MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #73 The Haunted Palace 1963

THE HAUNTED PALACE 1963

The Haunted Palace (1963) is a swirling mist of Gothic horror and cosmic dread, a film that finds its haunted heart in the dual performance of Vincent Price and the eerie vision of director Roger Corman. Though marketed as part of Corman’s celebrated Poe cycle, the film is in fact a bold adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, with only a Poe poem lending its title and a sense of poetic doom.

This fusion of literary titans sets the stage for a story where the boundaries between sanity and possession, past and present, are as porous as the fog that curls around the cursed village of Arkham.

Vincent Price commands the film in a bravura dual role as both the gentle Charles Dexter Ward and his ancestor, the warlock Joseph Curwen. His performance is a dark waltz in transformation between menace and melancholy: with a mere shift of posture or the glint in his eye, he glides from kindly innocence to fiendish malevolence.

Price’s energy is magnetic yet controlled, never tipping into parody, and his voice, by turns silken and sibilant, makes the supernatural possession feel chillingly plausible.

Watching Price, one marvels at how he can summon both sympathy and terror, often within the same scene. The film’s most unsettling moments come as Charles, standing before Curwen’s portrait, is slowly overtaken by his ancestor’s will – a psychological duel rendered with nothing but Price’s expressive face and the camera’s hungry gaze.

Corman, ever the resourceful auteur, brings a starker, surreal visual palette to Lovecraft , aided by the atmospheric cinematography of Floyd Crosby. The muted blue and brown hues, drifting ground fog, and looming sets evoke a world where the past refuses to stay buried.

Daniel Haller’s art direction, honed on earlier Corman films, gives the palace itself a brooding, labyrinthine presence, its secret passageways and shadowed corners as much a character as any of the villagers. Ronald Stein’s score, lush and occasionally bombastic, heightens the film’s sense of mounting dread and otherworldly pull, like a tide tugging at the edge of reason..

The supporting cast is a gallery of horror icons and character actors: Debra Paget brings both vulnerability and resolve to Anne Ward, the wife caught in the crossfire of ancestral evil; Lon Chaney Jr. is memorably sinister as Simon, Curwen’s loyal henchman, his mournful eyes masking monstrous intent; Frank Maxwell, Elisha Cook Jr., and others round out the cursed townsfolk, each bearing the weight of Curwen’s vengeance.

The story unfolds with the precision of a nightmare: in 1765, Joseph Curwen is burned alive by Arkham’s villagers for his occult crimes, but not before cursing them and their descendants. Over a century later, Charles Dexter Ward inherits the palace and is inexorably drawn into Curwen’s legacy. As Charles succumbs to possession, the film becomes a study in psychological horror. Curwen’s revenge is visited upon the villagers through a series of grotesque murders, while Anne desperately tries to save her husband from the grip of the past.

Ted Coodley’s makeup effects deliver the villagers of Arkham to a state of grotesque deformity, transforming their faces and bodies into unsettling, crumbling statues of Curwen’s lingering curse. Visages warped by ancestral sin. Masks of suffering, their features melting like wax, twisted by generations of Curwen’s retribution, they wander the mist-shrouded streets with faces warped and features askew, their bodies bearing the tragic poetry of nightmare-living testaments to a legacy of unnatural evil.

Joseph Curwen’s dead mistress, Hester Tillinghast- played by Cathie Merchant- is resurrected by Curwen (in control of Charles Dexter Ward’s body) and his fellow warlocks. Once revived, Hester joins Curwen and his followers in their sinister rituals and is present for the climactic attempt to sacrifice Anne Ward to the creature in the pit, making her an active participant in the film’s final horrors.

Key moments linger in the mind: the torch-lit mob scene where Curwen, defiant to the end, promises vengeance “until this village is a graveyard”; the hypnotic power of Curwen’s portrait, a silent sentinel of evil; the chilling sequence where deformed villagers surround Charles and Anne, their presence a living testament to the curse; and the final conflagration, as the palace burns and the boundaries between the living and the dead dissolve.

