Category: Ubiquity

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.

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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.

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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.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #26 The Beast With Five Fingers 1946

THE BEAST WITH FIVE FINGERS 1946

The Beast with Five Fingers is a 1946 American mystery-horror film directed by Robert Florey (Murders in the Rue Morgue 1932), who was very fluent in television of the 1950s and ’60s, including Boris Karloff’s Thriller and Alfred Hitchcock Presents. It is based on the 1919 short story of the same name by W. F. Harvey, which plays into the disembodied hand trope. The screenplay was written by Curt Siodmak, known for his work on other horror classics like The Wolf Man (1941) and I Walked with a Zombie (1943).

The film stars Robert Alda, Andrea King, Victor Francen, and Peter Lorre. It tells the story of a retired concert pianist, Francis Ingram (Francen), who lives in a large manor house in turn-of-the-century Italy. After Ingram’s mysterious death, strange events begin to occur, centered around his seemingly animated, disembodied left hand.

The Very Thought of You: Andrea King in 4 Fabulous Unsung Film Noir Gems!

The plot revolves around the reading of Ingram’s will, which leaves everything to his nurse, Julie Holden (King), much to the dismay of his relatives. As tensions rise, a series of murders occur, apparently committed by Ingram’s severed hand. The film builds suspense through a combination of psychological horror and supernatural elements.

Peter Lorre, as usual, delivers a standout performance as Hilary Cummins, Ingram’s secretary and astrologist, who becomes increasingly unhinged as the story progresses. The film’s score was composed by Max Steiner, adding to its eerie atmosphere. Steiner, “the father of film music,” composed scores for some of the most iconic and epic Hollywood films of the 20th century. Here’s a summary of his most notable works: King Kong 1933, Gone With the Wind 1939, Casablanca, and Now, Voyager 1942. Over his career, Steiner composed more than 300 film scores and was nominated for 24 Academy Awards, winning three.

The Beast with Five Fingers was Warner Bros.’s only foray into the horror genre in the 1940s and marked Peter Lorre’s last film with the studio. The movie is notable for its innovative special effects, which bring the disembodied hand to life through various techniques. Warner Bros. pianist Victor Aller performs the piano pieces featured in the film, whose hand is shown playing throughout the movie.

Despite initial reluctance from the cast due to concerns about the film’s title sounding like a “campy B-Movie,” the actors were eventually won over by the fascinating script. The production was not without its lighter moments, as Peter Lorre was known for playing practical jokes on set, once causing filming to be canceled for a day due to his antics. Sara Karloff shared with me that Lorre enjoyed a good practical joke with his other colleagues, her father Boris, and other co-star Vincent Price on the set of The Raven 1963.

Over time, The Beast with Five Fingers has grown in popularity and is now considered a classic of its genre. It even inspired Charles Addams’s creation of the character Thing in The Addams Family. While it may not be as frightening by today’s standards, the film remains a chilling and memorable entry in the horror genre of the 1940s.

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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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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #21 Burnt Offerings 1976

BURNT OFFERINGS 1976

Dan Curtis’s Burnt Offerings (1976) is a sophisticated psychological horror film that subverts traditional haunted house tropes. It stars Karen Black, Oliver Reed, Bette Davis, Lee H. Montgomery, Eileen Heckart, and Burgess Meredith as Roz and Arnold Allardyce, the odd brother and sister who own the mansion.

Burnt Offerings is a morbidly fascinating tale of a family’s summer vacation gone horribly wrong. Karen Black and Oliver Reed star as Marian and Ben Rolf, a couple who rent a massive Victorian mansion for a suspiciously low price. Marian and Ben, along with their son David (Lee H. Montgomery) and Aunt Elizabeth (Bette Davis)—rent the sprawling house for the summer until things take a dark turn. Though the house is too good to be true, there is one catch: The Rolfs must care for Roz and Arnold’s unseen elderly mother, who resides in the attic.

The family soon discovers that their dream home has quirks, like Mrs. Allardyce, the mysterious old lady who never leaves her room, a garden that resurrects itself, and a house with an appetite for human souls.

The real scene-stealer, and the one that made me jump out of my seat in the theater, is the sinister chauffeur, played by Anthony James, who appears in Ben’s nightmares. James, known for his creepy on-screen presence, really gives you a shock to the system in the coffin scene with Bette Davis.

As the house’s sinister influence grows, the Rolfs find themselves in a race against time to escape before they become the latest addition to the property’s unique renovation plan. Burnt Offerings is the perfect example of 70s horror as many of the horror films from that era relied on psychological terror and a pervasive sense of dread rather than graphic violence or supernatural spectacle, though a soul-sucking evil house does have its moments.

Dan Curtis, adept at atmospheric Gothic horror, which includes character-driven supernatural narratives and thoughtful genre adaptations, masterfully builds tension through subtle atmospheric changes and the gradual transformation of the characters, particularly Marian’s growing obsession with the house. The film’s intelligent script, co-written by Curtis and William F. Nolan, delves into the psychological impact of the house on its inhabitants, blurring the lines between reality and supernatural influence.

