MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #36 Count Yorga, Vampire 1970 & The Return of Count Yorga 1971

COUNT YORGA, VAMPIRE 1970

When I saw Count Yorga, Vampire during its theatrical release in 1970, I was struck by its visceral impact. The film’s intensity was palpable, with several jarring scenes leaving an indelible impression on me through their raw power and suspenseful moments stacked one on top of the other. To me, Robert Quarry’s portrayal of the enigmatic Count Yorga is one of the most imposing modern vampires; his reimagining of the vampire mythos is particularly formidable.

Quarry insisted on transforming the film from Kelljan’s original soft-core concept into a serious vampire tale, showing his commitment to creating a compelling character. He drew on his acting training from Lee Strasberg, who taught that there are no true villains. Quarry applied this by playing Yorga as a man who believes his actions are justified. He worked to show both Yorga’s animalistic and human sides, insisting on more dialogue and scenes that would help develop the character’s complexity.

“They asked me to read the script. I said why don’t you just make a regular horror film out of it? They said will you do it? Of course, I said yes, if it’s going to be a straight horror film.”

On the challenges of speaking with vampire fangs, Quarry humorously recalled: “There was only one problem: I couldn’t talk with them. In the first movie, there was a line…That’s a handful to get your mouth around, but with the teeth it came out like, ‘Thoon I will thuck from veinth the thweet nectar of your thowl…’ That got cut out!”

Count Yorga, Vampire (1970), directed by Bob Kelljan, stands as a pivotal entry in the vampire genre. Kelljan’s inspiration for directing Count Yorga, Vampire came from an unexpected turn of events. The film was originally conceived as a soft-core pornographic movie titled “The Loves of Count Iorga, Vampire.” However, Kelljan, who had previously worked as an actor and made his directorial debut with Flesh of My Flesh, saw potential in the project beyond its initial concept. When approached to direct, Kelljan insisted on transforming the film into a straight modern-day vampire tale.

This decision shifted the focus from explicit content to a more traditional horror narrative placed in a contemporary setting. The producers agreed, and the film was subsequently toned down and released by American International Pictures (AIP) as a horror film, though some prints still retained the original title. Kelljan’s vision for updating the vampire mythos to a modern American context, particularly Los Angeles, allowed him to explore themes of sexuality and power dynamics within the framework of a horror film. Kelljan’s film became a contemporary retelling of the classic Dracula narrative for a modern American audience.

While not as visually robust as Hammer’s vampire films, unlike most vampire films of the era, which were set in Europe in the 1800s or early 1900s, Count Yorga was the first to bring vampires into a contemporary American setting, specifically in 1970s Los Angeles, with great use of music by Bill Marx. The score is a mesmerizing blend of dark funk and unsettling ambiance, weaving together dissonant melodies with a rhythmic pulse that’s both hypnotic and unnerving.

Count Yorga Vampire, which stars Roger Perry as Dr. James Hayes and Michael Murphy as Paul, offers a fresh take on vampire lore, with a tone that balances horror with a dry sense of humor and a certain sleaziness that reflected the changing social mores of the 1970s.

Kelljan, who also wrote the screenplay, crafts a narrative that blends traditional vampire mythology with contemporary sensibilities. Count Yorga Vampire opens with a narration by classic Hollywood actor George Macready, setting the stage for the supernatural events to unfold. Cinematographer Arch Archambault captures the eerie atmosphere of Los Angeles, contrasting the city’s modernity with the timeless threat of vampirism. The fusion of 1970s Los Angeles and ancient vampire lore in the film creates a uniquely dissonant ambiance, like a velvet-clad specter haunting a sun-drenched disco. This recontextualization of Gothic horror within the laid-back sprawl of L.A. winds up offering us a paradoxical atmosphere that is both groovy and imposing, where the darkness of a centuries-old evil and old-world menace seeps into modern hedonism and creates a mood that’s as intoxicating as it is unsettling.

The story begins with a séance, where Count Yorga, an urbane Bulgarian immigrant posing as a medium, is introduced. This scene immediately establishes Yorga’s connection to the occult and his manipulative nature. Kelljan skillfully builds tension as the narrative progresses, revealing Yorga’s true nature through a series of increasingly disturbing events.

Edward Walsh plays Brudah, a menacing and loyal assistant to Count Yorga. He often carries out his master’s sinister instructions. Brudah is depicted as a deformed and imposing brute, somewhat akin to the character of Renfield in traditional Dracula narratives, yet he comes across here as a ghoulish strongman.

Robert Quarry brings a sophisticated menace to the role, blending charm and malevolence with one stroke. He’s a stylish guru-esque figure who drives a Rolls Royce and wears contemporary clothing. Yorga is eloquent and intelligent, engaging in philosophical discussions about the occult and vampirism with Dr. Hayes (Perry), adding more nuanced layers to this devil beyond mere Gothic monstrosity. Hayes and Yorga begin their dance of ‘try and catch me if you can.’

As the plot unfolds, Dr. Hayes emerges as the film’s Van Helsing figure, piecing together the vampire mystery with scenes of Hayes researching vampire lore and preparing to confront Yorga. What truly sets Count Yorga, Vampire apart is its ambiguous ending, which daringly upends expectations and leaves a lingering sense of unease.

One of the unnerving qualities of the film is how its pacing is deliberate, allowing for the undercurrent of dread. There are a number of key scenes, such as Paul and Erica’s encounter with Yorga after driving him home. Asleep in their groovy ’70s van, they are awakened by Yorga’s growling face at the window before they are attacked. The sudden muddying of the road, seemingly at Yorga’s will, is one of the ways that the film introduces the element of supernatural control that extends beyond traditional vampiric power.

Kelljan and Archambault employ innovative techniques to convey horror without relying on explicit gore. The attack scenes, particularly Yorga’s seduction of Erica, are shot with a mix of sensuality and terror. Warning: For cat worshipers like myself, there is an upsetting and gruesome scene with a little black cat and Erica. If you’re like me, you’ll fast-forward through the scene altogether.

The use of quick cuts, shadowy compositions, and suggestive imagery creates a psychological unease that permeates the film, all building up to the shocking climax, culminating in a tense confrontation at Yorga’s mansion, where the full extent of his power and the fate of his victims are revealed.

I know this is a bit more than the promised paragraph, but I briefly want to touch on this:

The portrayal of women in Count Yorga, Vampire (1970), the leading characters and Yorga’s brides, have been the subject of criticism, particularly regarding its reliance on stereotypical tropes and the conflation of sexuality with victimhood. Included are Donna Anders as Donna, Judy Lang as Erica Landers, and Marsha Jordan as Donna’s mother. The women in Count Yorga Vampire are primarily positioned as victims or objects of desire, serving as extensions of Count Yorga’s power and predatory nature. But throughout cinema’s flirtation with vampiric brides, women have held the position of victim, not least of which was exploited in Hammer’s canon of gothic films.

Female characters like Erica and Donna are portrayed as passive and vulnerable, easily manipulated by Yorga’s hypnotic influence. Donna and Erica are largely reactive rather than proactive, with their fates dictated by Yorga’s actions or the interventions of male characters like Dr. Hayes and Paul. Their roles largely revolve around their susceptibility to Yorga’s seduction and subsequent transformation into vampire brides, reinforcing traditional gender dynamics where women are rendered powerless against male dominance.