The climax of The Haunted Palace erupts in a frenzy of fire and supernatural reckoning. As the villagers, torches in hand, storm the cursed palace to end Joseph Curwen’s reign once and for all, Anne is chained and offered as a sacrifice to the monstrous Lovecraftian creature lurking in the pit below. In the chaos, Dr. Willet and Anne discover the secret dungeons and are ambushed by Curwen and his resurrected cohorts. The villagers set the palace ablaze and, crucially, destroy Curwen’s portrait, breaking his hold over Charles Dexter Ward. Freed from possession, Charles rushes to save Anne, urging Dr. Willet to get her to safety as the inferno consumes the palace. Though Charles and Willet narrowly escape the flames, the film closes on an unsettling note: a glimmer in Charles’s eyes and a sinister tone in his voice hint that Curwen’s evil may not have been vanquished after all.

The Haunted Palace stands as a bridge between Gothic melodrama and cosmic horror, its atmosphere thick with dread and its themes as old as original sin. With Price particularly mercurial, Corman at his most atmospheric, and Lovecraft’s shadow looming over every frame, the film is a haunted house of the mind, where the past is never truly dead, and evil waits patiently for the door to be opened.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #50 The Dunwich Horror 1970

THE DUNWICH HORROR 1970

The Dunwich Horror (1970) is a film that feels like a fever dream conjured from the depths of both H.P. Lovecraft’s imagination and the psychedelic haze of late-60s cinema. Directed by Daniel Haller—who had already dipped his toes into Lovecraftian waters with Die, Monster, Die!—the film is a swirling, hypnotic adaptation of Lovecraft’s 1929 short story, but with a distinctly surreal and sensual 1970s twist. Haller, working under the watchful eye of producer Roger Corman and with a screenplay co-written by a young Curtis Hanson, crafts a movie that is still as much about mood and atmosphere as it is about cosmic horror.

Haller was indeed the art director and production designer for Roger Corman on his celebrated Edgar Allan Poe film series. Haller designed the sets for several of Corman’s most iconic Poe adaptations, including House of Usher (1960), The Pit and the Pendulum (1961), The Raven (1963), and The Masque of the Red Death (1964).

His opulent, atmospheric set designs were a crucial element in establishing the lush, gothic visual style that defined Corman’s Poe cycle and are widely credited with elevating the films’ production values despite their modest budgets.

Daniel Haller’s set designs for Corman’s Poe cycle are nothing short of opulent and atmospheric, layering every frame with lush, visually poetic style that became the series’ trademark. Haller’s work didn’t just set the mood for Corman’s stylistic reflections—they practically oozed Gothic grandeur, making those crumbling mansions and shadowy corridors feel both exuberant with pagentry and dreadfully claustrophobic. Even with the famously tight budgets, Haller’s creativity elevated the films’ production values to a level that felt lavish and immersive, giving the Poe adaptations a visual richness that’s still credited with defining their enduring appeal.

For me, it’s impossible not to feel the chills that are triggered when the eerie soundscape, saturated colors, and theatrical flair of one of Corman’s Gothic horror odysseys come alive on screen.

The story revolves around Wilbur Whateley, played with eerie, soft-spoken intensity by Dean Stockwell. Wilbur is not your average small-town weirdo—he’s the scion of a family with a dark, eldritch secret, and he’s got his sights set on the legendary Necronomicon, an ancient conjure book housed at Miskatonic University. Enter Sandra Dee (in a career-defining detour from her wholesome Gidget persona that set off the wave of Beach party movie craze of the 1960s), as Nancy Wagner, a graduate student who finds herself drawn into Wilbur’s orbit. There’s a hypnotic quality to their first encounter, and it’s not long before Nancy is lured back to the Whateley estate in the fog-shrouded hills of Dunwich, where reality begins to slip, and the boundaries between dream and nightmare dissolve.

