Another film that feels like a natural branch on the Christopher Lee/Edmond T. Gréville tree (but, to all evidence, isn’t) is Samuel Gallu’s THEATRE OF DEATH (1966). Still in need of a high-definition release, this curio was shot in October 1965 at Elstree Studios in London but is a contemporary story set in Paris, in and around the Theâtre de Mort, very much based on the by-then-defunct Theâtre du Grand Guignol. Lee stars as Philippe Darvas, a forceful second-generation writer-director at the playhouse who takes under his satanic wing a young newcomer, Nicole Chappell (Jenny Till), to the annoyance of its ascending star Dani Gireaux (Lelia Goldoni, SHADOWS). Dr. Charles Marquis (QUATERMASS AND THE PIT’s Julian Glover), a police surgeon recovering from what seems a pointlessly symbolic hand wound, starts to date Dani and forms a fascination with the theater's dramatic goings on - onstage and backstage - which unfold at the same time he is investigating a series of “vampire” murders performed with a knife-like instrument that leaves a triangular puncture mark.
Written by Ellis Kadison (who is given a most unusual “by” credit on the film’s title card), this is a most unusual film, deserving of “collector’s item” status among the genre’s most epicurean palates despite its inability to be “read” or studied as an auteur piece. It’s gorgeously photographed in Bavaesque color widescreen by Gil Taylor (DR STRANGELOVE, REPULSION), effectively scored by Elizabeth Lutyens and one or two library tracks, and it wears its affection for the genre on its sleeve to such an extent that the viewer may fail to note right away what a radical turn it’s taking in regard to its modern day vampire content - years before COUNT YORGA, VAMPIRE (1970) or THE NIGHT STALKER (1973) but showing some awareness of Leslie H. Whitten’s novel PROGENY OF THE ADDER (1965). The script is co-authored by Roger Marshall, an alumnus of THE EDGAR WALLACE MYSTERY THEATRE and 15+ episodes of THE AVENGERS, whose thumb on the scale would seem to outweigh anything contributed by Kadison, whose other credits peak with RICHARD DIAMOND, PRIVATE DETECTIVE, THE GNOME-MOBILE and THE BANANA SPLITS ADVENTURE HOUR.
At the film’s heart is a dominant Lee performance that takes his idol Conrad Veidt very much to heart; as a modern-day Shakespeare of Stage Slaughter, he’s absolutely convincing as a director, both nurturing and abusive, and there is a wonderful private moment in which we see him girding himself to pen a new work by immersing himself in the imagery of the horror cinema of the past. Another thing: this appears to be the first of what might be called Lee’s post-modern film appearances, by which I mean that he seems to have been cast in awareness of his newfound legacy as a horror star - and, at this point in his career, we can see that such recognition still pleased him. There is also something self-reflexive in the film’s use of a portrait painted after Lee’s character in Bava’s THE WHIP AND THE BODY (1963), which we’re never quite sure is meant to be Philippe Darvas or his father but keeps us immersed in thoughts of the horror genre as a legacy.
However, something happens around the midpoint as one of the more important characters is abruptly killed off - and it’s one of the film’s peculiarities that we only see the stage murders; the real murders either black out just shy of the death blow or are blacked out altogether. It’s an unusually effective death because it happens much as it does in life, catching the viewer off-balance, left questioning the facts (and the death) as it has its destabilizing effect on the other cast members and narrative. The balance of the film unreels with a different sort of alchemy, which is not without its points of interest (Goldoni gives a far more nuanced female lead performance than is often found in horror) but definitely leaves one processing and questioning what has happened. The vampire angle is ultimately disappointing but all of the atmosphere summoned by the aforementioned contemporary vampire films still to come is present here, fully formed, with an emphasis on the same dark, rain- and neon-slicked, metropolitan streets found in the Whitten novel. In a moment of particular panache on Gallu's part, a woman is victimized up against a French theater poster, the word "frisson" accompanying the death blow before the camera careens toward a screaming painted face.
THEATRE OF DEATH was released through Hemisphere Pictures in the States under the title BLOOD FIEND, though it also had television showings under its original title. There was a DVD release of THEATRE OF DEATH many years ago, which collectors may still be able to find at eBay, but I was able to find it streaming online as part of the Cultpix catalogue.
(C) 2026 Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.
