Squint and die! The House That Vanished (1973)

This film is dark, no, really dark, so dark that for long passages you can’t see what’s happening. Now, whether that’s the original intention or just the result of the copy of an old VHS I watched is another matter altogether. This was Spanish director José Ramón Larraz’s fourth film and the first he made in Britain – he’s probably best known for Symptoms (1974) as well as Vampyres (1974) but he had a long career mostly back home. His style here is deliberate and slow, building up the tension and vulnerability of the main characters and playing against an off-beat background in which things are either not as they seem or entirely as they may well be. So, even without the extra layers of video murk, you’re on your guard throughout, especially as explanations are not always defined.

It features a young photographic model, Valerie Jennings played by Andrea Allan who I thought I’d not seen before but who was a regular in Gerry Anderson’s UFO; I didn’t recognize her without the purple wig! She is very recognisable though and does a good job here as she’s almost ever present throughout the film in a way that reminds you of Hitchcock’s blondes, Larraz turns us all into voyeurs for the duration, bad things happen but we keep on looking at the beauty. We’re all complicit in this kind of film and it is not without some genuinely disturbing moments particularly a sequence involving the always watchable Judy Matheson, which colours the whole film and intentionally so.

Dark

The House That Vanished is also known as Scream... and Die! As well as Please! Don't Go in the Bedroom (and you really, really, don’t want to go in that bedroom…) but I think the first title is the grandest for what is ultimately a patchy affair that whilst it is shocks intermittently and engages throughout, ultimately it doesn’t quite hold together.

It starts off with Valerie on a modelling assignment, going through the motions with a photographer who wants her to do some more risqué work with him. She’s not willing to go there as she doesn’t trust his artistic integrity although she is willing to take a chance with her very dodgy boyfriend, Terry (Alex Leppard) who’s idea of a good time is to drive her out, off road, into the misty woods. Terry has a little job to do and finds a grand house in the middle of nowhere before gaining entry in search of something, although he won’t say what.

Dark deeds as seen from the cupboard

They find a draw full of women’s passports, which is odd, and then have to hide in a cupboard as a couple enters the house and begin to strip off on the bed. All of this takes place in almost pitch black and I tip my hat to cinematographer Trevor Wren who, even on this murky multi-transfer, captures enough of the action, admittedly mostly the now naked form of the woman. What comes next is the first real shock as the man brutally slices his companion to death as the two onlookers gasp in shock. Valerie runs for her life, heading into the woods after finding Terry’s car keys missing.

The resultant chase is well handled as Valerie hides away in a scrap yard with the killer not far behind, walking deliberated knife in hand as she shivers in terror in the back seat of a rusted car. She stays there until morning, hitches back home where she finds Terry’s car parked outside but there’s no sign of Terry there or at his flat.

Flats were a lot cheaper in Blomfield Road, London's Little Venice...

Life carries on and her friends Mike (Lawrence Keane) and his girlfriend, Stella (Annabella Wood), more than familiar with Terry’s criminal activities, urge her not to go to the police as she’ll get caught up in the burglary.

So far so mysterious but then Valerie meets a strange and attractive sculptor, Paul (Karl Lanchbury) at Mike’s shop along with his Aunt Susanna (Maggie Walker). Paul makes intriguing ornamental masks and seems a much more interesting chap than thuggish old Terry. Valerie starts seeing Paul but strange things keep happening as she returns to her house to find pigeons in the darkened basement. They’re owned by another odd gentleman a Mr. Hornby (Peter Forbes-Robertson) who has just moved in with his flighty pets.

Seems like a relaxed kind of guy?

Meanwhile, the relationship between Paul and his Aunt is rather odd too and after leaves Valerie after an awkward dinner in their London apartment, the older woman has her way with her young protégé…  The next day Mike and Stella go with Valerie to try and find the house but only manage to locate the scrap yard along with Terry’s car… has the house vanished as the title suggests?

So, by this point I’m counting three suspects and one no longer as obvious as he was before the incest… the film needs to pick up the pace though and does so with the return from holiday of Valerie’s flat mate Lorna (Judy Matheson). Lorna provides the semblance of normality and wrong-foots the audience long enough for the shock of her brutal murder to hit us all the harder. It’s pretty hard to watch if I’m honest and Judy approached it with the same degree of professionalism as all her work, it’s upsetting and unsettling.

Here's Judy

It’s also exactly why Valerie should not go in the bedroom… but she does. Judy is able to quickly extablish the vibrancy of her character and we care what happens and it's horrible. Shaken, Valerie accepts Paul’s invitation to go and stay at his Aunt’s country mansion. A chance to get away from it all with new friends? What do you think?

Dusty verdict: The House That Vanished is a weird film but it’s hardly a House of Mystery. The reveals are shocking for their repeated juxtaposition with sexual intimacy but they’re not especially surprising. It would almost certainly have been more visceral and horrific in the depths of a darkened cinema… after images haunting your steps back home after the late bus dropped you off.