As noted by feminist film scholars such as Murphy (2015), women in horror films of the 1970s were often depicted as overemotional and lacking agency. In Count Yorga, Vampire, this is evident in how the female characters are reduced to archetypes—either as helpless victims or eroticized figures under Yorga’s control. Their transformation into mindless, bloodsucking vampires further emphasizes their objectification, as they become extensions of Yorga’s will and wrath rather than independent beings.

The movie not only explores themes of sexuality and power dynamics but also heavily conflates sexuality and violence, as Yorga’s seduction scenes blur the line between consensual intimacy and predatory coercion, presenting vampirism as a metaphor for sexual domination. This is exemplified in a scene where Yorga telepathically commands his brides to engage in sapphic behavior. Yorga’s vampire brides, including Donna’s mother, are portrayed with a mix of eroticism and horror.

Count Yorga’s success inspired several subsequent vampire movies, including Hammer’s Dracula AD 1972, The Satanic Rites of Dracula, and even the Blacula films. Along with other contemporaries like Dark Shadows’ Barnabas Collins and Blacula’s Mamuwalde, Count Yorga, Vampire helped shake up the vampire genre in the early 1970s, moving away from simple Dracula knockoffs.

THE RETURN OF COUNT YORGA 1971

The Return of Count Yorga (1971) was once again directed by Bob Kelljan, who, this time around, worked with cinematographer Bill Butler. The film is a sequel to the cult classic Count Yorga, Vampire, which broke ground in 1970. The film features the powerful presence of Robert Quarry, reprising his role as the enigmatic Count Yorga, alongside Mariette Hartley as Cynthia Nelson and Roger Perry as Dr. David Baldwin.

This time, set in San Francisco, the story follows Count Yorga as he establishes himself near an orphanage, preying on the local community. Yorga sets his sights or fangs on Cynthia Nelson, a teacher at the orphanage, who becomes the object of his obsession. After he orchestrates an attack on Cynthia’s family, Yorga uses his hypnotic powers to manipulate her memory and attempts to make her his willing bride.

The film also features the return of Edward Walsh as Brudah. Tommy (Philip Frame) is a freaky young orphan who speaks and serves as Count Yorga’s servant. Tommy plays a significant role by leading adults into danger and possibly committing murders for Yorga. The mute maid Jennifer (Yvonne Wilder) is a young woman who is the orphanage’s organizer. She is unable to speak about the horrors she has seen, witnessing events that others don’t believe.

The Return of Count Yorga revisits the confluence of elements of traditional vampire lore with contemporary 1970s California, creating a unique atmosphere that balances horror with Kelljan’s subtle humor.

Some of the key scenes in this compelling sequel are: The Orphanage Attack: Count Yorga infiltrates a fundraising costume party at an orphanage, where he becomes infatuated with Cynthia Nelson. The Nelson Family Massacre: In a chilling sequence reminiscent of the Manson family murders, Yorga sends his vampire brides to attack Cynthia’s family. This violent scene is revisited throughout the film in flashbacks as Cynthia struggles to remember what happened. The Slow-Motion Chase: There’s a memorable, almost surreal scene where Yorga sprints down a hallway in slow motion toward one of his terrified victims. This visually striking moment has been noted for its nightmare-inducing quality. God knows, I jumped up from my theater seat! The Quicksand Trap: Yorga lures the Reverend to a quicksand pit on his property, showcasing the Count’s cunning and deadly traps on his estate. The Final Confrontation: The climactic scene on the balcony where Cynthia, having regained her memories, strikes Yorga with a battle-axe before Dr. Baldwin throws him off the balcony to his apparent death.

The Return of Count Yorga also features George Macready as Professor Rightstat: This was one of Macready’s final roles before his death in 1973. He plays a hard-of-hearing, past-his-prime vampire hunter. Rudy De Luca plays Lt. Madden: De Luca is known for his comedic roles, but here, he plays a more serious role as a police officer investigating the mysterious events. Craig T. Nelson plays Sgt. O’Connor: This marked one of Nelson’s early film appearances. He later became well-known for his roles in TV shows like Coach and films like Poltergeist, and there’s the appearance of Walter Brooke as Bill Nelson. Brooke plays Cynthia’s father, who becomes a victim of Yorga’s sinister plans. Tom Toner plays Rev. Thomas Westwood: Toner’s character is a drunk priest who fails to recognize the supernatural threat.The film also includes more of the discordant music by Bill Marx and fashions by Jeannie Anderson.

The Return of Count Yorga (1971) solidified Robert Quarry’s status as a formidable presence in 1970s vampire cinema, with his sophisticated portrayal of the titular character helping to modernize the vampire archetype for a new generation. His subsequent roles were as the Manson-esque vampire guru Khorda in Deathmaster (1972) and his portrayal of Morgan, the ruthless mob boss who serves as the target of Sugar Hill’s (Sugar Hill 1974) revenge plot. His character embodies the oppressive forces that Sugar Hill (Marki Bey) must overcome in her quest for vengeance. These classic horror films of the 1970s further showcased Quarry’s versatility and cemented his place as a cult horror icon of the era.

#36 down, 114 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #35 Corridors of Blood 1958 & The Haunted Strangler 1958

CORRIDORS OF BLOOD 1958

Corridors of Blood (1958) is a compelling exploration of medical ethics and human frailty set against the backdrop of early Victorian London that transcends the horror genre with its meticulous recreation of that era. Directed by Robert Day and produced by John Croydon and Charles F. Vetter, this British-American period drama offers a nuanced portrayal of the struggles faced by pioneering physicians in the 1840s, a time of significant medical advancements and ethical challenges.

At the heart of the film is Boris Karloff, who compellingly portrays Dr. Thomas Bolton, a compassionate physician driven to develop anesthesia for pain-free surgery. Karloff, known for his iconic roles in horror films, brings depth and humanity to Bolton, portraying both his noble intentions and his tragic descent into addiction with remarkable subtlety. Karloff’s ability to convey Bolton’s internal struggle is particularly evident in scenes depicting drug-induced states, showcasing Karloff’s masterful range beyond his typical genre roles.

The narrative unfolds as Dr. Bolton’s obsessive experimentation with various gases leads him to test potentially dangerous substances on himself, resulting in a debilitating addiction. This personal decline coincides with his professional downfall, culminating in a failed public demonstration of his anesthetic where a patient awakens mid-surgery. This pivotal and tense scene underscores the high stakes of medical innovation.

As Bolton’s reputation crumbles, he becomes entangled with a nefarious group of body snatchers led by the menacing Resurrection Joe, portrayed with chilling effectiveness and extraordinary menace by a young Christopher Lee.

This subplot not only adds a layer of the dark underbelly of medical progress in the 19th century, where the demand to acquire cadavers for study often led to criminal activities, like murder, to procure medical subjects.

The supporting cast includes Betta St. John as Bolton’s supportive niece, Susan, Finlay Currie as the skeptical Superintendent Matheson, and Francis Matthews as Bolton’s son, Jonathan.