The supporting cast is a treat for genre fans: Ed Begley as Dr. Henry Armitage, the academic who suspects Wilbur’s true intentions, while Donna Baccala and Lloyd Bochner round out the cast as Nancy’s concerned friends and colleagues. Joanna Moore Jordan (Bury Me an Angel, 1971, A Woman Under the Influence 1974) is memorable as Lavinia Whateley, Wilbur’s mother, whose own tragic fate is woven into the film’s legacy of generational dread.

What makes The Dunwich Horror so memorable isn’t just its plot, though the story of ancient rituals, monstrous twins, and the threat of Lovecraft’s infamous “Old Ones” returning to our world is pure Lovecraftian gold, but the way it’s told. Richard C. Glouner’s cinematography is a kaleidoscope of saturated colors, swirling mists, and disorienting camera angles. The film leans hard into the psychedelic, with dream sequences and ritual scenes that feel like occult acid trips, all underscored by Les Baxter’s full-bodied, eerie score. The opening title sequence alone, with its morphing silhouettes and deep blue palette, sets a tone that’s both stylish and unsettling, a nod to the graphic design innovations of the 1960s and the shadowy grandeur of classic horror.

The Dunwich Horror doesn’t shy away from some pretty provocative concepts—dabbling in forbidden rituals, cosmic ancestry, and the kind of archaic, old-world fears that feel both ancient and yet strangely contemporary and vivid. There’s a simmering sexual innuendo running through the film too, with hypnotic seductions and ritualistic overtones that sharpens the knife, carving out a deeper sense of tension and taboo.. What makes it all the more striking is how distinctly different this role is for Sandra Dee; after years of being cast as the wholesome ingénue, here she dives headfirst into a world of occult danger and adult themes, even flirting with a touch of sultry reveal, marking a bold and memorable turn away from her earlier screen persona. It’s a film that’s not afraid to get weird with its ideas, even as it leans into those shadowy, timeworn themes that Lovecraft fans like me know and love.

Key moments linger in the mind: the locked room in the Whateley house, where Wilbur’s monstrous twin lurks; escaping into the landscape, throwing off sparks.

Visually, the creature is rarely shown in full during the surreal moments as he roams the countryside. He’s more a suggestion of monstrous presence than a clearly defined figure, rendered through swirling, psychedelic effects, distorted camera angles, and flashes of unnatural movement. The cinematography leans into a hallucinatory palette: colors pulse, the air seems to shimmer, and the camera itself seems to recoil from what it’s showing, as if the lens can barely contain the horror. It’s an effect that works well for the film.

Wilbur’s twin is depicted as a writhing, amorphous mass—sometimes glimpsed as a shadowy, tentacled blur, sometimes as a rippling distortion in the landscape, always accompanied by an uproar of inhuman sounds. The creature’s passage is marked by chaos: doors splinter, trees shudder, and terrified townsfolk flee in his wake. Animals panic, and the very air seems to crackle, warp, and tremble as he moves, leaving a trail of destruction and fear.

The ritual atop the windswept cliffs, with its eye-catching set -laid out with Wilbur’s sacrificial altar and flamboyant cult followers, where Wilbur attempts to summon the Old Ones (YOG-soh-thoth!) with Nancy as his unwilling offering; the climactic confrontation, where lightning and fire bring the Whateley line to a spectacular, apocalyptic end.

The film’s special effects are more suggestive than explicit, relying on editing, sound, and color to evoke the presence of cosmic horrors just out of sight—a choice that, whether by budget or design, only adds to the film’s dreamlike power.

At its core, The Dunwich Horror is a love letter to Lovecraft’s world of forbidden knowledge and ancestral terror, but it’s filtered through the lens of a time when horror was as much about sensation as story, that’s to Daniel Haller’s artistic touch.

It’s a film where the boundaries between the real and the unreal are as thin as the veil between tenuous worlds and where every color-tinged shadow might conceal something ancient, hungry, and waiting. For fans of the weird, the surreal, and the hypnotically eclectic, it’s a cult classic that still casts a spell, and as far as I’m concerned, for an early adaptation of Lovecraft, it holds its own.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #24 Beast in the Cellar 1970 & The Shuttered Room 1967

SPOILER ALERT!

