Deeper Into Wallace

I have only gotten worse with estimations of time as time has rolled on, but I must have started reading and collecting Edgar Wallace novels about 15 years ago. After reading a few of them, I thought I had sized him up as a practitioner of his genre; I liked his criminal universe, but his style didn't do that much for me. When it came to terror and mystery fiction of his era, I much preferred Gaston Leroux, Sax Rohmer and Maurice Leblanc, not to mention the Fantômas novels of Souvestre-Allain. 

However, in recent weeks, I've found myself returning to Wallace and adding prodigiously to my collection. Lofts and Adley's indispensable THE BRITISH BIBLOGRAPHY OF EDGAR WALLACE has helped me to order my collection, which presents amounts to 99 (!) different hardcovers. (When the mail comes today, it's possible I'll be adding my 100th.) On the day I finally put my collection into some kind of chronology and could see how much remained to be found, how did I celebrate? By reading one of the Wallace books I didn't have - on my Kindle.  

As someone who approached Wallace from the standpoint of someone who loves the German thrillers based on his books, I have always tended to see more than one Wallace. There is the author of the mysteries (THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE FROG, THE SQUEAKER, THE TERROR, THE AVENGER), and then there is the one who writes about the Great War (WRIT IN BARRACKS), about British colonialism (SANDERS OF THE RIVER), about aviation (TAM O' THE SCOOTS) and race horses (GREY TIMOTHY). Does a collector of Wallace need to collect the non-mysteries, if those other subjects don't interest him? 

Of course I had to complicate things by finding out.

As I added to my collection such titles as THE MIND OF MR. REEDER, THE GOLDEN HADES and THE DEVIL MAN, I suddenly found myself feeling curious, for the first time, about his SANDERS books. After all, they were probably his most popular books at the time of their publication; they provoked quite a sensation. These are short story collections centered around Commissioner Sanders, a representative of the British government who is sent to police a territory in Africa - to subjugate native superstitions, to inspire fear and and respect for the law, and loyalty for the cause of civilization, while at the same time being careful to preserve what is unique and special about the country, its language and its heritage. These books - nine of them, published between 1911 and 1923 - tend to be little-read these days because people assume them to be racist. There was a famous filming of one back in the thirties, starring Leslie Banks and Paul Robeson, which Robeson is said to have later regretted making. I haven't seen the film, but as of the wee hours of this morning, I have read SANDERS OF THE RIVER.

I started out expecting not to read much more than the first story, because adventure fiction is not really my thing, and I thought I could imagine - from the mysteries I'd read - what strange cocktail might result with Wallace donning a pith helmet. But the surprise was on me: I think SANDERS may be my favorite Wallace book of the dozen or so I've read; it is better written than those of his mysteries I know. Each story has a fable-like simplicity that is steered, in almost every case, toward complex ironic stalemates. I found myself reading two, three, four stories in a sitting - unusual for me, who usually reads one and sets the book aside. This first collection was published in 1911 and there are instances of racist language, which I was initially disappointed to find... however, I became quite intrigued by what I noticed was the extreme specificity of its use. 

There is one racist remark that is hard to ignore because it is expressed by the author himself, when he observes that "the average black woman is ugly of face, but beautiful of figure" - but Wallace relays this opinion before introducing an African woman of rare and surpassing, indeed bewitching, beauty. The N word is never used in hate or anger in these stories, but rather in contempt of falsity or pretense - it's almost always expressed by an African looking down his nose at a rival from another tribe. It's also used once or twice by Sanders himself, as a reprimand - when one of the Kings or warriors in his territory try to charm or BS him by speaking broken English, because it is his job (besides keeping the peace and discouraging murder) to preserve the African way of life, which extends to encouraging these charges to communicate with him in the full eloquence of their native language. His authority extends to whippings and hangings, but these demonstrations of his lawful authority pale beside the evils he is actively curbing - massacres staged to abduct women for wives, the practicing of juju, cannibalism. What most impressed me about these stories is that there is no sense of caricature in them; all the characters seem profoundly human and distinct - sometimes eccentric, sometimes mysterious and even mystic, sometimes formidable, sometimes inexplicably evil or charming or both. Wallace writes about them, about their vanity, their innocence, their coyness and bravado, about their psychologies and their strange capacity to learn new things telepathically, with remarkable and persuasive acuity. 

Sanders himself is a forerunner of the sort of hero we see a lot today - he's a man with a front row seat to the slow death of the world's last vestiges of innocence as it becomes infected by inevitable exposure to the supposed civilization he at once represents and deeply disdains.

And to my surprise, SANDERS OF THE RIVER actually does encompass some fantastic content. One story is about witchcraft, one is about a voodoo curse, and another is about the way members of a certain tribe seem to "know" things that happen within their tribe, even when they happen many miles away. But all of these subjects are treated in a disarming, down to earth, practical manner, without the usual hyperbole that usually asserts and underscores their strangeness. Here, they are all another bizarre chapter in Sanders' experience. 

In related news, I think I have now finally acquired all six books that Wallace's son, Bryan Edgar Wallace, published - at least in English.  I think it's probably time I read one of those.

(c) 2018 by Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.

Some Books, Some Recently Viewed Movies, and Some Self-Promotion

There has been a lot going on here at Casa Lucas - new work coming out of my computer, new work being published, new movies on Blu-ray inundating my senses, and new books getting their hooks into me. I can't devote blogs to everything, but it occurred to me that I could just write a letter to my blog followers and touch on everything a little, and bring these cool items to your attention. Better than getting all bogged down in other new arrivals and never getting around to anything - right? Look for the highlighted passages; that's where you will find links to the various products mentioned.

First of all: SELF-PROMOTION. (Why else blog?)

My book on the film SPIRITS OF THE DEAD (Histoires Extraordinaires) is due back from the printer any day now, but pre-orders are being gratefully received here. 

Also, stressing this week is the horror fiction anthology NEW FEARS 2, edited by Mark Morris and published by Titan Books. It contains my short story "The Migrants" (no connection to recent news stories), which is only the second short story I've ever published; it's available from Amazon and should be in bookstores everywhere, so please do your bit by buying a copy and rewarding those who are encouraging my fiction career. I'd like to be asked to write more of it.

Streeting on October 2 is the long-awaited Volume 4 of the Joseph W. Sarno Retrospect Series, containing three of his best films: SIN IN THE SUBURBS (1964), CONFESSIONS OF A YOUNG AMERICAN HOUSEWIFE (1974), and the until-recently-lost WARM NIGHTS AND HOT PLEASURES (1964). I recorded audio commentaries for the first two titles, and they should give you a nice taste of what to expect from the Sarno book I'm working on.