The film bears an authentic view of Victorian London and the medical community’s struggle with innovation and ethics. One of the film’s strengths lies in its historical accuracy and attention to detail. The depiction of early surgical practices and the quest for effective anesthesia reflect the real challenges faced by medical pioneers of the time. This commitment to authenticity elevates Corridors of Blood beyond mere sensationalism, offering viewers a thoughtful examination of a critical period in medical history.

The climactic confrontation between Bolton and the body snatchers serves as both a thrilling denouement and a poignant reflection on Karloff’s moral decay. Bolton’s ultimate demise is handled with a sense of tragedy that befits his character’s journey from a respected physician to a compromised addict.

Despite its compelling narrative and strong performances, Corridors of Blood faced an unusual release trajectory. Completed in 1958, it wasn’t released in the United States until 1962, when it was paired with Werewolf in a Girls’ Dormitory as a double feature. This double billing definitely undersold the film’s serious themes and historical significance by taking a substantive historical horror film and bookending it with a schlocky B-movie.

Over time, however, Corridors of Blood has gained an appreciation for its nuanced approach to complex issues. The film’s inclusion in the Criterion Collection speaks to its enduring quality and importance in cinema history. It thoughtfully examines the moral compromises made in the name of scientific advancement, the personal toll of addiction, and the often blurred lines between progress and ethical transgression.

THE HAUNTED STRANGLER 1958

The Haunted Strangler (1958) is another extraordinary horror film that showcases a strong performance by a sympathetic Boris Karloff. It was again directed by Robert Day and produced by John Croydon and Richard Gordon, whose Amalgamated Productions was responsible for producing several notable British horror and science fiction films, including one of my all-time favorite sci-fi movies – Fiend Without a Face (1958). (Can brains have heartbeats?)

The screenplay, adapted by Jan Read and John Croydon from Read’s original story Stranglehold, cleverly intertwines historical elements with psychological horror.

It stands as a compelling exploration of psychological horror and societal injustice, of wrongful conviction and the nature of evil set against the backdrop of Victorian London. This British horror film, starring the inimitable Boris Karloff, offers a nuanced portrayal of obsession, identity, and the thin line between sanity and madness pulled off by Karloff with ease.

At the heart of the film is Karloff’s playing James Rankin, a social reformer and novelist who becomes consumed by his investigation into a 20-year-old series of murders. Karloff brings depth and complexity to Rankin, portraying both his noble intentions and his descent into a fractured psyche with remarkable subtlety. His ability to physically transform himself into the grotesque visage of the Strangler without relying on special effects makeup is a testament to his acting prowess.

The narrative unfolds as Rankin delves deeper into the case of the Haymarket Strangler, convinced that an innocent man was hanged for the crimes. His obsessive pursuit leads him to exhume the body of the executed man, where he discovers a surgeon’s knife that triggers a shocking transformation.

The scalpel holds significant importance in The Haunted Strangler despite the Haymarket Strangler’s method of strangulation, as it is the key that triggers James Rankin’s transformation into the Strangler persona. When Rankin grasps the scalpel found in Edward Styles’ coffin, he undergoes a physical and psychological change, revealing his hidden identity as the real killer and the character’s fractured psyche. The scalpel is the missing piece of evidence that Rankin/Tennant had hidden in Styles’s coffin, likely in a moment of guilt. Its absence from Dr. Tennant’s medical bag is a crucial clue in Rankin’s investigation.

While the killer is known as the “Strangler,” the scalpel was actually used to stab the victims to death after partially strangling them. This detail adds complexity to the killer’s modus operandi, with the scalpel symbolizing Dr. Tennant’s medical background and the duality of his nature – a healer turned killer. It represents the thin line between Rankin’s reformer persona and his murderous alter ego.

Karloff’s portrayal of Rankin’s struggle with his alter ego is both chilling and poignant. It echoes themes from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde while offering a fresh take on the concept of dual personalities.

The film’s supporting cast provides a rich vision of Victorian society, including Jean Kent as the bawdy music hall singer Cora Seth and Anthony Dawson as the skeptical Superintendent Burk. Elizabeth Allan’s performance as Barbara Rankin adds superb depth to the story, offering a glimpse into the personal cost of Rankin’s obsession.

Day’s direction and Lionel Banes’ cinematography create a palpable atmosphere of dread and claustrophobia. The use of chiaroscuro lighting in scenes set in the seedy Judas Hole music hall and the foreboding Newgate Prison effectively heightens the sense of moral ambiguity and impending doom.

#35 down, 115 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #34 Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things 1972

CHILDREN SHOULDN’T PLAY WITH DEAD THINGS 1972

Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things (1972) stands as a seminal work in the evolution of 70s horror cinema, a quirky, influential, and enduringly entertaining blending macabre humor with low-budget ingenuity to create a cult classic that saw its influence spread to future indie filmmakers.

Directed by Bob Clark (credited as Benjamin Clark), who would later show off his diverse talents with holiday favorites like the beloved A Christmas Story 1983 and the end of the spectrum of holiday movies with his darkly sinister Black Christmas 1974, this early foray into horror showcases Clark’s versatility and willingness to push boundaries.

Shot on a shoestring budget of $50,000 over just 14 days, the film follows a troupe of hammy actors led by the insufferable Alan (played by Alan Ormsby, who also co-wrote the script and designed the eerie corpse makeup) as they venture to a cursed island cemetery for a mock séance. The cast, which was primarily composed of Clark’s college friends, lends an authentic if amateurish, charm to the proceedings, with many actors using their real first names in a quirky nod to budget constraints. All this seems to contribute to that bit of personal flair the film possesses. The actors include: Valerie Mamches as Val, Jeff Gillen as Jeff, Anya Ormsby as Anya ( I met Anya at Chiller Theater a while back. She was lovely), Paul Cronin as Paul, Jane Daly as Terry, Roy Engleman as Roy, Robert Philip as Emerson, Bruce Solomon as Winns and best of all… Seth Sklarey as Orville Dunworth – Alan’s favorite dead guy!

Cinematographer Jack McGowan transforms Florida’s swampy landscapes into a gothic playground of shadows and mist, creating an atmosphere of creeping dread that adds to not detracts due to the film’s limited resources. This visual style is complemented by Carl Zittrer’s score, which oscillates between carnival-esque whimsy and spine-tingling unease, perfectly capturing the film’s tonal balancing act between horror and dark comedy.

I can’t overstate this enough: Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things serves as a bridge between the voodoo zombies of early cinema and George A. Romero’s flesh-eating ghouls that stalked the streets of Pittsburgh in his Dead saga; in Clark’s film introducing the concept of occult-summoned undead. This innovative approach to zombie lore and Ormsby’s gruesome yet inventive makeup effects laid the groundwork for future indie horror productions, proving that creativity and passion could often overcome a lack of funding. These movies always tend to be the most compelling!

Moreover, Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things helped establish the horror-comedy subgenre that would later flourish with films like Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead 1983. Its blend of slapstick humor, occult themes, and genuine scares created a template for future filmmakers to explore the intersection of laughter and fear.

As the zombies set sail for Miami in the film’s audacious finale, viewers are left with a sense of the absurd that perfectly captures the movie’s charm.