BEAST IN THE CELLAR 1970

The Beast in the Cellar (1971) is a British horror film directed by James Kelly, starring two inimitable British actors, Beryl Reid as Ellie Ballantyne and Flora Robson as Joyce Ballantyne. The film follows two proper elderly sisters living near a rural army base in Lancashire, where soldiers are being mysteriously murdered.

In the delightfully dreary The Beast in the Cellar (1971), two spinster sisters, Ellie (Beryl Reid) and Joyce (Flora Robson), are living their best lives in a rural English cottage, complete with a secret ingredient that’s not exactly listed in the local cookbook: their deranged brother Steven (Dafydd Havard), who’s been locked in the cellar for decades.

The story revolves around the Ballantyne sisters’ dark secret: their brother Steven, whom they’ve kept locked in their cellar for nearly 30 years in order to keep him from joining the war effort. After their father returned from World War I traumatized and violent, the sisters decided to protect Steven from being drafted into World War II by drugging and imprisoning him in the cellar until he evolved into a feral animal.

As the murders continue, the sisters realize that Steven has escaped through a tunnel he dug and is responsible for the killings plaguing the village. His years of confinement and abuse have left him with a hatred for uniformed soldiers.

Through the plodding and cloyingly oppressive atmosphere, the film builds tension as the sisters struggle to conceal their secrets and deal with the consequences of what they have done.

While The Beast in the Cellar attempts to blend psychological horror with social commentary on the effects of war, it received mixed reviews. Critics noted its slow pace and lack of traditional horror elements but praised the performances of Reid and Robson, who never disappoint. The film has since gained a cult following for its unique premise and exploration of family secrets and the long-term consequences of misguided protection.

THE SHUTTERED ROOM 1967

The Shuttered Room (1967), directed by David Greene, marked Greene’s feature-film debut after directing episodes of The Twilight Zone and Playhouse 90. Greene would go on to direct notable films such as the very taught psycho-sexual thriller I Start Counting (1969), starring Jenny Agutter, and Godspell (1973). His television work includes acclaimed projects like Roots (1977), for which he won an Emmy.

This is another British psychological horror film steeped in Gothic atmosphere and folk horror elements. Based on the 1959 short story by August Derleth, written as a “posthumous collaboration” with H.P. Lovecraft, the film loosely draws inspiration from Lovecraftian themes while carving out its own identity. The screenplay was penned by D.B. Ledrov and Nathaniel Tanchuck. Carol Lynley delivers a nuanced performance as the haunted Susannah Kelton, balancing vulnerability with quiet resilience as she confronts both external threats and internal demons.

The film also stars Gig Young as the pragmatic Mike Kelton and Oliver Reed as the menacing Ethan. Reed’s portrayal echoes his earlier work in Joseph Losey’s These Are the Damned (1963).

The insular island community evokes themes of the folk horror elements of superstition and isolation common in folk horror, predating films like The Wicker Man (1973).

The Shuttered Room also stars the wonderful Flora Robson (she would later return to the genre in Beast in the Cellar in 1970), who delivers a memorable performance as the mysterious Aunt Agatha. Robson shines as Aunt Agatha, embodying the archetype of the wise but cryptic elder who knows more than she reveals.

The film includes moody cinematography by Ken Hodges and music by Basil Kirchin, which further enhance the film’s unsettling tone.

The story follows Susannah Kelton (Carol Lynley), a young woman raised in foster care who inherits her childhood home—a decrepit mill on a remote New England island—after her parents’ death.

Accompanied by her husband, Mike (Gig Young), Susannah reluctantly returns to confront her past. The island’s insular and hostile locals, led by her lecherous cousin Ethan (Oliver Reed), warn of a family curse tied to the mill, where an unseen terror lurks in the attic’s shuttered room.