Speaking of audio commentaries, I've recorded three in the part month, but the two I can tell you about are Sergio Leone's FOR A FEW DOLLARS MORE (1965) for Kino Lorber and Mario Bava's Vampire gegen Herakles (1961) - which you may know better as HERCULES IN THE HAUNTED WORLD - for the German company Koch Media. I have not yet seen Kino's master for the Leone masterpiece, but Koch Media's master for the Technicolor HERCULES film redefines "eye-popping." I've seen the film in 35mm and it was an unforgettable experience; the master retains the hot colors and ramps up the razor focus - this should be your newest demonstration disc. At this time, I am not aware of any forthcoming US or UK release of this title, and I can assure you that it will be English friendly. It will be streeting on October 25 and can be pre-ordered here.

Second: RECOMMENDED BOOKS.

RENEGADE WESTERNS: MOVIES THAT SHOT DOWN FRONTIER MYTHS (FAB Press) by Kevin Grant & Clark Hodgkiss: Kevin Grant's 2011 book ANY GUN CAN PLAY: THE ESSENTIAL GUIDE TO EURO WESTERNS more than lived up to its title, being the first truly substantial study of the genre since Christopher Frayling's groundbreaking 1981 book SPAGHETTI WESTERNS: COWBOYS AND EUROPEANS FROM KARL MAY TO SERGIO LEONE - and the first written with instant access to the films it was covering, allowing for more accurate recall. This new book, co-written by Hodgkiss (editor/publisher/essayist of the fanzine BLOOD, MONEY AND VENGEANCE), fills a gaping hole in the landscape of film criticism by organizing a history of what might be called the American "anti-Western." Beginning with William Wellman's THE OX-BOW INCIDENT (1943) and carrying through to more recent works like THE HATEFUL EIGHT (2016) and HOSTILES (2017), the authors focus on those films that questioned the racism and supposedly justified violence of the traditional Western, to tell stories about the troubled (and sometimes untroubled) consciousness of the characters who lived in those times. The book covers more than 100 films - including the works of Anthony Mann, Richard Brooks, Sam Fuller, Robert Aldrich, Monte Hellman and Sam Peckinpah - and devotes brilliantly conceived and written, yet concise essays of 2-3 pages to each film. It can, but certainly doesn't have to, be read sequentially; it's more fun to browse through and check what the authors have to say about one's own favorites, and then use the book to organize screenings of the intriguing titles you don't know so well, or perhaps haven't seen. Film societies could use this book as a guide to theme bookings. If you're a serious fan of Westerns, this is a rich banquet of a book that I whole-heartedly recommend - and if you're not, this is the book that could turn you. Hardcover and hefty trade paperback with wall to wall color. Also available directly from the publisher here.

ISHIRO HONDA: A LIFE IN FILM, FROM GODZILLA TO KUROSAWA (Wesleyan University Press) by Steve Ryfle and Ed Godziszewski, Foreword by Martin Scorsese: While it would not be incorrect to describe this long-needed biography as a precious complement to August Ragone's book on Eiju Tsubaraya of a few years ago, it would not fully prepare one for this book's value. Working with the assistance of their subject's family and with relevant quotes from numerous colleagues and co-workers, the authors take us behind the dense curtain of a foreign language to become truly acquainted with the man who created and popularized the kaiju eiga. But it goes beyond this by covering Honda's career in toto, telling us in detail about each of his 22 non-fantastic works, and thereby putting his giant monster epics in perspective in terms of chronology and their perpetuation of consistent themes and interests. This perspective is further lent to those better-known works by refusing to assume the usual fanboy stance. The authors are consistently intelligent, discerning and credible in their coverage and criticism. They are able to tell us when Honda was working tongue-in-cheek, or in all seriousness, when he was making a political or social statement with his work, and even when it was guilty of needless exaggeration - all fine points that are easily lost when we approach his work in English, or with lingering prejudices dating from the "Made in Japan" era when these films were made. All in all, anyone who approaches Honda's films without this book under their arm is flying blind. Hardcover and Kindle, available here.  

THE BIRTH OF THE AMERICAN HORROR FILM (Edinburgh University Press) by Gary D. Rhodes: This is another book that instantly presents itself as sorely-needed, written by the talented and obsessive author of numerous books (always excellent) about actor Bela Lugosi and his key films. The objective of this book, obviously, is to explore the origin of the fantastic fright film in America - leaving out Georges Méliès and Segundo de Chomón and the notion of the "trick" film - but it also painstakingly lays out the genre's premonitory tremors as they were manifest in the fin de siècle literature, theater, magic lantern performances, and illustrated slides of the 1800's. Most of the films covered in this book are no longer known to exist, but Rhodes digs deep into newspaper archives for information and - more importantly - sometimes rapt, sometimes appalled descriptions of horrific scenes staged in small town theaters. This is ultimately not just a book about what it purports to be about, but a book charting the desires and misgivings, the conflicted need, of audiences to be thrilled and spooked, and how these needs were creatively met by various forgotten pioneers. Because so little of the material covered is available to us in fact, the book sometimes carries a perverse frisson of being almost novelistic, an imaginary history but everything the author says is backed up by careful footnotes. Of course, I am skeptical of how a book this valuable might be received by younger horror enthusiasts who eschew anything and everything in black-and-white, but if they had the curiosity to crack it open, I suspect they'd be thrilled and amazed by how very little they know is a new idea. Rhodes is presently working on a second volume to this book, which will cover the years 1916 to 1931. Available here in hard and soft cover. 

THE FILMS OF JESS FRANCO (Wayne State University Press), edited by Antonio Lázaro-Reboll and Ian Olney: I've already noted the arrival of this anthology of academic essays here at Video WatchBlog, but now I've read the book in its entirety. Readers who come to this book without much of a pre-existing interest in the subject may find it a bit dry, but speaking for myself, as someone already fascinated by the ups-and-downs of the vast cinematic continuum Franco produced, I find it a real breakthrough that proves Franco's work can stand up to real academic scrutiny. The chapters I found especially illuminating were Nicholas G. Schlegel's essay about Franco's "re-coding" of the German krimi genre with his rarely discussed Der Todesracher von Soho and THE DEVIL CAME FROM AKASAVA (though I wish he had included discussion of his Mabuse film, Dr. M schlagt zu); Alberto Brodesco's examination of Franco's Marquis de Sade-derived films and where Franco stands as an interpreter of Sade; and Finley Freibert's wildly audacious defense of Franco's DTV productions as avatars of "queer cinema," on the grounds that they tend to infuriate the heterosexual male gaze and often generate narrative through repetition rather than traditional linear narrative. As I mentioned in my earlier blog entry, I am also vastly flattered to have figured so prominently in this history, as someone who helped to pave the way toward this kind of deeper discussion, and that honor also extends to Stephen Thrower, Lucas Balbo, Peter Blumenstock, Christian Kessler, Carlos Aguilár, Cathal Tohill, Pete Tombs, Joan Hawkins, Chris Alexander and many others rarely cited in such literature. The book could have been more fully informed had it partaken of the information found in Alain Petit's essential book JESS FRANCO ET LES PROSPERITÉS DU BIS, or had the contributors been aware that Petit's original attention to Franco's work in the French fan press of the 1970s was the true origin of this ongoing discussion. Hardcover (pricey!) and soft cover, available here.  