#34 down, 116 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #33 Cat People 1942 & Curse of the Cat People 1944

CAT PEOPLE 1942

Cat People (1942) is a groundbreaking supernatural horror film that redefined the genre with its psychological depth and atmospheric storytelling thanks to the masterful storytelling by Val Lewton. Directed by Jacques Tourneur and produced by Lewton for RKO Pictures.

Val Lewton, a producer-auteur known for his meticulous oversight of every aspect of his projects, collaborated closely with Tourneur to create this new kind of horror film—one that relied on suggestion and atmosphere rather than overt scares. Lewton and Tourneur pioneered a revolutionary approach to horror filmmaking, employing suggestive imagery, chiaroscuro lighting, and masterful use of sound and silence to create an atmosphere of dread and terror through implication rather than explicit violence or supernatural manifestations, establishing a new paradigm that would influence generations of filmmakers.

Jacques Tourneur played a crucial role in shaping the visual style of his films, including his masterpiece, Out of the Past. He employs a masterful use of shadows: Tourneur went beyond standard film noir techniques, using shadows not just decoratively but as fundamental storytelling elements. He created beautiful compositions where shadows defined and redefined mood. Tourneur frequently employed “corridor” style shots, often shooting directly down paths or hallways to create long perspectives. He alternated these with lateral tracks featuring masked foregrounds, creating a rich visual mix. He also focused on “unofficial” architecture, like projecting awnings, to create unique compositions and emphasized complex textures in backgrounds, using elaborate wallpapers, moldings, and grillwork. Tourneur skillfully manipulated lighting to enhance the mood, using soft shadows for intimacy in romantic scenes and darker, more oppressive shadows for tense moments, particularly in the pool scene where an unseen predator stalks Alice, Cat People’s ‘good girl’ noir-like heroine. Tourneur’s visual style often left threats ambiguous, allowing viewers to draw their own conclusions.

Cat People tells the story of Irena Dubrovna (played by the intoxicatingly beautiful Simone Simon), a Serbian émigré in Manhattan who believes she is cursed to transform into a murderous panther if she experiences romantic or sexual passion. Her fears lead to a tense love triangle with her husband, Oliver Reed (Kent Smith), and his co-worker, Alice Moore (Jane Randolph), as well as sessions with the skeptical psychiatrist Dr. Louis Judd (Tom Conway). Lewton aimed to create a film that consisted of psychological depth, an intelligent horror film that explored themes of sexual repression, jealousy, and the clash between science and superstition. Lewton ultimately decided to set the story in contemporary New York, involving a love triangle between a man, a foreign woman with abnormal fears, and a female office worker desperately in love with Oliver.

Val Lewton wrote “The Bagheeta,” a short story that appeared in the July 1930 issue of Weird Tales Magazine. This story was one of Lewton’s early works in the horror genre, published before he began his career at RKO Pictures. “The Bagheeta,” which featured a legendary panther-woman hybrid in the Caucasus Mountains, served as inspiration for Cat People (1942).

The script was written by DeWitt Bodeen, who drew inspiration from myths about cats and curses, as well as Algernon Blackwood’s short story “Ancient Sorceries.” Lewton initially considered basing the film on Blackwood’s 1906 short story which featured a French town inhabited by devil-worshipping cat people. Bodeen researched cat-related literature, including works by Ambrose Bierce and Margaret Irwin. Lewton contributed heavily to the screenplay, ensuring its thematic complexity and subtlety.

Studio directive: RKO executive Charles Koerner gave Lewton the title Cat People and instructed him to develop a film from it. Koerner felt that werewolves, vampires, and man-made monsters were overexploited, suggesting that “nobody has done much with cats.”

Cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca, who contributed his keen photographic eye to some of the most extraordinary film noirs, brought the film’s shadowy visuals to life, employing chiaroscuro lighting and inventive framing to evoke fear through implication rather than explicit imagery. This approach gave rise to iconic moments like “The Lewton Bus,” an early example of a jump scare that has since become legendary in horror cinema.

The mythology behind Cat People blends Balkan folklore with Freudian psychology, portraying Irena’s transformation as both a literal curse and a metaphor for repressed desires. The film also subtly critiques xenophobia through its depiction of Irena as an “exotic” outsider whose cultural beliefs are dismissed or misunderstood by those (Anglo/Christian) around her.

Despite being made on a modest budget of $135,000, Cat People became one of RKO’s most successful films of the 1940s. Its minimalist yet sophisticated approach influenced countless subsequent horror films and elevated the genre’s artistic potential. Though initially conceived as a B-movie, it has since been recognized as a landmark in cinematic history, earning preservation in the National Film Registry in 1993.

CURSE OF THE CAT PEOPLE 1944

The Curse of the Cat People (1944) is another of Val Lewton’s psychologically geared supernatural thriller directed by Gunther von Fritsch and Robert Wise. The film follows in the shadow of Cat People with Amy Reed, the six-year-old daughter of Oliver Reed, and his new wife Alice, who lives in Tarrytown, New York. Amy is an imaginative and lonely child, often escaping into fantasies to cope with her isolation. Her life changes when she meets the ghost of her father’s deceased first wife, Irena, who becomes a maternal figure to her. Meanwhile, Amy befriends an eccentric elderly woman, Julia Farren (Julia Dean), and her troubled daughter, Barbara (Elizabeth Russell), leading to a complex exploration of reality, fantasy, and the power of love and acceptance.

Begin ‘The Bagheeta’: Val Lewton’s fantasy/ reality world of Curse of The Cat People: fearing the female/feline monster and the engendering child. Part I

Val Lewton’s Curse of The Cat People (1944) “God should use a Rose Amber Spot!” Seeing the darkness thru the ‘Fearing Child’ and ‘The Monstrous Feminine’ Part II

#33 down, 117 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #32 Castle of Blood (Danze Macabra) 1964

CASTLE OF BLOOD 1964

BRIDES OF HORROR – Scream Queens of the 1960s! – Part 4: The Dark Goddess-This Dark Mirror

Danza Macabra / Castle of Blood (1964) “I Was Prepared To Spend The Night With Horrible Ghosts Instead I Find You!”

Castle of Blood (1964), also known as Danza Macabra or Dance Macabre, is a gothic horror film directed by Antonio Margheriti. The film is considered one of his masterpieces. I would agree. Margheriti, an Italian filmmaker known for his versatility across genres, made significant contributions to Italian Gothic horror cinema in the 1960s, with such films as The Long Hair of Death 1964, Horror Castle (1963), Also known as The Virgin of Nuremberg, and And God Said to Cain (1970), which blended Gothic horror elements with the Western genre,

Antonio Margheriti and Mario Bava had a complex relationship marked by both rivalry and shared influence within the Italian genre film industry. While both directors were pioneers in Italian horror and science fiction cinema, their paths crossed notably during the production of Naked You Die (1968). Originally intended to be directed by Bava, the producers brought in Margheriti as a partner, which led to Bava abandoning the project altogether. Margheriti ultimately took over as director, using Bava’s script with minimal changes.

I still remember those late-night New York TV classical horror offerings as a kid, where I’d sneak in some forbidden viewing. Castle of Blood was one of the first to really cast its atmospheric spell on me.

It stars Barbara Steele, whose ability to combine ravishing beauty with the uncanny sensuality with the inclusion of subtle eroticism and hints of lesbianism added to the film’s charged atmosphere, which was bold for its time. The cast also includes Georges Rivière, Margarete Robsahm, and Arturo Dominici.

