves around the villainous barber putting his cut throat razor to literal use and robbing his patrons of their valuables. His bloody victims would fall backward down a revolving trap door whilst on the barber's chair. Below, in the basement, his accomplice in crime, Mrs. Lovett would dispose of the corpses by using them as the filling in her meat pies. A gruesome tale that's been adapted many times over. (Sidenote: I've never actually watched the Tim Burton adaptation since I'd already given up on him by then, along with being sick of Johnny Depp being inescapable everywhere.)

The Two Ronnies' Teeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Queer Street, did not refrain at all from showing a visceral amount of blood spewing from the throats of unfortunate victims. Can you imagine seeing such a gruesome premise aired on a primetime slot in a comedy today? So chilling, the sketch ended up being cut from repeats later on.

My memory of this event layed buried until viewing the British Quota Quickie film from 1936, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street starring Tod Slaughter (what a name!) very recently. It unearthed the memories of me being very young and horrified of that Two Ronnies sketch.

The Two Ronnies (The Phantom Raspberry Blower of Old London Town)

(Series 5 -  Episode 1, 4th September, 1976)

Teeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Queer Street wasn't the only chiller from The Two Ronnies as they previously had a running episodic tale co-written by The Goon Show comedian Spike Milligan known as The Phantom Raspberry Blower of Old London Town. It had the look and feel of vintage Hammer at times, which made it all the more alluring to me, as the Jack the Ripper style antagonist would assault his victims by blowing a raspberry at them (it turned out to be performed by David Jason and not by Spike Milligan as once thought). Once his face was finally revealed The Phantom Raspberry Blower's visage became a similar frightful memory from the much beloved comedy show.

The Moment I Feared: Part 7

A recurring question I often ask myself when I zone out of reality is "what's the G.O.A.T horror anthology?" I'm often torn over a bunch of Amicus's classic portmanteaus, with From Beyond the Grave (1974) being my personal top choice. But then there's George A. Romero and Steven King's collabarotive return to the old school effort, Creepshow (1982). The legendary comic book publishing company EC Comics plays a major hand in both films as one was sourced and the other clearly inspired by the defunct publisher's tales of terror.

Creepshow achieved the impossible by turning Ted Danson into a frightening zombie in the short story Something To Tide You Over; who, along with his lover played by Dawn of the Dead's Gaylen Ross, seek revenge upon their murderer played by Leslie Nielsen. Along with Danson's gargled dialogue and the terrifying sight of him shuffling in all that zombie makeup, it would continue to instil fear upon me whenever I caught sight of him on an episide of Cheers (1982 - 1992). Kind of funny that one of the most frightening moments from a film to leave a permanent mark on me - especially one that includes: cockroaches bursting out of E.G. Marshall's corpse; the oncoming doom of an alien weed taking over the world; a severed head for a cake; and of course Fluffy - it's the one with Ted Danson and Leslie Nielsen in it.

Creepshow (Beach Zombies Scene)

George A. Romero, 1982

 

Dada Debaser Bonus Feature:

Didn't realise until writing that Martin (1978) review earlier this year that John Amplas played the zombie Nathan Gratham in the Father's Day segment.

The Moment I Feared: Part 6

The House that Bled to Death / Hammer House of Horror (Cold Opening scene)

Tom Clegg, 1980

Nostalgia can be a terrible thing and having revisited the early eighties television series, Hammer House of Horror during one of the lockdowns, I realised some of the episodes had aged badly. What still remains great, however, is the episode The House that Bled to Death.

An elderely couple having a simple cup of cocoa takes a sinister turn during the pre-credits scene. For your host, it's perhaps the most disturbing scene to carry the Hammer tag. It was bad enough seeing a poor old dear being poisoned, but made all the worse when her awful husband retrieved a sharpening stone and a knife off the wall to dispose of her. The scene has forever haunted me ever since.

