Showing posts with label Gayle Hunnicutt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gayle Hunnicutt. Show all posts

Saturday, 30 November 2024

Marty's choice... The Legend of Hell House (1973)

 

Although the story of this film is fictitious, the events depicted involving psychic phenomena are not only very much within the bounds of possibility but could well be true.

Tom Corbett, Clairvoyant and Psychic Consultant to European Royalty

 

The BFI recently screened this film as part of the series celebrating Martin Scorsese’s favourite British films not directed by Michael Powell (of course) and it fully justifies the director’s favour on a number of levels and it makes me wonder why I haven’t watched it before. If you want an engaging haunted house mystery that maintains its edge without resorting to gore and predictable jump scares then this is it. The performances of the four leads are what creates the tension and John Hough directs his players and atmosphere very well aided by an uncanny score from electronica pioneer Delia Derbyshire and Brian Hodgson.

The premise is grand and simple with wealthy old man Rudolph Deutsch (the great Roland Culver) calling scientist Dr. Lionel Barrett (Clive Revill) to his fabulous country house (take a bow Blenheim Palace) to task him with proving the existence or otherwise of an afterlife. Barrett is a sceptic of course but this is why he gets the big bucks, to put the Deutch’s mind at rest either way, by staying a week at the incredibly haunted Belasco “Hell” House. Emeric Belasco was a reputed sadist and free-range pervert who is believed to have committed multiple murders after one excessively sordid orgy of evil. Any relation to the Great Mage Alistair Crowley and Boleskine House, the Scottish mansion where he attempted to summon the 12 Kings and Dukes of Hell, is purely co-incidental.

Pamela Franklin

The House’s horrific reputation is well earned with a previous scientific survey resulting in disaster with multiple fatalities and only one survivor Benjamin Franklin Fischer (Roddy McDowall – hurrah!!) who barely kept his sanity. Fischer is a “physical” psychic around whom supernatural phenomena is expressed through smashing household objects. He is joined by Florence Tanner (Pamela Franklin) whose gift is more cerebral and allows her to commune with the spirits of "surviving personalities" which to Dr Barrett are nothing more than residual electromagnetic energies. He ain’t afraid of no ghosts.

Now, if all this sounds unpromising you have to have the cast who can not only say all of this with a straight face but also truly believe it and this is where the film utterly delivers… The three aforementioned, together with Gayle Hunnicutt as Barrett’s wife Ann, respect the story which is the only way to truly frighten an audience about supernatural possibilities by simply acting natural. Well, that and things going bump in the night but Hough’s touch is rather more delicate than many directing for Hammer, Amicus or Tigon at this time.

 

Clive Revill

From the opening quote from one Tom Corbett – an actual clairvoyant who probably did consult at least one royal family - onwards, the film adopts a “scientific” approach to the subject and with a course of events mapped out over individual days much like experiments that have taken place in these “haunted” locations. It’s very forensic approach to the narrative, allowing the building of an evidence-base for the unsettling events that unfold.

The four assemble at the house on Monday 20th December, ghosts clearly love Christmas, with the Barretts driven over in Deutsch’s Daimler with his assistant (Peter Bowles) whilst Benjamin grimly walks from a train station and Florence floats past a church at a Dutch angle… Hough films his characters close up and often from below all of which creates an atmosphere of claustrophobic dread. As they approach the house there’s a wide angled shot before a close-up of Florence looking up the forbidding granite grey as the others, still in focus, approach the door. We’re already in the minds of these characters and Pamela Franklin is the ace in the pack, expressing intense sensitivity and innocence – her Florence is wide open to the possibilities ahead and if they are malevolent we know she will be hit hard.

Roddy McDowall

After dinner at 8.46pm, Florence begins to sense something and later in her room she not only feels the same presence who she believes is the son of Belasco, but her bed clothes are inexplicably rolled back. The next day Professor Barrett duly wires her up in an attempt to measure the energies causing these phenomena. It’s an impressive sequence that has the audience grasping at the possibility that we are still in the rational world. Hough’s camera is fixed on Franklin and, indeed on the legs she reveals wearing a leotard – the male gaze or a hint at the reasons she is the first to be “contacted”. Ectoplasm shoots from her fingers and even as the Professor notes this into his recording of the events we know things will get out of hand.

Later on, glasses are smashed as they eat dinner and during the night Ann comes under some kind of demonic sexual possession during which she attempts to seduce Benjamin. Her husband’s natural response is to bring in bigger machines in an attempt to drain the unnatural energies and cleans the building… but as the psychic assaults get fiercer will science win out or will they find the depth of the hell in the house?

Gayle Hunnicutt

Dusty verdict: As Roger Ebert said in his positive review at the time, this is far from the usual haunted house story and it allows for its characters to gradually get the measure of their situation as it, day-by-day, begins to reveal itself to them. Everything is explained but only in ways that leave the possibility of a rational scientific escape route… maybe.

The script was by Richard Matheson, adapted from his original book but with more graphic sexual scenes left mostly to our imagination – apart from one gratuitous scene with Ms Franklin. The score from Derbyshire and Hodgson combines electronica with some traditional instrumentation and is sadly not available separately although the film is on Blu-ray now.

Talking of music, I finally got to place the quote from Orbital's I Don't Know You People - from the Middle of Nowhere album – when a spirit possessing Florence calls out about their intrusion. Clearly a generation and more have been struck by the film and its influence is still felt… in fact, I’ve just felt a chill down my spine. Wait, what is that?!