Italian actor Silvano Tranquilli portrays Edgar Allan Poe. His character plays a minor but pivotal role as Poe engages in a conversation with journalist Alan Foster (played by Georges Rivière) in a shadowy London pub, setting the stage for the wager that drives the story forward. The story follows Alan Foster, a journalist who accepts a bet to spend the night in a supposedly haunted castle on All Souls’ Eve. As the night progresses, Foster encounters a series of ghostly inhabitants, including the enigmatic Elisabeth Blackwood (Barbara Steele) and the possessive Julia Alert (Margarete Robsahm). The ghosts are doomed to relive their tragic deaths annually, and Foster finds himself enmeshed in a web of supernatural intrigue:

Through his use of light and shadow, Margheriti crafts a haunting atmosphere through his use of black-and-white cinematography, which emphasizes the shadowy, cobweb-filled gloomy architecture, and the castle’s interiors provide an inherently spooky backdrop for the story. The ghostly apparitions tap into deep-seated psychological fears. The ghosts enable creative storytelling techniques like non-linear narratives, unreliable narrators, and twist endings, for example, the one that washes over you at the end of Castle of Blood. The last image stuck with me for quite a long time.

Riz Ortolani’s (Mondo Cane 1962: His main title song, “More,” won a Grammy and was nominated for an Oscar, and the international hit The Yellow Rolls-Royce 1964) musical score contributes significantly to the film’s unsettling world. Ortolani was an Italian composer, conductor, and orchestrator with a prolific career spanning over fifty years, during which he scored more than 200 films and television programs. He was particularly known for his work in genre films, including horror and Giallo, making him a fitting choice for the gothic atmosphere of Castle of Blood. The atmospheric organ score further enhances the film’s eerie mood, contributing significantly to the overall sense of unease and otherworldly dread and a genuinely creepy miasma.

Castle of Blood is also notable for its exploration of themes of life, death, and the blurred lines between the two. The film’s narrative unfolds through a series of flashbacks and reenactments, revealing the tragic love triangle that led to the ghosts’ demise. As Foster delves deeper into the castle’s mysteries, he finds himself drawn to Elisabeth (Steele), unaware of her true nature until it’s too late.

The film’s use of black-and-white cinematography and the intense saturation of monochromatic black is particularly striking. The pure blackness surrounding the characters creates a sense of isolation and dread, forcing us to focus on facial expressions and creating an effect similar to Gothic portrait photography.

The pacing is deliberately slow, allowing the fuse to burn gradually. Margheriti has never been afraid to let scenes linger, creating a dreamlike quality that continues to obscure the line between reality and the supernatural. The film’s Gothic visuals and erotic undertones have ensured that Castle of Blood remains a cult classic in Italian horror cinema.

#32 down, 118 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Horror #31 Carnival of Souls 1962

CARNIVAL OF SOULS 1962

Carnival of Souls (1962): Criterion 60s Eerie Cinema: That Haunting Feeling

Carnival of Souls (1962) is a uniquely different experience in psychological horror that has earned its place as a cult film – known for its eerie atmosphere and innovative filmmaking techniques. Directed by Herk Harvey, the film was his only feature-length production, as he primarily worked on industrial and educational films for the Centron Corporation in Lawrence, Kansas. The film’s genesis occurred when Harvey, driving back from California, was inspired by the sight of the abandoned Saltair Pavilion near Salt Lake City. This location became the centerpiece for the film’s haunting climax.

Working with a minuscule budget of $33,000, Harvey employed guerrilla filmmaking techniques and assembled a small crew of just five people, including himself.

The story follows Mary Henry (Candace Hilligoss), a young church organist who survives a car accident and becomes haunted by strange visions and a mysterious figure known as “the Man” (portrayed by Harvey himself in an uncredited role). The film focuses on Mary’s journey through a dreamlike purgatory as she is trapped between two worlds, with one of them – the nightmarish one – catching up with her.

Hilligoss, who had trained with Lee Strasberg, was discovered by Harvey in New York and cast as the lead for approximately $2,000. The film’s production was a testament to resourcefulness. Shot on location in Lawrence, Kansas, and Salt Lake City, the crew often had to work around limitations. For instance, the pivotal bridge scene at the beginning of the film was shot in Lecompton, Kansas, with the filmmakers agreeing to repair the bridge’s damaged rails for just $12.

Carnival of Souls is notable for its atmospheric organ score by Gene Moore, which contributes significantly to the film’s unsettling mood. The movie’s visual style was influenced by European art-house directors like Ingmar Bergman and Jean Cocteau, with Harvey aiming to create “the look of a Bergman and the feel of a Cocteau.” The movie explores themes of existentialism and the boundary between life and death, creating a sense of unease with its surrealistic nature and exploration of purgatorial despair, which set it apart from typical horror films of its time in the early 1960s.

What makes Carnival of Souls continue to stand out is its innovative filmmaking; despite its anemic budget, Harvey created a film with a unique visual style and an organically eerie and growing sense of dread using existing locations. Also, the atmospheric sound design aided by the haunting organ score by Gene Moore is a significant element in creating its unsettling atmosphere, and the minimalist use of sound, focusing primarily on the organ, adds to the film’s hypnotic power.

Despite its initial limited release and distribution challenges, Carnival of Souls has since gained recognition for its influential cinematography and foreboding atmosphere. It has inspired filmmakers such as George A. Romero and David Lynch. Its proto-Lynchian qualities in dialogue and conflict have contributed to its lasting impact and continue to be celebrated at film festivals and Halloween screenings.

#31 down, 119 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #30 The Crazies 1973

THE CRAZIES 1973

George A. Romero’s The Crazies (1973) is a thought-provoking horror film that blends societal critique with visceral storytelling, showcasing Romero’s penchant for using genre cinema to explore political and cultural anxieties. Romero, known as the “Godfather of Horror,” had already revolutionized the genre – the art of horror filmmaking – with his breakthrough Night of the Living Dead (1968), which established his ability to use horror as a vehicle for social commentary. He introduced a modern brand of deconstructed horror no one had seen before, incorporating a raw intensity through allegory that resonated with audiences. It certainly shook me to my core. I saw it during its theatrical release and could barely watch the screen without squinting through my hand or looking away completely. Zombies eating raw or BBQed intestines still make me want to wretch!

Romero’s background significantly influenced the creation of The Crazies in several ways: the director’s early exposure to film through frequent subway trips to Manhattan to rent and view film reels likely contributed to his innovative approach to filmmaking. His early passion for cinema, particularly his interest in the visually experimental film The Tales of Hoffmann, inspired him to explore the power of visual media and experiment with the medium.

His experience shooting short films and TV commercials after graduating from college in 1960 honed his skills in visual storytelling. Leveraging his background in experimental filmmaking, commercial work, and socially conscious horror influenced Romero to create the visceral and impactful imagery in The Crazies, pushing the boundaries that powerfully critique authority and explore the fragility of social order through the horror genre.

The Crazies, though less commercially successful at its release, has since gained recognition as one of his most ambitious works, reflecting the turbulent social climate of 1970s America. The film is described as his most politically paranoid work, reflecting a deep distrust of government institutions and their potential for harmful overreach.