The House that Bled to Death wasn't just a one trick pony either as it also featured the infamous birthday party scene; turning a regular semi-detached in High Wycombe into the show's namesake. The most fondly remembered sequence from the entire series never instilled the same level of fear as that cold opening scene for me, but it's still an entertaining moment, regardless:

The House that Bled to Death / Hammer House of Horror (Sophie's Birthday Party scene)

Tom Clegg, 1980

 

LOL @ the Hammer House of Horror theme reminding someone of  Parisienne Walkways in the YouTube comments:

The Moment I Feared: Part 5

Worzel Gummidge 

(Willis Hall & Keith Waterhouse, 1979 - 1981)

 

There's a discreet chance it might have originated over Gloria Hendry's cruel demise by a remote controlled scarecrow in the James Bond film Live and Let Die (1973), but if ever a medium administered unexpected formidophobia to a young, urban audience then it would have undoubtedly been the children's television series Worzel Gummidge. Based upon Barbara Euphan Todd's children's books, the show about Worzel, an endearing dim-witted scarecrow, played by ex-Doctor Who Jon Pertwee, would wind up in a series of scrapes and adventures during its original run. 

It was bad enough having to witness the constant beratement by his object of desire, Aunt Sally (Una Stubbs), an uppity and rude, life-sized fairground doll; but seeing him endlessly disembowled and headless during many altercations, or wearing one of his alternate creepy looking heads was positively frightening for a young whippersnapper like me back in the day. 

Worzel and Sally weren't the only inanimate humanoid creations come to life, there was an ensemble of other characters who would appear on the show, including personal favourites: ship's figurehead Saucy Nancy (Barbara Windsor); Worzel's Sid Vicious inspired nephew Pickles Bramble; and Jolly Jack (Bernard Cribbins), a fish and chip shop figurehead. Those were the ones that looked half normal; the rest of Worzel's fear mongering kind were a motley bunch who resembled something between Edward Lionheart's mob of meths drinkers in Theatre of Blood (1973) and the typical crumbly rotten variety in Lucio Fulci's zombie films. Pure terror.

The series eventually wound up on the otherside of the world when it was relaunched and filmed in New Zealand as Worzel Gummidge Down Under (1987 - 1989), which I have no memory of. It was resurrected once more, this time by the BBC in 2019 with that scrawny bloke Mackenzie Crook from The Office. No idea if it was any good, though.

Coincidentally, around the same time as the original series, the classic television movie, Dark Night of the Scarecrow (1981) came along. Sadly it spawned a sequel earlier this year. Is nothing sacred?

The Moment I Feared: Part 4

Doctor Who (The Keeper of Traken - Part Four )

John Black, 1981

 

 

For this aging blogger, early eighties Saturday tea time TV could be summed up by the dulcet voice of Tim Gudgin announcing the football results, and the uncompromising science fiction theatrics of Doctor Who. Amongst a certain age range, Tom Baker's portrayal of the fourth incarnation of the scatterbrained Doctor was the most revered. The long running BBC series, which originally began from 1963, was plagued by numerous budget restrictions, but despite the wobbly sets and shite effects, where it excelled at was its creative writing. It was highbrow sci-fi to a youngster like me back then.

 

Robert Delgado's The Master; the arch-nemesis to The Doctor, came and went well before my time. However, the decayed visage of the character was perhaps my earliest memory of the popular sci-fi series, and it turned out to be an unexpectedly frightening viewing experience. Witnessing some rotten ghoul in a robe creep out of a grandfather clock and meld into the helpless Tremas, played by Anthony Ainley, was pure nighmare fuel for me. Judging by the video's YouTube comments, I wasn't the only one scared shitless by this scene. Ainley would subsequently continue playing The Master for the remainder of the classic era Doctor Who.

 

A pity that Nu Who fell off completely with the arrival of Chris Chibnall's tenure as its showrunner. Not even changing its traditional Saturday slot to a Sunday, and sandwiching it between Country File and The Antiques Road Show could save it hemorrhaging viewers. However, at least we got Stacey Dooley and Kevin "Cackling" Clifton dancing the "terrifying tango" on a Halloween special of Strictly Come Dancing because of it.

The Moment I Feared: Part 3

Alligator (The Pool Scene)

Lewis Teague, 1980

 

Children in peril scenes are a dime a dozen in film, but kids getting killed? That's very much seen as taboo and ignites controversy even to this day. Disturbing scenes of child fatalities cropped up in mainstream cinema more often in the past, based on my recollections. Call it a symptom of the nihilistic seventies, New Hollywood out to shock, or to put it more bluntly, the film industry just not caring, but it seems like this was a decade where children were just as much fair game of a gruesome death as to their grown-up counterparts.