Third: RECENT VIEWINGS.

Donna and I have been watching Kino Lorber’s two-disc Blu-ray of Michael Anderson’s 1980 6-hour miniseries of Ray Bradbury’s THE MARTIAN CHRONICLES. I was pleasantly surprised to find the teleplay signed by Richard Matheson, and Milton Subotsky listed as one of the producers. The first 10 minutes or so are a learning, or rather, forgetting curve, because it’s essential to forgive and look past the outmoded level of its special effects (particularly because they are post-STAR WARS and all the more disappointing for it). But the stories and the performances become fairly gripping soon enough, and it shapes up to be one of the more intellectually stimulating works of filmic science fiction from this period. Of particular interest is the production design of Assheton Gorton, one of the prime movers behind the Continental Op film movement of the 1960s, who brings some truly visionary props and scenics to the project. Though it has its problems - especially the first half of the third and final segment, featuring Bernadette Peters and Christopher Connelly - the whole of it feels more satisfyingly like a revisit to THE TWILIGHT ZONE than either of the revival versions, especially with TZ veterans like Fritz Weaver, Roddy McDowall and Matheson aboard.

Also spent time discovering the films of Korean filmmaker Hong Sangsoo, namely WOMAN IS THE FUTURE OF MAN and TALE OF CINEMA, which share a well-packed and worthwhile Blu-ray Disc from Arrow Academy. Hong is like a more tense and obsessive Eric Rohmer - he's into conversation, confrontation, cigarettes, scarves, casual but conflicted sex, and lots of strong drink, shared by awkward young men and centered young women. A diverting world to get lost in for a day.

Speaking of Jess Franco, DIAMONDS OF KILIMANDJARO (sic) - his 1983 answer to Tarzan movies, with Katja Bienert as Diana of the Jungle - is now available from MVD Classics on Blu-ray, as well as the Franco-associated title GOLDEN TEMPLE AMAZONS. While watching DIAMONDS, I was surprised to see that two members of its African tribe are shown wearing bewhiskered skull masks that - unless I am sadly mistaken - once belonged to members of the Blind Dead. It is not one of Franco's important pictures, to put it mildly. Unfortunately, though the disc looks and sounds fabulous, it includes only the English dub track, which is pretty bad. I once saw a Spanish version that had a completely different (and amusing) main title sequence and was more obviously played tongue-in-cheek. Considering how vivid Daniel White's score sounds here, an isolated music track would have been welcome, too. I couldn't find an Amazon link to the Blu-ray, but I was able to find it at DiabolikDVD.

That's enough for one day! More as time and spirit permit. 

(c) 2018 by Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.
      

Revisiting SHE DEMONS (1958)

The spine-jolting unmasking of Mona in Richard Cunha's SHE DEMONS.

I never had the pleasure of seeing Richard E. Cunha's SHE DEMONS (1958) on the Big Screen, or even on TV, as a kid; if I I’d had childhood matinee memories of this one, they might have scarred me for life. Fortunately, I only caught up with it on VHS circa 2002 (see my original review in VIDEO WATCHDOG #81, page 62), when Wade Williams released it - and a couple of nights ago, I discovered it hiding on Amazon Prime and watched it a second time.

For a quickie 1950s programmer, it’s a neat little (77 minutes) picture that packs a lot of entertainment: part ARGOSY-style Island fantasy about stranded adventurers coming up against Nazi scientists; ISLAND OF DR MOREAU-type experiments performed on dancing girls; a pre-EYES WITHOUT A FACE beauty restoration subplot; Victor Sen Yung shenanigans; She Demon choreography; volcanic eruptions;  Bronson Caverns; stock footage galore from ONE MILLION B.C.; a sock-o unmasking finale (pictured); and, if all that’s not enough, statuesque Irish McCalla as the spoiled and haughty high society girl who, through adversity, becomes someone more appreciable as a genuine human being.

Remarkably, in hindsight, this was Cunha's directorial debut, and he proceeded to direct just a handful of other horror cheapies that are similarly entertaining - GIANT FROM THE UNKNOWN, MISSILE TO THE MOON, and FRANKENSTEIN'S DAUGHTER - and, incredibly, they were all released in 1958. He subsequently made one more feature, THE GIRL IN ROOM 13, and directed the English version of WHEN STRANGERS MEET in 1964. Some TV work followed. GIANT doesn't deliver its giant until very late in the game, but it compares favorably to a number of AIP titles from the same period. MISSILE TO THE MOON is good fun, and FRANKENSTEIN'S DAUGHTER (which carries a bad rep for the failure of makeup artist Harry Thomas to realize that the "daughter" was supposed to be female!) may otherwise represent the screen's most radical departure from the tried-and-true Frankenstein concept up till that time. And pretty much, all four films manage to deliver one great "Did you see THAT?" moment.  

How dare Amazon Prime label this as a “schlock” classic? Richard Cunha, I salute you. I would have been proud to direct ANY of your films!

(c) 2018 by Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.

First Look: THE FILMS OF JESS FRANCO

In today's mail I received my copy of THE FILMS OF JESS FRANCO, co-edited by Antonio Lázaro-Reboll and Ian Olney and published by Wayne State University Press. I am not here today to review it in detail, or to comment on anything that it says about Jess's films. I was stopped by a more personal connection and response.

I've spent the last couple of hours browsing through this collection of essays by noted film studies educators from around the world, and it would be an understatement to say that I feel very honored and moved by their mentions of my work - which extend to an entire chapter by Antonio Lázaro-Reboll on my work about Franco for VIDEO WATCHDOG (indeed his place as an avatar for the approach to writing about film that VW innovated) and Stephen Thrower's Franco reviews for his magazine EYEBALL, and another by Tatjana Pavlović addressing Franco's "Horrotica," a word that she happily notes I coined in a 1988 article for FANGORIA.