Looks harmless enough...

 

Sunday, 30 June 2024

Queasy Riders... The Wild Angels (1966)

 

We wanna be free to do what we wanna do. We wanna be free to ride! We wanna be free to ride our machines without being hassled by The Man. And we wanna get loaded.

Oh man, I’m not really sure where these guys are coming from? This was the late Roger Corman’s inspiration for the biker films of the 60’s counter culture, The Wild One(s) for the Age of Aquarius, outlaw bikers for the hippies and the genesis of Easy Rider and Peter Fonda’s enduring association with Harley-Davidsons that I saw spoofed in The Cannonball Run by the man himself.

Corman always had an eye for trends and the kind of entertainment that would reach emerging audiences even if his budgets we rarely large enough for him to take full advantage. Here in a story written by Charles B. Griffith and an uncredited Peter Bogdanovich – how many careers did the great man encourage? – we see the seeds of Altamont and the demise of the counter-cultural dream as the consequences of the bikers’ rebellion leave them with nowhere to go but down as Fonda’s oft-sampled quote above reveals.

The film ended up being one of the most successful low-budget indie films in history and yet it seems pretty hollow and, if anything, disapproving of a culture that is based on such halting and insubstantial dogma as being “free” and getting “loaded” especially when the ensuing party occurs at a funeral of one of their gang members and with sexual harassment/abuse on the agenda as well as extreme disrespect for their dead pal and his funeral rite, so nihilistic as to only really play teasingly with the subject matter of alienation.

These guys wear swastikas as a deliberate provocation to the straight world and yet that’s all it is a wind up signifying pretty much nothing in terms of an alternative vision. A decade later the Sex Pistols, Siouxsie Sioux and Joy Division would appropriate Nazi imagery and, as we now know, not all of them really meant it, “maaaan”! You say you want a revolution well you know… we all want to change the World…

No one could expect Mr Corman to really mean anything to be fair and the mere act of rebellion seems to be enough here as elsewhere for people who felt out of step with American society as capitalism followed its own nihilistic exploitation of some and exclusion of others.

Corman took his research seriously though and not only interacted with Californian Angels he also featured members of the Hells Angels from Venice, California and the Coffin Cheaters motorcycle club… irony overloaded in their nomenclature there. There is indeed some fine bike riding in the film which moves at a pace and as with its abovementioned forbear, rebels against whatever it is you’ve got invested in society as it was and is.

There are two visceral stand-out performances from the husband and wife team of Bruce Dern as "the Loser" and Diane Ladd as his on-screen wife, Gaysh. Both give their all to add an extra edge and smuggle more meaning than even Corman may have intended as the real victims of this rebellion but also, of course, The Man and his evil ways. They’re both so full of force the blow the rest off screen and, during their downtime, even managed to conceive daughter Laura Dern which perhaps explains, as Sailor said, how the way her mind works is God’s own mystery…

Fonda, of course is no slouch as gang leader "Heavenly Blues" (or "Blues"), whilst Nancy Sinatra is also excellent as his girlfriend "Mike". Dad Frank was apparently so concerned about her cavorting with the Angels that Corman had to reassure him that Nancy would be protected although as it turned out she was more concerned about Fonda’s offer of LSD than the gentlemen on bikes.

The film follows the gang falling foul of the cops after riding in search of Loser’s bike which has been stolen by a Mexican biker gang from Mecca, California. The Angels find and battle their rivals but the police arrive forcing them to take flight leaving Loser behind, he steals a police bike but gets shot in the back and hospitalized. Fearing for their friend’s incarceration the Angels break him out and take him to a bar run by one Momma Monahan (Joan Shawlee) but there’s no doctor for the injured man and he passes away.

The Angels want to see their friend off in their own way and fake a death certificate before arranging a funeral which degenerates into a drunken orgy of violence and sexual assault – they get loaded but rape for Loser’s girl Gaysh is hardly the freedom Blues bangs on about… There’s more to come but ultimately this whole biker “scene” is based on emptiness and anger which, in the context, shows the filmmaker’s view far more than the bikers’? The Man is the ultimate cause of Loser’s demise and yet the Angels taking the law into their own hands started off the mayhem. Also, Nazi regalia and Hitler’s flag on the coffin… it’s so enduringly offensive it’s hard to contextualise.

Dusty Verdict: The Wild Angels captured a moment even in what presents as a judgemental way, although Corman was happy to show the “loaded” generation in full swing. There are those excellent, humane performances from the Derns as well as Fonda’s intensity and Sinatra’s winsome charisma, to leave you engaged and enriched amongst the motorcycle roar. The real Angels also add the edge and the connection with this genuine counter culture.

There’s also some good support from an under-used Michael J. Pollard and Gayle Hunnicutt who was surely far too demure to be a biker chick?

In the end, Fonda was far from finished with his Harley and he would go on to continue his counter-cultural search with Easy Rider and other films. Perhaps, in terms of the meaning of this film that’s the biggest take-away, the enemy was clear but the philosophy and the constructive response was inspired by Corman’s work and the search for a solution to state controls and possible freedoms continues to this day.

Rest in peace Mr Corman and Mr Fonda.

 

All we want from you are the kicks you've given us
All we want from you are the kicks you've given us
Under neon loneliness
Motorcycle emptiness

James Dean Bradfield / Sean Anthony Moore / Nicholas Allen Jones (1992)