As Susannah grapples with repressed childhood memories of trauma, she becomes the target of both Ethan’s (Reed) violent advances and the mill’s dark secret. The film builds toward a shocking revelation: the “monster” in the attic is Susannah’s deranged sister, Sarah, who has hidden away since birth due to her deformities and homicidal tendencies, which leads to a climactic confrontation.

David Greene’s direction imbues The Shuttered Room with a brooding atmosphere that blends Gothic horror with modern psychological tension. Though set in New England, the film was shot entirely in Norfolk, England, lending an eerie, decayed charm to its rural setting. Greene employs innovative techniques for his time, including point-of-view shots from the “monster,” which later became a hallmark of slasher films.

Ken Hodges’s cinematography captures the desolation of the island and the oppressive gloom of the mill with stark contrasts between light and shadow. The titular shuttered room becomes a visual metaphor for repression—both familial and psychological—while recurring imagery like decaying wood and shattered glass underscores themes of fragility and entrapment.

Basil Kirchin’s score alternates between jaunty jazz motifs and ominous basslines, creating an unsettling juxtaposition that mirrors Susannah’s uneasy return to her roots. This departure from traditional gothic orchestration gives the film a modern edge while maintaining its sense of dread.

The Shuttered Room 1967 explores repression and trauma and how buried secrets—both familial and personal—can fester into destructive forces. Susannah’s repressed memories parallel Sarah’s literal imprisonment.

The Shuttered Room occupies an intriguing position within British horror cinema of the 1960s. While often overshadowed by Hammer Films’ Gothic output during this period, it stands out for its fusion of Gothic tropes with modern psychological horror. Its depiction of rural hostility and repressed trauma aligns it with early folk horror works that would later define the subgenre.

With its decaying millhouse hiding both family secrets and unspeakable horrors, The Shuttered Room weaves a tale where Gothic dread meets up with folk horror unease—making the film a chilling exploration of things lurking behind locked doors.

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Rod Serling’s Night Gallery 9 Terrifying Halloween Treats!

*THE CEMETERY -PILOT TV movie AIR DATE NOV.8, 1969
*THE DEAD MAN-AIR DATE DEC. 16, 1970
*CERTAIN SHADOWS ON THE WALL-DEC.30, 1970
*THE DOLL-AIR DATE JAN.13, 1971
*A FEAR OF SPIDERS -AIR DATE OCT. 6, 1971
*COOL AIR-AIR DATE DEC.8, 1971
*GREEN FINGERS-AIR DATE JAN.8, 1972
*GIRL WITH THE HUNGRY EYES AIR DATE OCT.1, 1972
*SOMETHING IN THE WOODWORK AIR DATE JAN.14, 1973

Next time up, The Tune in Dan’s Cafe, Lindenmann’s Catch, A Question of Fear, The Sins of the Father, Fright Night and There Aren’t Any More McBanes.

Available on DVD: with Season 2 Audio Commentary from Guillermo Del Toro and from historians Scott Skelton and Jim Benson and Season 3 also with Audio Commentary from historians Scott Skelton and Jim Benson.

There will be no need for spoilers, I will not give away the endings "¦

The way the studio wants to do it, a character won't be able to walk by a graveyard, he'll have to be chased. They're trying to turn it into a Mannix in a shroud."”Creator Rod Serling

“Good evening, and welcome to a private showing of three paintings, displayed here for the first time. Each is a collectors’ item in its own way – not because of any special artistic quality, but because each captures on a canvas, and suspends in time and space, a frozen moment of a nightmare.”-Rod Serling Host

With the major success of The Twilight Zone (1959-1964), after it was canceled in 1964, Rod Serling continued to work on various projects. He wrote the screenplays for the movie versions of Pierre Boulle's Planet of the Apes and The Man based on the novel by Irving Wallace. In 1970 he created a new series, Night Gallery which was tales of the macabre based on various mystery/horror/fantasy writers, H.P Lovecraft, Algernon Blackwood and even Serling himself. The show was produced by Jack Laird and Rod Serling. The show ran six episodes each, part of four dramatic series under the umbrella title Four-In-One. In 1971, it appeared with its own vignettes on NBC opposite Mannix. In 1971 the Pilot for the show had three of the most powerful of the series. The Cemetery starring Ossie Davis, Roddy McDowall, and George Macready. Eyes star Hollywood legend Joan Crawford plays an unpleasant tyrant who is blind and is willing to rob the sight of another man in order to see for a short period of time. The segment was directed by Steven Spielberg. The last playlet starred Norma Crane and Richard Kiley as a Nazi who is hiding out in a South American country and dreams of losing himself in a little boat on a quiet lake depicted in a painting at the local art museum.