All or nearly all of the chapters make some useful reference to my notorious "You can't see one Franco film until you've seen them all" quote from VIDEO WATCHDOG #1, which I remember was initially met with some mockery and derision. Unlike the estimable Stephen Thrower, whose work is also shown great respect, I don't have a book out there on Franco to give shape to what has been my mostly spontaneous contribution to Franco research; my career has been somewhat uneven and erratic, largely because I have given vent to most of my work in magazines, audio commentaries, and even this blog - everything BUT presenting it between hard covers. Stephen and Alan Petit and so many others have filled the need for Franco books so well, that I've been telling myself for awhile that the world has all the Franco books it needs. But here is one that I needed, a work of academic appreciation that also happens to recognize my role in carving out an evolving perception of Franco and his work, which it intelligently and methodically describes in ways I couldn't begin to do, and it would hardly be my place to do.

I intend to read this book cover to cover because I can see it discusses his work intelligently, passionately, and even with some humor - which is exactly as he would wish it. For now, it is a wonderment to me to find a book in which so many contributors have taken the trouble and care to know what I do, and what I did long ago, and to show me - in place of my mess of memory - a clean line of process that helped to identify this important filmmaker as someone worthy of the attention and recognition that, thankfully, he did receive before he died.

I am reminded of what Ken Russell said in his Foreword to Joseph Gomez's book KEN RUSSELL, about the experience of reading its manuscript:

"I was holding the moon in my hands."


(c) 2018 by Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.

From Nucleus Films: LADY FRANKENSTEIN and DEATH LAID AN EGG

There is a new Blu-ray company in the UK - Nucleus Films (headed by Marc Morris and Jake West), launched not long ago with unique, limited edition Blu-rays of Jess Franco's THE EROTIC RITES OF FRANKENSTEIN and THE DEMONS. Now I must bring your attention to the latest two releases in their "European Cult Cinema Collection": Mel Welles' LADY FRANKENSTEIN (1972) and Giulio Questi's DEATH LAID AN EGG (1968) - both of which are being made available for the first time in their original director's cuts (in both cases, widely suppressed) and their more familiar theatrical release versions. These are both Limited Edition pressings of only 1000 copies. I understand that popular editions will also be issued at some point, but I imagine with fewer extras - and the extras here add immeasurably to their enjoyment.

Readers of VIDEO WATCHDOG may remember that, back in Issue #78, we ran a lengthy interview with writer-director-actor Mel Welles, touching on his entire career from acting for Roger Corman, mentoring Michael Reeves, working in the Italian dubbing industry, and also working as a director on several films made abroad. I also wrote for that issue a detailed reconstruction of LADY FRANKENSTEIN, which has generally been available for screening since its 1973 release in an 84 minute reduction supervised by Roger Corman, who released it through his then-fledgling company New World Pictures. Now you can see for yourselves the 15 minutes that were cut from the film and which reinforce its standing as a more serious accomplishment. The 99 minute version has been transferred from the original camera negative and is presented in both Italian and English (its primary language, as Welles assembled his cast with post-synchronization in mind) 24 bit LPCM audio with optional English subtitles.

The extras include the 84 minute version; an informative and entertaining audio commentary for the director's cut by Alan Jones and Kim Newman; "The Truth About LADY FRANKENSTEIN," a 2007 German television documentary (42m) including extensive on-camera interviews with Welles, Rosalba Neri and Herbert Fux; "Piecing Together LADY FRANKENSTEIN," a 35m featurette in which historian Julian Grainger recounts the film's history; "The Lady and the Orgy," an 8m featurette about Mel Welles' spell in Australia, during which time he reissued the film as part of a theatrical Spook Show; alternate "clothed" footage shot for Spain and international TV broadcasts; a photo-novel; a list of BBFC cuts; a stills and paper gallery; video art; a brace of international trailers, TV spots and radio spots - literally everything you could possibly want related to this title! In case you're wondering, none of the extras mention the film's similarity to the Bill Warren/Jack Sparling story "For the Love of Frankenstein," which appeared in VAMPIRELLA #4 - published early enough (April 1970) to have been a direct influence on Welles' and Edward di Lorenzo's screen story.

When New World released LADY FRANKENSTEIN at its truncated length, and with Rosalba Neri's established name inexplicably changed to "Sara Bay" (and with a blonde woman pictured in the ads), the very nature of its exploitative drive-in oriented presentation encouraged the film's audience to look down on it. To finally see LADY FRANKENSTEIN at its full length, especially with Mel Welles' own hopes and intentions laid out in the accompanying documentary (which he hosts and narrates), is to better appreciate its true stature and ambition. It extends Joseph Cotten's presence in the picture, lends breathing room to its stately art direction, its picturesque locations, and also helps to underscore some of its miraculous content, such as the location's visitation by a rare summer snow, which added tremendously to its visuals. Welles, who died in 2005, explains that he was a life-long admirer of the classic Universal horror films, but that as a young fan he found they did too little to rationalize their story elements - like how Dr. Frankenstein was able to motorize his laboratory without electricity. So, when he was finally put in charge of his own Frankenstein production, he determined to find ways that would make sense of all his previously unanswered questions. The film's full length also gives its various character arcs - Joseph Cotten's as the Baron, Rosalba Neri's as the daughter and newly certified surgeon, Paul Muller's as the assistant, Mickey Hargitay's as the police inspector, and Herbert Fux's as the grave robber - more generous fleshing out, so the fateful decisions they make feel less arbitrary. It's not a perfect film - the climactic battle is between two characters who have just had major brain surgery! - but at its original length, it is certainly more impressive. There is a genuine feel for the Gothic fantastique in its design, and the film has more time to devote to the gradual unveiling of Tania Frankenstein's true cruel and selfish nature. The monster itself has always been something of a disappointment, but I must admit - after decades of Frankenstein films that have only served to degrade the franchise - this film's monster actually does manage to stand on the right side of the demarcation line and hold its own as a Frankenstein monster.

DEATH LAID AN EGG is another kind of film altogether. For decades, since fans started trading bootleg cassettes back in the early '90s, it has accrued a reputation as a strange and arty giallo film, but I don't think it's really that, at all. It's a willfully idiosyncratic film, though - if you stick with it - it tells its wacky story fairly directly. If we accept that it first opened in January 1968, it predates what we know as the giallo, what the giallo became after the arrival of Dario Argento in 1969. Dissociated from a few identifiable Argento tropes, it's actually an adroit political satire about the amorality of big business. It opens with a fascinating series of random images, thrown out as if the camera is a roulette ball as yet undecided who our protagonist is going to be. These are the guests of the so-called Highway Motel (actually Rome's lavish, then-new Rome Hilton hotel - the same place where Franco & Ciccio work as bellboys in Mario Bava's DR. GOLDFOOT AND THE GIRL BOMBS): an exhausted man self-administering eye drops, a man greeting the morning by committing suicide, and a Peeping Tom, all getting repeated screen time until the scenarist settles on Marco (Jean Louis Trintignant), who seems to be murdering a call girl. Marco, whose bloody transgression is witnessed by the Peeping Tom, leaves the "motel" as efficiently as the businessman he is. He's married his way to an executive position in "The Association," a bizarre company whose goal appears to be making chicken a staple not only of daily diet but existence. Marco's born-to-money wife Anna (Gina Lollobrigida) is pushing their company into the future, automating the murder machine that is their business (expect some graphic chicken processing images) to the stewing anger of its former workers, gathering like dark clouds outside their fences, and developing a weird sort of living, headless, wingless McNugget mutation to reduce their costs.