Romero imbued The Crazies with sharp political commentary as it follows the chaos that ensues when a military biological weapon, code-named “Trixie,” contaminates the water supply of a small Pennsylvania town, driving the residents into homicidal madness or killing the townspeople outright. As martial law is imposed, soldiers and scientists struggle to contain the outbreak, but their efforts only worsen the crisis and the violence and paranoia that breaks loose. Romero examines the interplay between individual humanity and systemic failures. This idea blurs the line between the infected and uninfected, suggesting societal breakdown reveals pre-existing moral decay rather than creating it. One of the film’s central themes is the inherent violence within human nature. Romero portrays the infected townspeople not as monstrous creatures but as ordinary individuals whose latent psychosis is unleashed—a chilling reminder that madness and brutality are intrinsic aspects of humanity.

The story focuses on a group of survivors—including Vietnam veterans David and Clank—who attempt to escape both the infected townspeople and the oppressive military presence. The cast includes Lane Carroll, Will McMillan, Harold Wayne Jones, and cult favorite Lynn Lowry (Cronenberg’s Shivers 1975), whose performances capture the desperation and paranoia of individuals caught in a collapsing society.

Another major theme of The Crazies is the critique of authority and institutional incompetence. The military’s response to the crisis is marked by paranoia, bureaucratic dysfunction, and dehumanization. This anti-establishment stance echoes real-world anxieties of the era, particularly those stemming from events like the Vietnam War, civil unrest, and incidents such as the military using violence against civilians, as in the Kent State shootings.

Romero uses this portrayal to highlight how systems of power and institutions like the military brutal containment prioritize control over compassion or justice, reflecting broader disillusionment with government and military failures during the Vietnam War era. These themes resonate with 1970s audiences grappling with mistrust of authority following events like Kent State and Watergate, but also beyond their historical context, offering a timeless reflection on how fear and authoritarianism can amplify crises rather than resolve them. Soldiers are depicted not as saviors but as oppressive agents whose faceless uniforms and aggressive tactics alienate them from the very civilians they aim to protect.

He also delves into the problems inherent in power structures, presenting the government’s handling of the outbreak as equally monstrous as the infection itself. The “Trixie task force” embodies a cold utilitarianism, treating human lives as expendable in pursuit of abstract national security goals.

By incorporating imagery reminiscent of these historical moments—such as military violence against civilians—the film taps into the collective fear of a society unraveling under its own weight. Thematically, The Crazies explores issues of dehumanization, loss of autonomy, and dissolution. The infected townspeople symbolize not only physical contagion but also psychological and societal collapse.

Despite its modest production scale, The Crazies is ambitious in scope and execution. Romero’s use of multiple characters and locations creates a sense of widespread chaos that mirrors societal fragmentation. The film’s sardonic humor further underscores its critique of human folly in the face of disaster, making it both unsettling and darkly satirical.

Finally, The Crazies explores the fragility of social order. The chaos in Evans City symbolizes how quickly societal norms can collapse under pressure. Romero contrasts moments of fleeting humanity—such as soldiers showing empathy—with scenes of looting, violence, and destruction, emphasizing how crises erode moral boundaries. Through its low-budget aesthetic and grim narrative, The Crazies presents a harrowing critique of human nature and institutional power. In retrospect, The Crazies stands as an underrated gem within Romero’s oeuvre—a film that not only entertains but also challenges viewers to confront uncomfortable truths about power, responsibility, and humanity’s capacity for self-destruction.

#30 down, 120 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

The Curious Charisma of Roddy McDowall: A Life in Art and Film

Film critic Leonard Maltin: “Roddy McDowall’s career spanned more than six decades, and he managed to remain relevant and respected throughout. His performances were always compelling, and his contributions to cinema are invaluable.”

Roddy McDowall certainly had a distinctive presence: He always seemed to exude this uncanny youthful appearance. Even as an adult, McDowall was described as being “perpetually youthful.”

“McDowall was sharp-faced, clearly intelligent, chilly in his pride, and a kid who believed in masking his feelings (just like real kids). There are scenes in the film (How Green Was My Valley) in which older actors seem to learn restraint and stealth from the child. He was so emphatically honest in that film, and a kid who sometimes looked like a little old man (it was observed in life how, close to 70, Roddy still had “a child’s open face’).”– David Thomson for The Independent:

In 1941, The Detroit Free Press had this to say: “The child marvel of Hollywood right now is 12-year-old Roddy McDowall who arrived here from England a year ago. The public hasn’t had a really good look at him, but he has already been boosted to stardom. If you saw Manhunt, that was a small part; it was just a warm-up for the role in How Green Was My Valley, which Fox had in mind when they signed him. It is in this, his second film over here, that Roddy is becoming an American screen personality in his own right.”

“I enjoyed being in movies when I was a boy. As a child, you’re not acting- you believe. Ah, if an adult could only act as a child does with that insane, playing-at-toy-soldiers concentration!” – Roddy McDowall

Roddy McDowall was a highly prolific and versatile actor whose career spanned nearly six decades, encompassing a variety of genres in film, television, and radio. He began his acting journey as a child in 1938 and continued to be a prominent figure in Hollywood until his death in 1998. Throughout his extensive career, McDowall appeared in a wide range of classic films, beginning with 20th Century Fox’s 1941 thriller Manhunt directed by Fritz Lang and including his breakout role in How Green Was My Valley (1941).

Maureen O’Hara and Roddy McDowall in How Green Was My Valley 1941.

This is where he met and became lifelong friends with actress Maureen O’Hara. After Fox’s Best Picture winner, they cast him in the war film Confirm and Deny 1941. The following year, he played Tyrone Power as a young boy in Son of Fury: The Story of Benjamin Blake 1942.

Also, in 1942, they gave him top billing in On the Sunny Side, and he was given co-star credit alongside Monty Woolie in The Pied Piper, playing an orphan of the war. With McDowall’s success sealed, MGM borrowed the fine young actor to star in Lassie Come Home (1943). The studio held onto him and gave him the leading role in The White Cliffs of Dover in 1944.

Anne Baxter, Monty Woolley, and Roddy McDowall in The Pied Piper 1942.

Roddy McDowall was voted the number 4 ‘Star of Tomorrow’ in 1944, and Fox gave him another starring role in Thunderhead – Son of Flicka 1945.

Early on, he turned to the theater, starring in the title role of Young Woodley in the summer stock production in West Port, Connecticut, in July 1946. With his love of working on the stage, Orson Welles cast him in his production of Macbeth, where he played Malcolm. In 1948, he took on the same role in the film version.

By now, it was the late 1940s & 1950s, and he signed with Monogram Pictures, a low-budget studio that embraced recognizable stars to make two pictures a year. McDowall made seven films with them and worked as associate producer for director Phil Karlson’s Rocky 1948, a story about a boy and his dog. This was followed by the adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Kidnapped in 1948, Black Midnight directed by Budd Boetticher, Killer Shark, Big Timber in 1950, and The Steel Fist in 1952.

Lyn Thomas and Roddy McDowall in Black Midnight 1950.