Then Night Gallery showcased an initial six segments and the hour-long series consisted of several different mini teleplays. In its last season from 1972-1973, the show was reduced to only a half hour.
Night Gallery differed from The Twilight Zone which was comprised of science fiction and fantasy narratives as it delved more into the supernatural and occult themes. The show has a unique flavor in the same way Boris Karloff introduced each one of Thriller's divergent stories, Rod Serling would introduce each episode surrounded by his gallery of macabre and morbid paintings by artist Gallery Painter: Tom Wright Serling would open his show with a little soliloquy about life, irony and the upcoming tale of ghoulish delights.

Rod Serling was not a fan of Night Gallery and did not have the revelatory passion and inducement to plug the show the way he did for The Twilight Zone, in fact, the series was panned by the critics. Two of the shows Serling wrote were nominated for Emmys, "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar" starring William Windom and Diane Baker, and The Messiah of Mott Street " starring Edward G. Robinson.

From Gary Gerani-Fantastic Television: A Pictorial History of Sci-Fi, the Unusual and The Fantastic
"No stranger to the interference of sponsors, networks and censors, Serling once again found himself locked by contact into an untenable situation..{"¦}"¦ He owned Night Gallery, created it and it was sold to network and audience on his reputation . The competitor on CBS was Mannix, a formula private-eye shoot-and rough-"˜em up. Serling felt that NBC and Universal were doing their best to imitate Mannix, with an emphasis on monsters, chases and fights. They turned down many of his scripts as "too thoughtful" Serling lamented. "They don't want to compete against Mannix in terms of contrast, but similarity." Not only was Serling unable to sell them scripts he was also barred from casting sessions, and couldn't make decisions about his show"”he had signed away creative control. As a result he tried to have his name removed from the title, but NBC had him contract-bound to play host and cordially to introduce the parasite to the TV audience."

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Happy Birthday to Bradford Dillman April 14

**Bradford Dillman in a scene from the film ‘Circle Of Deception’, 1960. (Photo by 20th Century-Fox/Getty Images)**

Untroubled good looks, faraway poise & self-control, with a satyric smile and brushed-aside sophisticationÂ – that’s Bradford Dillman

Bradford Dillman is one of those ubiquitous & versatile actors who you find popping up just about everywhere, and whenever I either see him in the credits or think about some of his performances, I am immediately happified by his presence in my mind and on screen.Â It’s this familiarity that signposts for me that whatever upcoming diversion I’m in store for will be something memorable indeed.

He’s been cast as a saint, a psychopath, an elite ivy league intellectual with an edge, an unconventional scientist, a military figure, a droll, and prickly individualist, a clueless bureaucrat, or drunken malcontents and he’s got a sort of cool that is wholly appealing.

Bradford Dillman was omnipresent starting out on the stage, and in major motion pictures at the end of the 50s, and by the 1960s he began his foray into popular episodic television series and appeared in a slew of unique made-for-television movies throughout the 1970s and 80s, with the addition of major motion picture releases through to the 90s. His work intersects many different genres from melodramas, historical dramas, thrillers, science fiction, and horror.