Nucleus includes the shorter "giallo version" in their set, but they were able to locate the last surviving 35mm print of its original full-length cut and incorporate that material (again, 14 minutes' worth) with their master from the original camera negative of the shorter version. Finally seen as its director intended, it is plain to see that Questi was making a film about how we are bombarded as a society by Big Business, about the obscene results that occur when the human (and therefore animal) elements are excised from industry. Marco's plight is that of an executive who is in many ways morally debased but cannot agree to the increasing amorality of his business. One of the key excisions now restored is the complete performance of Renato Romano, who plays Luigi, introduced as an old friend of Marco's, but who - in my reading of the picture - is gradually revealed as his reproaching alter ego - the Marco he might have become had he taken a different direction in life. (Looking like a fatter, more disheveled Trintignant in a plaid jacket, Luigi makes vague references to roads that split into two, is able to recognize Marco in the dark and find his way to his home without knowing his address, etc.) There is no need to spoil the ending, but the film's giallo status is disqualified in an interesting way, so there is really no intention of "deconstructing" a genre that had actually yet to find many of the tropes improvised here. This is an aberration of the truncated cut.

Director Giulio Questi - writing the script with Franco Arcalli (who went on to script Louis Malle's "William Wilson" for SPIRITS OF THE DEAD, ZABRISKIE POINT and THE PASSENGER for Antonioni, Liliana Cavani's THE NIGHT PORTER, Bertollucci's THE CONFORMIST and 1900, Sergio Leone's ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA and numerous other A-list curiosa) - could rather be said to be deconstructing the "Continental Op" films of the 1960s, given the film's antiseptic set design, wild costumes, and the absurd central images of the Chicken and the Egg, emblems of the endless riddle of which came first. (The film also features Ewa Aulin, whom I once identified as the Queen - if it has one - of "Continental Op.") Its attention to the perversions of secretive companies and businessmen, the amorality of science and business, weird mutations and the personalities that breed them, seem neatly yet independently coincidental with David Cronenberg's earliest work in STEREO (1969) and CRIMES OF THE FUTURE (1970). This relationship is further emphasized by its characters' progressive dissociation from humanity (pay close attention to Lollobrigida's random soliloquies about yearning for some kind of physical transformation - very Cronenbergian), and the fractious, atonal music score of avant-garde composer Bruno Maderna.

In this case, the extras include the 91 minute giallo edit; another Alan Jones/Kim Newman commentary (quite invigorating, sometimes cheerfully confused idea fest, in which Kim fires off a convincing association between the ending of this film and another better-known film in Arcalli's filmography); Italian and English 24 bit LPCM audio with English subtitles; "Discovering Questi," a 20-minute monologue by BFI disc producer James Blackford about his interesting personal journey with Questi's slippery filmography; "Sonic Explorations" (24 minutes), in which DJ Lovely Jon discusses Bruno Maderna's contribution to the film with real passion; a 13-minute archival interview with Questi; a 5-minute appraisal of the film from Italian critic Antonio Bruschini; a list of the BBFC censor cuts; and all the trailers and paper galleries you could want - plus a reproduction of the special DEATH LAID AN EGG issue of Craig Ledbetter's fanzine EUROPEAN TRASH CINEMA, including reviews of the film by first-time viewers Stephen R. Bissette, Jeff Smith and yours truly. I was relieved to see that my review has held up well, and my opinion of the film hasn't changed all that much, though the restored footage gives me a clearer notion of its intentions.

Both films were financed by fund-raisers and complete alphabetical Thank You lists of the sponsors are also included. This level of work must be encouraged and supported, so hasten on over to  nucleusfilms.com.


(c) 2018 by Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.

The Midnight Movie Monographers: TIM MAJOR

I conclude my series of Midnight Movie Monograph interviews with the gentleman coming up to bat (literally and figuratively): Tim Major, who immediately earned by respect and my envy by choosing to write about Louis Feuillade's silent crime serial LES VAMPIRES. Like most other contributors to the MMM series, Tim is a published horror-fantasy author in his own right, whose works include CARUS & MITCH, INVADERS FROM BEYOND, YO DON'T BELONG HERE, and short stories published in various anthologies. His latest novel SNAKESKINS is coming from Titan Books in the Spring of 2019. He also has a blog called Cosy Catastrophes, where you can read more by and about him. His manuscript for LES VAMPIRES is just now going to press, and should be available within a month or so. You can secure your copy by pre-ordering now... 

Tim, if you were to be asked by someone who had never seen LES VAMPIRES - say, a young person with a possible aversion to black-and-white or silent cinema - WHY they should take an interest, what would you answer?

I struggle to understand anybody that says they have an aversion to black-and-white films, though I’ve encountered several people who’ve said as much. I guess I don’t really believe that they’ve particularly tried, or that they’re expressing a subconscious issue with something subtler related to filmmaking styles. Like subtitling, monochrome tends to become unnoticed once you’re immersed in any film, I think. I have more sympathy with people who struggle to get along with silent films. I don’t want to make a statement about ‘pure’ cinema, but for me silent films – or those that are unafraid of silence, such as Tarkovsky’s films – are often the most magical cinema experiences. But I understand why some people might not be able to surrender fully to silent cinema, other than comedies. Despite intertitles, silent cinema often provides few cues to guide the viewer through a story. It’s precisely that lack of guidance, the requirement of dwelling on mise-en-scène, that I enjoy. Also, fuck story.

That doesn’t answer your question, though. LES VAMPIRES is an anomaly, and I feel strongly that it succeeds without the requirement of considering it within the context of the film canon. It isn’t particularly reflective of the progression of filmmaking style in 1915 – let’s not forget that Griffith was working on THE BIRTH OF A NATION, developing a directorial and editorial language that would become prevalent, at precisely the same moment that Feuillade was producing LES VAMPIRES. It exists in a strange hinterland between early, ‘primitive’ cinema and the mainstream/Hollywood style that would become so common. To a large extent it fed the imaginations of the Surrealists of the 1920s and 1930s, and yet it also contributed to a template for the crime film and the action spectacular. Despite this, it feels like an example of a path that cinema didn’t take, in the sense that story is only a vehicle for peculiar set pieces, and coherence of plot is essentially irrelevant. Dreams and disorientation are foregrounded, spatial logic and character motivations are often gleefully ignored. Watching TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN last year, I had a strong sense that Lynch was directly calling back to these same preoccupations and Feuillade’s disregard for storytelling convention.

