I first saw this little gem of a movie - produced by Paul Maslansky and filmed in Italy by American writer-director Warren Kiefer - on local television just over 50 years ago in June 1971, well before David Pirie wrote so appreciatively about it in A HERITAGE OF HORROR, his enthusiasm fueled in part by Robin Wood's incorrect assumptions about Michael Reeves' role behind the scenes in an essay he wrote about the young director at the time of his death. Reeves is credited as an assistant director, a job that usually takes charge of things on a set; the actual director remembered him as a gofer, while Maslansky recalls giving the enthusiastic young lad some second unit work to do. I personally sense that the opening narration (so similar to that in WITCHFINDER GENERAL) and opening scenes of the two lovers being attacked and the ensuing coach robbery and murder might be his; they have the feel of a missing link between his home movies and the jagged direction of his directorial debut THE SHE BEAST - also, they have literally nothing to do with the rest of the picture. Reeves might have also been entrusted with some camera coverage, the shots of the Luciano Pigozzi stand-in climbing the castle wall, Mirko Valentin marching along or swinging his scythe, that kind of thing. But this material has nothing to do with what makes the film so special.
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| Donald Sutherland, Philippe Leroy, and Christopher Lee. |
In short, CASTLE OF THE LIVING DEAD is the story of an early 19th century traveling commedia rusticana company - consisting of supposed brother and sister Gianni and Laura (Ennio Antonelli, Gaia Germani) who play the lead parts; Dart (Luciano Pigozzi), a surly customer who serves as their Harlequin; Bruno (Jacques Stany), a mute strongman; and Neep (Antonio di Martino), a likable dwarf. After a local performance, the troupe's two alpha males get into a fight and Dart decides to quit - promising he will have his revenge later. He is then promptly replaced by Eric (FEMINA RIDENS' Philippe Leroy), a footloose ex-soldier in the recent Napoleonic wars who is attracted to Laura and decides to tag along. En route to the next village, their wagon passes through a forest that is strangely soundless and still; the only visible wildlife is a bird perched on a branch as stiff as a board. Hungry and thirsty, they seek overnight shelter in exchange for performance at the castle of Count Drago (Lee), a widowed recluse who is performing experiments in the preservation of natural beauty for all time. He soon begins to covet the beauty of Laura (Gaia Germani) and, with the help of his gaunt and creepy majordomo (Valentin), he sets about keeping his guests indefinitely. His ambitions conflict with those of Dart, who reappears to enact his vengeance around the time Act III commences.
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| For hungry actors, here's a pitch: play the sergeant AND the witch! |
This is that rare Italian Gothic that invites the influence of fairy tales and E.T.A. Hoffmann. Filmed in and around the Castello Odescalchi in Bracciano and the Parco dei Mostri in Bomarzo, the film's natural scenery is always captivating. However, the real strength of this film lies in its casting, which entices from the viewer more than the usual interest and good will. All the main players are excellent, and the supporting cast is literally outstanding with prime work by Pigozzi, Valentin, and Martino. As is now well-known, this was Donald Sutherland's first film, and he plays the dual role of a boorish police sergeant and a witch who speaks in baleful couplets, at one point interacting with himself. Kiefer's clever script introduces the the principal characters in the midst of a stage performance and thereafter, if we sometimes notice some technical or decorative shortcomings (like the theatrical exaggerations of Lee's almost silent movie villain-like makeup), we forgive and welcome them in the spirit of another theatrical diversion. The film is often automatically praised for the camerawork of Aldo Tonti - once identified by Christopher Lee in an interview as "Fellini's cameraman," though in fact he only shot THE NIGHTS OF CABIRIA for him. It is far more apt to mention his earlier neorealist work Roberto Rossellini - OSSESSIONE and EUROPE '51 - when talking about his work here, which sometimes recalls the look of fairy tale woodcuts. Tonti obviously didn't have the indulgence here that Fellini could offer him at Cinecittà. The castle and natural settings are beautiful, yes, but they were beautiful to begin with; the camera framings and compositions are fairly hit-and-miss and the lighting is often flat because the interiors were actual locations rather than in studio, well below the standards of other Italian cameramen I could name. Again, the overall stance of theatricality helps, and Lavagnino's rustic, bittersweet score is also supportive and - in its emotional conveyance of character - warmly endearing.
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| Gaia Germani and Luciano Pigozzi. |
In retrospect, I believe my early discovery of this film had a great deal to do with cementing my orientation as a Eurocult completist. First of all, it took me completely by surprise: CASTLE OF THE LIVING DEAD had had a UK release, second-billed with the disappointing THE BLOOD BEAST TERROR in 1967; however, it arrived on US television without prior theatrical play, arriving as part of an American International Television package as early as January 1970. (I found earlier listings of the title going back as far as August 31, 1968 but the synopsis described Antonio Margheriti's HORROR CASTLE instead!) It was unusual to discover such a quirky yet appealing film out of the blue, and it also added conspicuously to Christopher Lee's growing gallery of macabre characterizations, which was then making him a kind of "Man of a Thousand Faces" for my generation. So distinctive was he as an actor, as a presence, that the film makes its most conspicuous stumble when, supposedly, Count Drago's emerges from the curtained compartment of his coach to hand a written message to his driver. That hand could belong to anybody, except Christopher Lee. This was a actor whose performances extended to the tips of his fingers; he simply could not be hand-doubled. Fortunately, he and Sutherland dubbed his own performance here. The English dubbing track was directed by American then-expatriat Mel Welles (Gravis Mushnik in the original LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS), who also provided the English voice for Pigozzi and one or two other incidentals.
Presented here in 1080p from a 4K restoration of the original 1.66:1 camera negative, the movie has never looked better. This is its first official US release on home video and the crisp presentation underlines occasional lapses into soft focus and even some intermittent tonal differences which may indicate different kinds of film stock or even that the master had to fill some gaps with material taken from a lesser source. But there is absolutely no cause for complaint. For the better part of 50 years, it was only possible to see the film in cropped 16mm form, and it acquired a level of legend even from that. This is better. This is just grand.
The disc also includes two audio commentaries, one by Kat Ellinger, the other by Nathaniel Thompson and Troy Howarth. Double commentaries may give the appearance of good value but they are seldom a good idea. It's a rare movie (and a still rarer genre movie) that can stand up to three hours of discussion; of course, you can always save one for a rainy day. What is most essential to know about CASTLE is covered in less time and with most authority by Roberto Curti's incisive sidebar on Warren Kiefer, whose in-plain-sight authorship of the film has been erroneously in doubt for half a century - and also the pertinent pages in Rigby's excellent book. Also included are a bonus disc of Lavagnino's soundtrack (previously released) and a lengthy career interview with Paul Maslansky, whose section on this film is pretty much the epitaph it deserves. He admits its imperfections, "but to this day, whenever I see it on television... I'm still proud of it."
Next up: The home video debut of Lee's long-rumored Faustian "art film" KATHARSIS aka SVIDA AL DIAVOLI (under the title CHALLENGE THE DEVIL) and the bonus disc of archival Lee interviews, outtakes, and arias.
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