There are a few actors of the 1960s & 70s decades that cause that same sense of blissed-out flutters in my heart — that is of course if you’re as nostalgic about those days of classic cinema and television as I am. I get that feeling when I see actors like Stuart Whitman, Dean Stockwell, Roy Thinnes, Scott Marlow, Warren Oates, James Coburn, Lee Grant David Janssen, Michael Parks, Barbara Parkins, Joanna Pettet, Joan Hackett, Sheree North,Â Diana Sands, Piper Laurie, Susan Oliver, and Diane Baker.Â I have a fanciful worship for the actors who were busy working in those decades, who weren’t Hollywood starlets or male heartthrobs yet they possessed a realness, likability, a certain individual knack, and raw sex appeal.

Bradford Dillman was born in San Francisco in 1930 to a prominent local family. During the war, he was sent to The Hotchkiss School in Lakeville, Connecticut. At Hotchkiss, his senior year he played Hamlet. At Yale, he studied English Literature and performed in amateur theatrical productions, and worked at the Playhouse in Connecticut. Dillman served in the US Marines in Korea (1951-1953) and made a pact that he’d give himself five years to succeed as an actor before he called it quits. Lucky for us, he didn’t wind up in finance the way his father wanted him to.

**Actor Bradford Dillman (Photo by ÂÂ John Springer Collection/CORBIS/Corbis via Getty Images)**

Dillman enrolled and studied at the Actors Studio, he spent several seasons apprenticing with the Sharon Connecticut Playhouse before making his professional acting debut in an adaptation of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “The Scarecrow” in 1953 with fellow Studio students Eli Wallach and James Dean. Dillman referred to Dean as ‘a wacky kid’ but ‘very gifted’.

He only appeared in two shows in October 1962 The Fun Couple in 1957 with Dyan Cannon and Jane Fonda before the play closed in New York only after two days.

We lost Bradford Dillman last year in January 2018. I was so saddened to hear the news. And I missed the chance to tribute to his work then, but now that his birthday is here, I feel like celebrating his life rather than mourning his death, so it’s just as well.

Bradford Dillman wrote an autobiography called Are You, Anybody? An Actor’s Life, published in 1997 with a (foreword by Suzy Parker) in which he downplays the prolific contribution he made to film and television and acting in general. Though Dillman didn’t always hold a high opinion of some of the work he was involved in, appearing in such a vast assortment of projects, he always came across as upbeat and invested in the role.

“Bradford Dillman sounded like a distinguished, phony, theatrical name, so I kept it.”

[about his career] “I’m not bitter, though. I’ve had a wonderful life. I married the most beautiful woman in the world. Together we raised six children, each remarkable in his or her own way and every one a responsible citizen. I was fortunate to work in a profession where I looked forward to going to work every day. I was rewarded with modest success. The work sent me to places all over the world I’d never been able to afford visiting otherwise. I keep busy and I’m happy. And there are a few good films out there that I might be remembered for.”

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Lemora: a Child’s Tale of the Supernatural (1973) & Dream No Evil (1970) Journeys of: The Innocent/Absent Father Archetype & Curse of the Lamia or “Please don’t tresspass on my nightmare!”

"For some nights I slept profoundly; but still every morning I felt the same lassitude, and a languor weighed upon me all day. I felt myself a changed girl. A strange melancholy was stealing over me, a melancholy that I would not have interrupted. Dim thoughts of death began to open, and an idea that I was slowly sinking took gentle, and, somehow, not unwelcome possession of me. If it was sad, the tone of mind which this induced was also sweet. Whatever it might be, my soul acquiesced in it."
"• Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, ‘Carmilla’

LEMORA: A CHILD’S TALE OF THE SUPERNATURAL 1973

Run, little girl! Innocence is in peril tonight!

The Light in the Window … The Lock on the Door … The Sounds in the Night! A Possession is Taking Place!

A while ago I double featured Let’s Scare Jessica to Death (1971) and The Night God Screamed (1971). I made it clear that I felt Let’s Scare Jessica to Death was the superior film but somehow they made good companion pieces. And since I’m a child of the 70s, those days of the double bill, musty theaters, milk duds, and groovy posters, I’ve decided to pair these particular films. And once again, I’ll emphasize now that I believe Lemora to be by far not only the superior film but one of the MOST uniquely beautiful horror/fantasy films I’ve ever seen.