Ultimately, I think people should take an interest in LES VAMPIRES because it’s hypnotic and mind-expanding, yet also entirely down-to-earth and funny as hell.

How did LES VAMPIRES first come into your consciousness? Did your awareness of the film and its imagery precede your seeing it - if so, how did the viewing of it change or enhance that perception?

Like many people half-interested in film history, I suspect, a few key images from the film had appeared on my radar: the fantastic promotional poster featuring a caricatured Musidora/Irma Vep wound within a question mark, and the famous image of Marfa onstage in her bat costume. And, like most people, I assumed that it was a horror film. My first experience of any footage from the film was via Oliver Assayas’ terrific IRMA VEP, in which a director attempts to remake LES VAMPIRES. The director, played by Jean-Pierre Léaud, introduces to Maggie Chung (as herself) the criminal Irma Vep played by Musidora via a clip from Episode 6, ‘The Hypnotic Gaze’. It’s a wonderful snippet, showing Irma sneaking along a hotel corridor, then being ambushed by rival gang leader Moreno, and that episode remains one of my favourites of the serial. Watching the serial proper for the first time, I was surprised by the non-appearance of Irma Vep until Episode 3, and also the humorous tone, the constant deviations from the investigation of what at first appears to be the central mystery, and so on…

You could have chosen anything - what was it about LES VAMPIRES in particular that made you decide upon it as your Midnight Movies Monograph selection?

I love it. When I first watched it, I eked out the episodes, often rewatching the same one several times before progressing to the next, savouring them. I watched the episodes in hotel rooms when travelling for work. I watched them at four in the morning with my newborn child lying on my belly when he refused to sleep. And I wanted to immerse myself more fully, to document how the serial made me feel, and I regretted missing the opportunity to do so as I came to each episode for the first time. The puzzle-box elements, the confusing relationships between different spaces, the in-camera split-screens... I wanted to understand what Feuillade was doing, or at least explore why each of these things left me breathless. Most of the art I love leaves me a little puzzled, or contains some aspect that I can’t unravel fully – for example, Tarkovsky’s STALKER, Skolimowski’s THE SHOUT, or even other media: Captain Beefheart’s SAFE AS MILK, Nabokov’s PALE FIRE. They can’t be deciphered neatly, so they deserve being revisited. 

Is there a reason why you chose LES VAMPIRES over, say, Feuillade’s FANTOMAS?

I like FANTÔMAS well enough. In fact, I saw episodes of that serial before LES VAMPIRES, as in the UK it’s far easier to purchase on DVD. I’d read the Penguin Classics collection of some of Marcel Allain’s and Pierre Souvestre’s Fantômas stories, and enjoyed them very much, leading on to my reading E. W. Hornung’s Raffles stories, and Maurice Leblanc’s Arsène Lupin tales – the latter is my favourite criminal antihero. Something is lacking in Feuillade’s translation of FANTÔMAS from book to screen, for me. The plots aren’t devious, the lead character isn’t dangerous. In comparison, LES VAMPIRES succeeds because it doesn’t adhere to strict genre conventions. Mystery is used as a structural device only on and off. Feuillade gives in to his tendency to go with the flow, resulting in outright weirdness and the rejection of any neat conclusions.

It’s quite a commitment to make to a single film, so I guess this also raises another question: What does your selection of LES VAMPIRES say about you?

As I’ve said above, writing this book allowed me to indulge myself in understanding why I fell in love with the film in the first place. The fact that LES VAMPIRES has a 7-hour running time felt like a point in its favour – while it’s daunting to devote oneself to a single film, surely with so much content there would continue to be things to say… There was also the chance to explore the historical context – the Great War was being conducted on Paris’s doorstep: several actors in the serial disappear abruptly due to being conscripted to fight on the front lines; the streets of the city are desolate. The underdog status of the film appealed to me too. It’s accepted as an important work and a key film in the development of cinema – however, as a film to watch it seems far less established in the public consciousness. It strikes me as fascinating that it can be revered and yet relatively rarely seen. Other than the poster, the most famous image of LES VAMPIRES is of a vampire bat preying upon its prone victim, and yet: i) there are no mythological vampires in the serial, ii) the image actually shows a sly recreation of events in a play-within-the-film, iii) the vampire is not the famous Irma Vep, but dancer Marfa Koutiloff. This confusion for would-be viewers is entirely in keeping with the majestic befuddlement of the film.

You made the decision to approach this book not just as a historian, or a fan, but as a novelist - you include some original fiction in it. Was this an early decision for you, in approaching the subject, or did it come about in progress?

That’s an interesting way of putting it. I’m not sure I’m confident enough of myself as a novelist to suggest that I approach anything in that capacity. I’m certainly not a historian and my interest in film is purely enthusiastic. However, the decision to respond to the film partly via fiction felt very natural. Partly that’s because that’s what I do, partly it’s because writing this monograph took the place of writing a new novel in summer 2017 (I moved house twice that year, so a more fragmented project suited my available working hours), partly it’s because I would struggle to express my reaction to the film in solely factual terms. 

So, I’d always intended to include ten pieces of short fiction, one following each of the ten episodes of the serial. The nature of the stories developed over time. Rather than write ‘fan fiction’ or repeat elements of the film, I created a character, Louise Foyard, who combines the two lynchpins of LES VAMPIRES: Louis Feuillade and Musidora. Her adventures are fragmented and disoriented, and recall aspects of the film only obliquely. I tried to write the pieces quickly, in strict sequence after writing the analysis of each episode, to reflect the serialised production of the film. One of the pieces was actually written many years ago, as a nod to Feuillade’s usage of his earlier, abandoned projects, such as the lengthy sequence in Episode 6 that cuts away to the adventures of a fictional character in Spain in 1808.

In responding to LES VAMPIRES as a novelist, what about the film most intrigues you - the crime? The action? The fetishized Musidora aspect?

The disorientation. All of the elements you mention are terrific – Musidora’s stunt work! – but the overriding marvel of the film, for me, is its woozy, dreamlike tone. 

Musidora is endlessly fascinating, onscreen and off: in a future project I’d love to explore her life in far more detail. Feuillade, too – his journey from the seminary to military service to journalism to filmmaking is interesting, not least because he was Gaumont’s artistic director for many years as well as having directed five hundred short films by 1914. That kind of output is inspirational: the ability to create, move on, create, move on.

As a novelist, LES VAMPIRES and the aforementioned TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN have acted as twin inspirations recently. They’ve made me realise that plot is generally not what I show up for. 