Steven Speilberg's blockbuster Jaws (1975) left a trail of knock-off creature features in its wake, one of my favourites being Lewis Teague's snappy B-movie gem, Alligator (1980). 

Seeing a couple of kids in pirate costumes by a back yard pool, and dragging a blindfolded youngster to his doom by making him walk the plank into the gaping jaws of a giant alligator, was enough to shock me as a kid: that poor child's terror before being pushed into the pool; the shot of the alligator when the lights are turned on; the blood. All of these elements lead to an unforgettably terrifying viewing experience. Over forty years later and that scene is instantly triggered whenever I hear about 'gators making their way into people's pools. 

Ironically, the film spawned a kids board game released by Ideal Toys in 1980, which my parents copped for me from Argos when I was a kid, because it was way cheaper than the Millennium Falcon.

The Moment I Feared: Part 2

Salem's Lot (First Window Scene)

Tobe Hooper, 1979

Ask any discerning horror film fan and creepy kids are far more terrifying than your run-of-the-mill machete wielding maniac. A great example is Tobe Hooper's classic mini-series adapation of Stephen King's (remember when he was good?) Salem's Lot (1979). There were a bunch of great scenes throughout the two episodes, like Reggie Nalder's iconic, Kurt Barlow (no relation to Ken), but the big scare for yours truly was witnessing little undead Ralphie Glick floating in mid air and scratching at his brother, Danny's bedroom window. Seeing that kid hovering outside a first floor window in his jim-jams with that ghastly grimace, was pure nightmare fuel for a prepubescent Sparty. A remarkably bloodless scene, but abundantly atmospheric in its execution. Proof enough that Tobe Hooper was never ever a one-trick pony with The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974). I mean, Hooper already made Eaten Alive (1976) by then, but I didn't even know about that film when I was a kid.

Astonishingly, this scene has left a huge lasting impression for this blogger and it serves as a constant reminder to never forget to draw the bedroom curtains. Not just because of some pervy peeping tom outside my yard, but the odd chance some creepy vampire child might be floating outside my bedroom window. Chances of such a ridiculous scenario ever happening are obviously zero, but having such a chilling memory etched upon you from such a young age, it kind of carves a slither of doubt upon the grey matter, innit? In any case, Salem's Lot will always get props from me for providing one of those rare times I was too shook to sleep.

The Moment I Feared

The Spirit of Dark and Lonely Water

(Central Office of Information Advertisement, 1973)

 

 

 

Had revered head-shrinks Freud and Jung been around today, there's a good chance they would have been working overtime with all the forty-somethings affected by the Central Office of Information's fear campaign. Masquerading as public information films, a liteny of short child safety videos were engineered by some of the most twisted minds ever to get behind a camera.

Perhaps the most notorious of these public information films is the The Spirit of Dark & Lonely Water, a cautionary tale of the perils of swimming in watey fly tips; featuring a ghostly robed figure and chillingly narrated by the late great Donald Pleasance. Worth noting there's an early appearance of class of '82, Grange Hill alumni Benny in that film.

These public information films would often be aired on TV during the school holidays for maximum traumatic effect on the kids. Everything from crossing a road, riding an escalator, holding a firework sparkler, to retrieving a frisbee by breaking into electrical substations was covered. 

A series of six crudely animated short films featuring a cat called Charley would have a major cultural influence on my generation in the nineties; as The Prodigy would incorporate vocal samples for their song Charly. This helped kickstart a wave of copycat rave songs which sampled kids shows of yesteryear to the self-medicating masses. If anything, people were far more likely to break into substations, or take a dip in raw sewage while trippin' off their nuts at that particular time, than they were as kids in the seventies and eighties.

Broken Glass

(Central Office of Information Advertisement, 1973)

 

 

The one that terrified me the most was Broken Glass. A short film about the potential dangers of running barefoot on the beach. Perfect ad, since it's much shorter than many of its peers, but gets its message across incredibly effectively; leaving the final scene to eternally play out in our minds. If Jaws had people scared of going into the sea, Broken Glass had me not wanting to go near any beach. This short film has remained stored in the old noggin ever since, but it still resurfaces everytime I'm at the beach.

 

When the Coalition government tookover the reins in 2010, the Central Office of Information was seen as an unnecessary marketing expense, and by the following year, it finally closed its doors. Seriously doubt my mind will ever close its doors on Broken Glass, however.