Because the film hit a very bumpy road on its release, it wound up being passed around like an orphan from one distributor to another. Thus is the reason for several titles over the years. It has been called The Legendary Curse of Lemora and Lemora, Lady Dracula, the latter hoping to ride the wave of low-budget vampire films that have now also attained cult status such as Bob Kelljan’s authentically potent Count Yorga Vampire 1970 starring Robert Quarry, and the equally stylish Blacula 1972 and of course the Gothic vampire pageantry of Hammer Studios churning out stylish costume melodramas with a lesbian vampire sub-text like The Vampire Lovers 1970 and Lust For a Vampire 1971, Stephanie Rothman’s The Velvet Vampire 1971, and Vicente Aranda’s The Blood Spattered Bride 1972. The liner notes written by Richard Harland Smith of Video Watchdog & Chris Poggiali of Fangoria and Shock Cinema interviewed Richard Blackburn and Byrd Holland and point out that Blackburn’s film is “less exploitative” yet “not unerotic” while using the “fragility of innocence.”

From the Journal of Horror and Erotic Cinema-Edited Andy Black
Bev Zalock’s- Girl Power From The Crypt

“In a sense, horror more than any of the other exploitation genres, with its monsters of the imagination, feeds fantasy and configures fear in a very direct way. With its linking of sex and death, horror taps into the unconscious and is associated with surrealism and the fantastic in both literature and cinema. Desire becomes the primary mise-en-scene within the realm of the supernatural and, as David Pirie observes in his excellent book The Vampire Cinema’ there is a strong cultural connection between our perception of sex and the supernatural. Pirie cites an article by Susan Sontag written in 1967 entitled “The Pornographic Imagination” in which she locates the fantastical realm of the human imagination as the site in which the two are classically connected.” – from Susan Sontag’s piece–Styles of Radical Will 1966

Celeste Yarnall is the dark lady vampire in Stephanie Rothman’s -The Velvet Vampire-co-starring Sherriy Miles.

In addition to these lesbian vampire narratives, you have Jess Franco’s Vampyros Lesbos 1970 and auteur Jean Rollin’s distinctive style who like Hammer connected suggestions of the ‘pornographic imagination’ that Susan Sontag describes. Films that use the spectrum of surrealist imagery from the Gothic to the gory. What they share is a ferocious appetite for power and the desire for sexual freedom.

Directed and written by Richard BlackburnÂ (Eating Raoul 1982 with cult idol Mary Woronov and co-written with director Paul Bartel) fresh out of UCLA film school, with his pal Robert Fern. Blackburn has said in interviews that there are things he would have done differently with a better budget and more time. He shot Lemora in a month. I think the crudely macabre tonality of Lemora is what makes films like these from the good old ’70s oneiric, quintessential, haunting, and flawless as is.

There is a discrepancy as to whether the running time of the film is either 85 minutes or 113 minutes (uncut). The remastered DVD through Synapse Films took the original 35mm negatives and brought this film back to its ‘never before seen clarity.’ The prints were presumed lost for over 30 years.

lemora-1973

The hauntingly macabre and somber music is by Dan Neufeld who crafted electronica and claviers and what I think might be a Melatron to evoke the eerie essence of the story is absolutely brilliant. With crying strings that fortify distorted wails and moans. With music box tinkling, poignant yet eerie flutes, and piano, muted horns-noises that shimmer and reverberate on cue with the dialogue or surreal set piece- I wish Dan Neufeld had done more movie scores. The sound design, the dysmorphic groans-unearthly wails- they’re the sounds you’d imagine the ‘old ones’ make in a Lovecraftian tale. Even the crickets and chorus frogs of the swamp sound metamorphosized into frightening aberrations.

Continue reading “Lemora: a Child’s Tale of the Supernatural (1973) & Dream No Evil (1970) Journeys of: The Innocent/Absent Father Archetype & Curse of the Lamia or “Please don’t tresspass on my nightmare!”” →