I was interested to see that, in listing your most inspirational writers, you included mainstream as well as science fiction and fantasy writers. How do you think the influence of these writers expresses itself in your work?

This harks back to my first answer about people refusing to watch black-and-white films. Why would anybody silo themselves off into a single genre, in terms of reading, watching or creating? My earliest influences were genre ones: DOCTOR WHO was my first real obsession; John Wyndham and H.G. Wells were my gateway into adult fiction. But to a large extent these fictions are centred around ideas or high concepts, as are the works of other writers I love, such as Italo Calvino or Paul Auster. I’m equally as engrossed by strong character pieces. If pushed, I’ll often name John Updike’s Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom series of novels (beginning with RABBIT, RUN) as my favourites. I only wish I had the confidence in my writing to dwell on single moments to the degree that Updike is able to. Nabokov’s LOLITA was the novel that opened my mind to the power of fine prose. I like mysteries very much, but I find Patricia Highsmith’s messier, character-based psychological crime novels more interesting than whodunnits. My horror influences are far more cinematic than literary, having begun with a delicious fear of Talos in JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS; I was never a reader of horror novels when I was growing up. An example of a modern novel I adore would be Jeffrey Eugenides’ MIDDLESEX – it has a big central idea, but it’s entirely a character piece.

The short answer to your question is that I don’t know. I like grand ideas, but without a focus on character in my own writing, I’m adrift. 

Do you think readers familiar with your work as a novelist will bring a special insight to your work on this book?

It’s lovely to imagine that somebody might deliberately move from my fiction to my non-fiction. I think it’s far more likely that somebody interested in LES VAMPIRES, or silent film in general, or horror fiction, might read the monograph and then, perhaps, take a punt on my novels or short stories based on the ten pieces of weird fiction. Even that seems a stretch. Frankly, I’m very happy for my book on LES VAMPIRES to stand alone. I’m proud of it, and I think it’s an honest attempt to unpick my love for the film, and I hope that my enthusiasm, if nothing else, is apparent and infectious. I’d be delighted to hear of anybody watching the film as a result of the book: it deserves to be seen and celebrated. It’s utterly wonderful.

(c) 2018 by Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.

The Midnight Movie Monographers: SEAN HOGAN

The fourth book in the Midnight Movie Monographs series to be released was devoted to Gary Sherman's DEATH LINE (1972), known in its 1973 US release under the more aggressive title of RAW MEAT. Made on a compact budget, the script - about the discovery of a pathetic yet monstrous family of subterranean survivors who have, through cannibalism, managed to survive their abandonment after an age-old disaster in the history of the British railway system - managed to attract actors like Donald Pleasence and, making a memorable one-day cameo, Christopher Lee. Thanks to some respectful attention in the fan press, it was immediately recognized as what was then known as a horror "sleeper," one of those films that sometimes arrived without fanfare and awoke people to a promising new voice in fantastic cinema. Choosing this film for his exploration was Sean Hogan, a director/screenwriter/producer best-known for FUTURE SHOCK: THE STORY OF 2000 A.D., LITTLE DEATHS, THE DEVIL'S BUSINESS, and LIE STILL. He's currently adapting Kier-La Janisse's autobiographical film study HOUSE OF PSYCHOTIC WOMEN as a program for television, but he stole some time to answer some questions about his time on DEATH LINE...  

Writing an entire book about a single film is a tall commitment. What is it about DEATH LINE/RAW MEAT that got that commitment from you?

At the time, I wasn't entirely sure! I mention in the book that, when Neil Snowdon approached me about writing something for the Midnight Movie Monographs series, he sent over a proposed list of films he was personally keen to see covered (although he made it clear he was open to other suggestions). I checked the list and when I saw DEATH LINE on there, I immediately and totally instinctively decided that would be the film I wrote about, despite the fact that there are other films that spring more readily to mind when I'm asked about my particular genre favourites.

I suppose it was partly the fact that it seemed relatively fresh territory; I knew the film had some high profile fans, but equally it seemed as if it hadn't quite got its proper due critically. And yet, for me, it was a film that seemed to get more and more interesting as I revisited it over the years. I make the point in the book that it feels very much a part of the American New Wave of horror in terms of its concerns and overall approach; that's a period of genre cinema I connect very strongly to, and yet many of those films have already been discussed pretty thoroughly. Not only was this not the case with DEATH LINE, but its very 'Englishness' (whether from an outsider perspective or otherwise) made it something I felt more qualified to explore.

And then of course, there was Donald Pleasence's performance as Inspector Calhoun, which struck me as a landmark role, and unlike anything else I could think of in the genre. What I didn't know at the time was that Calhoun would end up being my way into the book itself...

Please explain.

I suppose I should firstly make it clear exactly what the book is: while there are supplementary sections of more conventional critical commentary and interview, the bulk of it is largely comprised of diary entries from Inspector Calhoun's private journal; that is, written by me in the (distinctive!) voice of the character. These entries span the narrative of the film and beyond; they try and explore DEATH LINE itself, but from the inside, while also taking some of the dangling plot threads and spinning them into a wider narrative that tries to remain faithful to the film's themes of power, exploitation and corruption. 

In doing this, I did weave in metafictional aspects and elements from other works that I felt related to DEATH LINE in some way; Harold Pinter's THE CARETAKER was obviously one (partly due to it being another seminal Pleasence role, but also because I felt as though Calhoun was a very Pinterish character, and that quite possibly it was largely Pleasence who was responsible for making him that way). Other works such as FRENZY and THE DAY THE EARTH CAUGHT FIRE crept in there as well. So there is a fair amount of material relating to other films, but those films are seen as part of the landscape Calhoun's story is unfolding against.

There is some discussion of other films as well; as I said above, I do try and look at it within the context of the American New Wave, and certainly there was some slightly rueful conversation between Gary Sherman and I on how DEATH LINE relates to other notable cannibal-themed films of the same period!

Yes, it should be noted that yours is the first book in the series to have been written with the involvement of the film's director. Do you recall your first viewing of the film? Did you know at that time that it was going to be important to you?

I do, but it was on late night television as a kid, so certainly I had very little idea then that it was going to end up being important to me. Doubtless the political/satirical aspects were probably lost on me at a young age, as well as the finer points of Pleasence's performance, but I do remember being struck by the fact that the so-called monster was a sympathetic, even tragic figure. As I said, it was a film that grew for me over the years; it was probably quite some time before I saw it again after that childhood viewing, and I do remember finally watching it when of an age to properly appreciate what it and Pleasence were doing; it was something of a revelation to say the least. I definitely recall being wowed by the extended take around the Man's lair, which struck me as displaying a level of directorial craft you don't often find in genre B-movies of the period.