Fans appreciate his appearance in the 70s disaster film The Poseidon Adventure (1972) and Overboard (1987). In the latter part of his life, he became a sought-after voice actor, lending his talents to animated projects such as A Bug’s Life (1998) and the popular television series Pinky and the Brain (1995-1998). Notably, McDowall also received acclaim on stage, winning a Tony Award for his supporting role in The Fighting Cock. McDowall worked with some of the most prominent actors in the industry, including Elizabeth Taylor, Gregory Peck, Orson Welles, Charlton Heston, Angela Lansbury, Kim Hunter, Vincent Price, Donald Crisp, Maureen O’Hara, Irene Dunne, Rock Hudson, Bette Davis, Jennifer Jones. Maurice Evans, Ruth Gordon, Natalie Wood, Lauren Bacall, Ava Gardner, and Rex Harrison. His career also included working with directors like Joseph L. Mankiewicz, John Ford, Jack Smight, Franklin J. Schaffner, and John Huston. His ability to transition from a child star to a respected adult performer set him apart in the industry.

Roddy McDowall possessed a fascinating duality; the contrast between his youthful looks and worldly-wise poise defined his unique charm and quiet intensity.

He was noted for his expressive eyes and articulate dispatch, which were instrumental in conveying a wide range of emotions. Roddy McDowall was intelligent and witty and often brought sharp intellect and a keen sense of humor to his roles, delivered with impeccable timing. McDowall was praised for his ability to mask feelings and convey restraint, even as a child actor. As an adult performer, he was characterized as “unpredictable,” which suggested a dynamic and varied approach to his roles. Critics noted his reliability as an actor, describing him as “always dependable.”

McDowall’s performances were subtle and nuanced: his approach to acting was all about restraint and introspection rather than over-the-top dramatics, at least in his earliest work. His acting was emotionally authentic, bringing a palpable sincerity to his characters and allowing audiences to connect with them on a profound level. Even in roles like Planet of the Apes, navigating the constraints of elaborate makeup, he transformed physical limitations into artistic opportunities. His performance transcended mere mimicry, embodying the character through a masterful blend of precise gestures and subtle nuances. Playing Cornelius in the Planet of the Apes series, he masterfully balanced intelligence, empathy, and subtle humor.

Continue reading “The Curious Charisma of Roddy McDowall: A Life in Art and Film” →

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #29 The Canterville Ghost 1947

THE CANTERVILLE GHOST 1947

The Embracing Fortitude of An Obliging AfterLife: The Kindly Ghost

The Canterville Ghost (1944) is a delightful comedy directed by Jules Dassin, with some initial work by Norman Z. McLeod. The film is a charming adaptation that takes liberties with Oscar Wilde’s original story, creating a unique blend of comedy, fantasy, and wartime drama.

Dassin left an indelible mark on cinema with his innovative techniques, particularly in the film noir genre. His notable films include Brute Force (1947), The Naked City (1948), Thieves’ Highway 1949, and Night and the City (1950), which are still highly regarded for their gritty realism and dynamic storytelling. After being blacklisted in Hollywood, Dassin moved to Europe where he created some of his most celebrated works, including the influential dialogue-free heist film Riffifi (1955) and the internationally successful Never on Sunday (1960). Dassin’s ability to adapt and thrive in different cinematic environments, from Hollywood to European art house, solidified his legacy as a versatile and influential director.

My review of Thieves’ Highway 1949 is below:

31 Flavors of Noir on the Fringe to Lure you in! Part 2

The Canterville Ghost stars Charles Laughton, who brings both humor and pathos to the role with theatrical flair as Sir Simon de Canterville, Robert Young as Cuffy Williams, and lovable Margaret O’Brien as Lady Jessica de Canterville. Laughton masterfully blends multiple acting styles, combining burlesque, melodrama, pathetic farce, the comedy of manners, and outright tragedy. Despite his large stature, Laughton displays surprising agility and grace in his portrayal of the ghost. He moves fluidly through the manor, running down corridors and leaping over benches with unexpected lightness.

The story begins in 17th-century England, where Sir Simon de Canterville commits a cowardly act by fleeing a duel. As punishment, his father has him bricked up in a room of the family castle, condemning him to haunt the halls until a Canterville descendant performs an act of courage in his name.

Fast forward to 1943, the Canterville castle becomes a temporary barracks for American soldiers during World War II. The ghost of Sir Simon still haunts the castle, attempting to scare its new inhabitants. However, the American soldiers are more amused than frightened by his antics.

Young Cuffy Williams (Robert Young) discovers he is a descendant of Canterville. He struggles with the family’s reputation for cowardice, especially when faced with dangerous wartime situations. Six-year-old Jessica, brought to life with the charm of a fine lady by Margaret O’Brien, befriends the soldiers and tries to help Sir Simon break his curse.

The film’s strength lies in its blend of humor, heart, and effective supernatural elements. Laughton’s performance as the cowardly ghost is particularly endearing, with his elaborate costumes and comical attempts at scaring the soldiers. O’Brien’s natural and sincere portrayal of Lady Jessica adds a touching element to their relationship, as Sir Simon and young Lady Jessica de Canterville form an unlikely friendship. Her relationship with Sir evolves from initial skepticism to profound empathy, ultimately transforming both characters.

At first, Lady Jessica is reluctant to engage with the ghost haunting the family castle. She views him as a nuisance and even scolds him for his antics, including his attempts to refurbish the infamous bloodstain. However, her encounter with Sir Simon reveals his tragic backstory—his cowardly act in a duel, his subsequent punishment, and his inability to find peace after centuries of haunting. As she learns more about Sir Simon’s plight, her pity deepens into genuine compassion. She recognizes his yearning for eternal rest and agrees to help him fulfill the prophecy that will free him from his curse.

Some of the wonderful moments include Laughton’s first appearance as Sir Simon in a feathered hat and the soldiers’ humorous reactions to him as a hapless, buffoonish ghost, and Sir Simon’s tour of the family portrait gallery with Cuffy Williams, recounting the cowardly acts of his descendants and the clever use of special effects to show Laughton as a transparent ghost.

The climactic sequence involves an unexploded mine. Sir Simon is seen straddling a gigantic unexploded mine as it’s dragged across the countryside by an American jeep. It’s a tense action sequence in which Cuffy must overcome his fears to perform an act of bravery, potentially freeing Sir Simon from his centuries-old curse.

Through Simon’s and Lady Jessica’s bond, both characters learn valuable lessons about love, forgiveness, and sacrifice. Her willingness to help Sir Simon bridges the gap between the living and the dead, reconciling ancient sins with hope for a brighter future as Simon disappears into a peaceful eternity.

#29 down, 121 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #28 The Changeling 1980 & Ghost Story 1981

THE CHANGELING 1980

“[A] visually classy chiller… aided by stunning film locations in Seattle and
Vancouver, this one’s more attractive than most.” — Edwin Miller, Seventeen,
April 1980, page 75.

“The most noteworthy traditional ghost movie of the last fifteen years or so … a chilling and undeservedly obscure film … a first-rate Gothic gooseflesher, with excellent performances…” — Bruce Lanier Wright, Night Walkers: Gothic Horror Movies, The Modern Era, Taylor Publishing Company, 1995, page 158.