It’s well worth seeking out but is not currently available on home media…

Nice and sleazy does it... Jungle Street (1960)

This falls into that intriguing sub-genre of Soho strip-joint based dramas along with Beat Girl (released 28^th October 1960) and Expresso Bongo (released 1^st December 1959) and was probably the last to be released. It may lack the authenticity of the former – which used professional strippers – and the wit of the latter – which used Cliff Richard – but it’s noteworthy all the same.

There are some lukewarm reviews on IMDB for the film but it’s a convincing kitchen-sink crime drama with a memorable if occasionally jarring lead performance from David McCallum as the troubled petty crook Terry Collins. As Collins, McCallum never lets the intensity drop as a rebel with no cause but his own and no loyalty to family or friends. The exception to this is dancer Sue, played by McCallum’s then wife, Jill Ireland who I have to say provides the most stunning of catwalks for her moment in the club; she’s got star power to spare, as with her husband, and near infinite legs!

David McCallum

As with the excellent but underused Kenneth Cope, they bring out what there is of the drama and make this low budget Las Vegas a low-impact but compelling watch for a bank holiday afternoon; the showgirls may be faking it but the feeling of supressed violence and desperation is tangible.

All begins with an old man’s late-night bus journey from Notting Hill set to a swinging Harold Geller score. He arrives at his destination and gets fatally knocked out by a blackjack wielded by petty Terry who takes his money and throws his wallet down the drain.

We’ve had the violence so now it’s time for “sex” as we enter the Adam and Eve club presumably down a dark Soho Alley to find smiley Marian Collins introducing a variety of acts starting with “Dimples” (Vanda Hudson) in tight-fitting silver slacks and, initially at least, matching top, as she strips and sings “I’m Only a Girl” to row after row of pale, stale males sucking harder on their cigarettes with every gyration and discarded item of clothing; it’s definitely the singer and not the song.

Jill Ireland and her near infinte legs...

Terry arrives at the club just as a black dancer (Faye Craig) gives the film’s most overtly sexual performance – just as with Pascaline in Beat Girl… the differing moral standards of the age towards “native” dance and expression? He settles down to a short and salty exchange with Joe Lucas (Brian Weske) a lower league but established criminal who none-the-less has more street smarts.

Backstage, star attraction Sue, who is fending off the advances of club owner and gutter entrepreneur, Jacko Fielding (John Chandos) before taking to the stage. Sue’s dance is perhaps more graceful and composed than you’d expect in such a dive but Jill Ireland simply acts her way through it with a range of expressions that conveys much beyond the choreographed physical routine. With the occasional cut-away to an increasingly distracted Terry, she’s defiant, alluring and ultimately in control of the room. You get the feeling there could have been a much deeper story here.

But. Not today… what we get is not enough character development and a story that, whilst competently directed by Charles Saunders, falls between the twin stools of titillation, crime and socially aware drama.

Grumpy breakfast with mum and his ol' dad.

Terry’s tense breakfast with his belligerent Dad (Thomas Gallagher) and long-suffering mother (Edna Doré) starts with a close-up of a fry-up and abrasive exchanges that almost lead to violence; they’re a family on the brink and Terry’s either going to put up or shut up. The headline in The Daily Express tells him there is no going back as it’s revealed that his mugging has turned into a murder.

But no one seems to take Terry seriously and as the girls in the club, Dimples, Margo (Anne Scott) and another (Gillian Watt) laugh at him he slaps out and is floored by a fierce straight right from Dealer (Fred Griffiths). Terry just hasn’t got what it takes and just doesn’t know it and as Sue takes pity on him, getting him laid out in her dressing room her quickly turns from grateful of hateful as he forces himself on her.

Things are about to get worse for Terry though as his former partner in crime, Johnny Calvert (Kenneth Cope), gets early release from Wormwood Scrubs and comes looking for his share of the proceeds from the job that landed him in clink as well as his old love, Sue. Terry’s spent the money though, of course, but has a plan to rob the club and pay his mate back in spades.

Gillian Watt dances as Kenneth Cope and David McCallum make plans

Johnny’s hard to persuade though after making up with Sue – accepting his own part in her having to turn to this life even as Jacko is lining up a new star dancer Dolly (a brief cameo from Jacqueline Jones who was in Antonioni’s Il Grigo in 1957). Meanwhile the coppers have found the old man’s wallet and, having identified prints, are sweeping the neighbourhood trying to find the matching fingers…

Time is running out and everything will turn on the boy’s plan to rob the club – just one last job to get Johnny the money to get away with Sue and Terry’s only hope of escaping the law. What do you reckon’s going to happen?

Dusty Verdict: Jungle Street is very near the real thing and is saved by the grit of McCallum and the grace of Ireland. There’s decent support all round and you do end up caring about – most – of the characters although Terry’s a particularly un-redeeming character which, to be fair, is the point; we keep on expecting him to turn the corner but he can’t and whatever he sows, he reaps. Plenty of character actors to spot and there’s a smashing turn from Meier Tzelniker as elderly jeweller Mr. Rose. Shirley Anne Field has a bit part too although she doesn’t dance.

Attentive audience

Vanda Hudson

Marian Collins

Faye Craig

Jill Ireland

Anne Scott

Gillian Watt

John Chandos and Jacqueline Jones who had a much bigger role in Antonioni's acclaimed Il Grido (1957)