Is there something about yourself, personally, that you feel made DEATH LINE a particularly meaningful picture? 

I'm not sure. I suppose that, as I returned to it over the years, I found more and more in it that chimed with my own developing ideas of how I wanted to approach horror; the attention to character, the political subtext, the willingness to avoid a simple black-and-white, Good vs Evil perspective. So it was definitely something that grew with me. Weirdly, I never felt as though I wanted to make particularly 'English' films, but the ones I've directed seem to have turned out that way regardless (certainly that's how people seemed to view them), so possibly the fact that DEATH LINE utilises the same approach as a lot of the US New Wave films, but does so within an English context, makes it resonate more with me.

In addition to writing non-fiction, you are also an original creator - you write and direct your own material. Aside from the fact that you have taken a novelistic approach to writing this book, in some ways, is there a place where DEATH LINE and your own creative work meet - a place where we might recognize shared concerns or perhaps an influence?

To some extent, yes - the episode I made for the portmanteau film LITTLE DEATHS is pretty explicitly about the same thing: the forgotten/ignored underclass rising up to devour the oppressive ruling class. I seem to remember remarking in an interview at the time that DEATH LINE probably had something to do with that. And there are certainly other scripts I'm currently trying to make that attempt to use the genre for sociopolitical ends in much the same way that Gary Sherman did.

This question also made me think about the book as part of a continuing line in my own work, and I realised that in looking at Calhoun through the lens of Pleasence's role in THE CARETAKER, I was yet again roping Pinter into my own stuff. The last film I directed, THE DEVIL'S BUSINESS, is basically a horror cover version of THE DUMB WAITER, and I cast Susan Engel, who appeared in the first ever production of Pinter's first play THE ROOM, in my first film LIE STILL. So his work has also always been a strong influence. Not that this has anything to do with DEATH LINE per se, but the Pinteresque elements I find in it are obviously one reason why I respond to it so strongly!

Clearly, in adapting Calhoun as a character or narrator, you are giving voice to a personal attachment to his character, and the film itself by extension - but do you also discuss the film in your own autobiographical terms? When I was writing my own book for the series, this was something Neil Snowdon urged me to do.

I don't really think so, not as I understand it. I don't think I would or could ever write something like Kier-La Janisse's HOUSE OF PSYCHOTIC WOMEN, which I admire a lot (and actually adapted into a TV pilot screenplay), but which seems to take autobiographical criticism about as far as it can go. All I can say is that, because I chose to come at the film from the inside, and tried to extend some of the themes and issues it addresses in my own particular metafictional fashion, there is undoubtedly a certain sense of pessimism and political anger that I share with DEATH LINE, and which does make the book a very personal work, if not traditionally autobiographical. 

Over the years, has the film been properly appreciated, in your opinion?

On the whole I'd say no, although that may now be starting to change somewhat, especially after the release of the remastered Blu-ray. My feeling is that it was a film slightly out of time and place; it has much more in common with the US films of the period than those being made in the UK, but was never given its due as a New Wave genre film because of being set in England, and being so thoroughly English to boot - I can't imagine what US audiences would have made of the character of Calhoun. (The hamfisted RAW MEAT edit can't have done the film's US reputation any good either.) Similarly, it feels more downbeat, more political and more graphically violent than most of what was being produced in the UK at the time (Michael Reeves' work being an obvious exception). So I feel as though it fell between two stools somewhat and was not properly recognised for years. I think it probably did develop a cult reputation in the UK after a while (there were a number of lesser-known horror films that a lot of people from my generation can excitedly remember stumbling across on late night television), but certainly up until quite recently it was still a film I could recommend to a lot of people that they weren't at all previously aware of.


When DEATH LINE came out here in the States as RAW MEAT, I remember CINEFANTASTIQUE gave it a rave review, which put it on my radar early on. In those days when someone new came along affiliated with a terrific horror film, we fans took their names to heart and expected great things from them - people like David Cronenberg, Jeff Lieberman, and even Oliver Stone. While the director of this film, Gary Sherman, has continued to work within the horror and fantasy genres,  he hasn’t acquired the reputation of being an auteur, though he has actually generated a lot of his own work as a writer. Do you see him as an auteur? Does DEATH LINE share concerns expressed in his other work?

From what I understand, it seems to be one of those familiar cases where an independent filmmaker struggles to maintain their voice once they begin working within the system. I didn't really discuss his other films with Gary, but I know a lot of what he wanted DEAD & BURIED to be was removed by the studio - the balance of black comedy and horror he achieved in DEATH LINE was very distinctive, but I think they balked at him trying to do the same thing there (just as Sam Arkoff did when he cut DEATH LINE down into RAW MEAT). I do think you can see him in VICE SQUAD - the same leftist sympathy he shows for the exploited Man in DEATH LINE is extended to the women working on the street in that film. And obviously POLTERGEIST 3 was just an unworkable situation on so many levels.

Yes. VICE SQUAD is pretty terrific.

I guess for me, he never quite achieved the heights of DEATH LINE again - it was one of those lightning in a bottle moments, but circumstances meant it could never entirely be repeated, although there's plenty to admire in some of the other films. From speaking to Gary, I know how strongly he feels about a lot of political matters, which does seem to me to translate into much of the work. Many of the other horror directors of his generation that are usually recognised as auteurs have plenty of work that seems fairly impersonal - compare THE DARK HALF to NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, or INVADERS FROM MARS to THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE - so I think someone who makes a film as identifiably, eccentrically personal as DEATH LINE does deserve the same consideration, even if he couldn't always preserve that voice on larger productions.

Are there any ways in which you think your regard for the film has been affected by the adventure of writing about it at length?

Really, it just made me appreciate it all the more. I had to postpone the writing of the book for a year because of some difficult personal circumstances, and I spent a lot of time that year wondering exactly what I was eventually going to write and if I even still wanted to write it. When I finally hit upon the approach I wanted to take, I knew that I would have to not so much analyse the film as inhabit it. And while Inspector Calhoun might not exactly be the most savoury role to inhabit, writing in that voice was hugely enjoyable. It just felt very freeing, and inspiring, and exactly what I needed to do after everything that had happened, and so I have to give credit to the character that Gary and Donald Pleasance and Ceri Jones created, because it all started with them. It also made me consider the film as a whole from different perspectives, to understand new things about it, to realise what had worked as intended and what perhaps was not quite intended but still ended up working, and ultimately just to appreciate what a remarkable film it is. Which I suppose brings us full circle to your first question - I didn't quite know why I wanted to write about it when I first took the commission, but in writing the book I certainly found out.

DEATH LINE by Sean Hogan can be found for sale here.


(c) 2018 by Tim Lucas. All rights reserved.