“[A] classy picture made by people with some sense of suspense, and performed by people with a cast headed by two of the best – George C. Scott and Melvyn Douglas…. This is not a movie with ghosts jumping at you to elicit fraudulent screams. This is creepy, stealthy suspense.” – Gene Shalit, The Ladies Home Journal, July 1980, pages 24, 28.

According to Roger Ebert’s review of The Changeling, “This…is a scary movie with taste.”

https://thelastdrivein.com/2016/01/31/the-changeling-1980-how-did-you-die-joseph-did-you-die-in-this-house-why-do-you-remain/

The Changeling is a stylish and exquisitely envisioned 1980 Canadian supernatural horror film directed by Peter Medak. It stars George C. Scott, Trish Van Devere, and Melvyn Douglas. I saw this atmospheric and, at times, jarring ghost story during its theatrical release. Like the pounding John Russell hears at night, my heart almost jumped out of my chest, and still does, actually, during the scene with the menacing wheelchair hunting Trish Van Devere throughout the winding hallway, chases her down the stairs and, ultimately, crashes into her.

The Changeling is perhaps one of the most effectively creepy ghost stories. This is partly due to John Coquillon’s edgy and intensely focused cinematography and production designer Trevor Williams, who helps create the oppressive and isolating environment.

The movie also showcases a sentimental piano score, including the music box melody written by Howard Blake, which adds to the moody atmosphere.

Director Medak and cinematographer Coquillon employ a masterful technique of fluid, low-angle tracking shots that serpentine through the mansion’s expansive rooms and corridors. This approach creates an ethereal perspective, as if the audience embodies the restless spirit itself, observing the world from its incorporeal vantage point. Such camera work not only heightens the sense of supernatural presence but also accentuates John Russell’s isolation within the sprawling, haunted domain.

In a particularly striking composition, the film utilizes a high-angle shot that cascades down the grand staircase, diminishing George C. Scott’s normally commanding presence. This visual strategy inverts the actor’s typical on-screen authority, rendering him small and exposed against the mansion’s imposing architecture. The result is a palpable sense of vulnerability, underscoring the powerlessness of even the most formidable individual when confronted with otherworldly forces.

The film follows the lonely John Russell (Scott), a grief-stricken composer who moves to Seattle after losing his wife and daughter in a tragic accident. His pain acts as a conduit for the supernatural events that follow. Somehow, the personal events of John’s life and the specter of the little boy who is drawn to him are inextricably connected. His fate acts as a whisper of revelation that beckons John from the depths of his grief-induced isolation, offering a renewed sense of purpose that illuminates his path forward.

After John Russell breaks open an old storeroom, he uncovers a secret stairway that leads to a creepy space that begins to reveal the horrible history of the house and its ghostly inhabitant, the dark secret of a little boy’s cruel death, and the terrible truth about prominent senator Carmichael’s (Melvyn Douglas) origins. John rents a sprawling, imposing mansion that hasn’t been occupied in over a decade from Claire Norman (Van Devere Scott’s real wife), an agent of a local historical society. Soon after moving in, he experiences unexplained phenomena: Loud banging every morning, water taps turning on by themselves, a red stained glass window shattering, and the apparition of a drowned boy in a bathtub. John discovers a hidden attic room containing a child’s belongings and a music box that plays a tune he has just composed; it is not a coincidence.

These events lead him to investigate the house’s history, uncovering a dark secret involving Senator Joseph Carmichael. In one of the powerful scenes of the film, a medium conducts a séance, trying to discover the identity of the ghost, revealing the tortured spirit of a murdered boy named Joseph—the little boy who drowned in the tub.

One of the most chilling scenes involves Joseph’s cobweb-covered wheelchair appearing at the top of the stairs, creaking back and forth on its own, and chasing Van Devere down the great steps of the house. John witnesses the apparition of the drowned boy Joseph in the bathtub. The desperate pounding on the tub’s sides unleashes a thunderous, haunting cadence that echoes through the silence; the aural torment is akin to the pounding in Robert Wise’s The Haunting 1963. There is also disembodied crying, much like Shirley Jackson’s ghost story. John also hears the ghost’s voice on a recording, revealing how the boy died.

There’s also a frightening moment when his dead daughter’s little red rubber ball slowly bounces down the grand stairway. The unsettled John flees, frantically casting the spectral ball off the bridge into the abyss of the churning sea below. But when he returns home, the veil between worlds proves permeable; the sea-wet ball materializes once more, slowly bouncing down the staircase with an otherworldly persistence. This stunning, haunting image elegantly sums up the tenuous threshold separating the physical realm from the world of the dead and the liminal space where the laws of nature bend to accommodate the unfinished business of restless spirits. Something so simple can be so terrifying. The ball was seen in the beginning in John’s apartment in New York while he was packing up his family’s things and getting ready for his move to Seattle.

The Changeling received positive critical reviews and was an early Canadian-produced film to achieve major international success. It won eight inaugural Genie Awards, including Best Motion Picture, and was nominated for two Saturn Awards. The film is considered a cult classic and one of the most influential Canadian films ever.

The movie’s strength lies in its effective blend of traditional haunted house elements with a conspiracy thriller, creating a unique and compelling narrative. Its subtle approach to horror, relying more on atmosphere and psychological tension than graphic violence, has contributed to its enduring appeal among us horror fans.

GHOST STORY 1981

Ghost Story (1981), directed by John Irvin and based on Peter Straub’s novel, is a chilling supernatural thriller that intertwines past and present, guilt and revenge. The film boasts an impressive cast of Hollywood veterans in their twilight years, including Fred Astaire, Melvyn Douglas, Douglas Fairbanks Jr., and John Houseman, alongside younger talents like Craig Wasson and Alice Krige as the mysterious beauty who comes into their lives and creates a current of supernatural dread.

Set in a snow-covered New England town, the story follows four elderly men who form the Chowder Society, gathering regularly to share ghost stories. Their comfortable routine is shattered when one member’s son dies mysteriously, triggering a series of supernatural events that force them to confront a dark secret from their youth. Through haunting flashbacks, we learn of their encounter with the enigmatic Eva Galli, whose death they’ve concealed for decades.

As the vengeful spirit returns to exact her revenge, the film builds tension through Jack Cardiff’s atmospheric cinematography, which masterfully captures both the eerie present and the golden-hued past. Jack Cardiff’s most influential cinematography works include A Matter of Life and Death (1946), Black Narcissus (1947), and The Red Shoes (1948). These three films, directed by Powell and Pressburger, established Cardiff as a legendary cinematographer. His work on Black Narcissus earned him an Academy Award for Best Color Cinematography.

From shocking deaths to spectral appearances on snowy bridges, Ghost Story is one hell of a horror film that culminates in a climactic confrontation at Eva’s decaying house and her excruciating death.

The narrative structure of Ghost Story plays a crucial role in creating its eerie and suspenseful atmosphere. The film employs a non-linear storytelling approach, interweaving past and present events to gradually reveal the dark secret that haunts the protagonists. The dual timeline structure, the present focusing on the members of the Chowder Society and flashbacks to their youth, reveals their dark secret connected to the enigmatic Eva Galli.

The film’s strength lies in exploring how past sins haunt the present, both literally and figuratively, creating a ghost story that is as much about psychological torment as it is about supernatural scares.