Burnt Offerings stands out for its nuanced approach to horror, eschewing cheap scares in favor of a pervasive sense of dread. The film’s exploration of how evil can manifest through seemingly benign objects and the corruption of familial bonds is what truly adds a layer of shivers because family dynamics are complex enough when adding a layer of a malevolent force that seeks to destroy them.

Anthony James, with his uniquely imposing face and his topography of scars, delivers a chilling performance as the sinister chauffeur. This recurring apparition that haunts and tortures Ben’s nightmares serves as a harbinger of the house’s malevolent nature. The specter of James’s character becomes a symbol of the inevitable doom that awaits the family as the film explores themes of familial disintegration and the insidious nature of evil, a haunting meditation on the seductive and destructive power of both.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #18 The Black Cat 1934 & The Raven 1935

THE BLACK CAT 1934

EDGAR G.ULMER’S: THE BLACK CAT (1934) “ARE WE BOTH NOT" THE LIVING DEAD?”

Edgar G. Ulmer’s The Black Cat (1934) is a psychological horror film that marked the first on-screen pairing of Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi. Despite its title, the film bears little resemblance to Edgar Allan Poe’s story, instead focusing on the aftermath of World War I and its psychological impact on survivors.

The plot revolves around American newlyweds Peter and Joan Alison (David Manners and Julie Bishop ), who become entangled in a sinister feud between Dr. Vitus Werdegast (Lugosi) and Hjalmar Poelzig (Karloff) while honeymooning in Hungary. Werdegast, a psychiatrist recently freed from a Siberian prison camp, seeks revenge against Poelzig, an Austrian architect who betrayed their fort during the war, leading to thousands of deaths.

The film’s atmosphere is heavy with themes of revenge, psychological trauma, and the lingering effects of war within an ultra-modernist interior set that lends to the psychologically constrictive and repressive interior landscape.

Poelzig’s modernist house, built on the ruins of the betrayed fort, serves as a metaphor for the attempt to cover past atrocities with a veneer of progress, yet it feels like an avant-garde prison.

Ulmer employs expressionistic techniques, including stark sets and unconventional camera angles, to create a pervasive sense of unease. The titular black cat, while not central to the plot, symbolizes death and evil to Karloff (misconceptions that have led to the persecution of cats, particularly black cats), which menacingly affects the ailurophobic Werdegast. The film culminates in a tense game of chess between the two antagonists, deciding the fate of the American couple, and a climactic confrontation involving Satanic rituals and gruesome revenge. The Black Cat stands out among Universal’s horror offerings of the time for its psychological depth and its unflinching look at the dark aftermath of war. Edgar G. Ulmer’s film pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable in cinema at the time, featuring several controversial and disturbing elements that are shocking even by today’s standards.

This pre-code horror film strongly hints at necrophilic themes through Poelzig’s collection of preserved dead women. These bodies are displayed behind glass, lovingly maintained, and dressed in sheer, clingy material. Poelzig’s apparent fascination with these corpses, particularly his wife Karen’s preserved body, suggests a disturbing obsession with the sexualization of the dead.

John J. Mescall’s (Bride of Frankenstein 1935) cinematography in The Black Cat (1934) is an exploration of atmosphere and innovation, helping to define the film’s uniquely modern Gothic style. Working alongside director Edgar G. Ulmer, Mescall employed long, sweeping camera movements and sharp, angular compositions that draw us into the film’s unsettling world. His use of stark contrasts between light and shadow, inspired by German Expressionism, intensifies the sense of menace and claustrophobia, while the cold, futuristic sets are rendered with a haunting elegance. Mescall’s camera never lets us settle, often gliding through the labyrinthine fortress and muting focus to heighten the film’s erotic and psychological tension. The result is a visual landscape that feels otherworldly and deeply oppressive, making The Black Cat one of its era’s most visually arresting horror films.

The climax of the film features an incredibly gruesome scene where Werdegast binds Poelzig to an embalming rack and proceeds to flay him alive. While the actual skinning is not shown directly, Ulmer uses shadow play to depict the horrific act, accompanied by Poelzig’s agonized screams. This scene was so shocking and remarkable that it made it to the screen.

The film culminates in a Black Mass ceremony, where Poelzig prepares to sacrifice Joan to Satan. This depiction of devil worship was highly controversial for its time and added to the film’s overall sense of moral decay and corruption. The Black Cat also touches on other taboo subjects, such as Incest: Poelzig marries his stepdaughter, who shares the same name as his deceased wife.

There’s also the psychological trauma: exploring the lasting effects of war on the human psyche. The film’s ability to pack so many disturbing elements into its brief 65-minute runtime while mostly relying on suggestion rather than explicit depiction is a testament to Ulmer’s skill as a filmmaker. The Black Cat remains a landmark in horror cinema, pushing the boundaries of what could be explored on screen in the pre-code horror of the 1930s.

THE RAVEN 1935

The Raven (1935) is a psychological horror film directed by Lew Landers, one of the few rich collaborations starring Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi in their second on-screen pairing. Despite its title, the film is only loosely inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s works, focusing instead on a brilliant but unhinged surgeon’s obsession with torture and a young woman who is the object of his desire.

Dr. Richard Vollin (Lugosi) is a gifted neurosurgeon with a morbid fascination for Poe and torture devices. After saving the life of Jean Thatcher (Irene Ware), a young socialite, he becomes dangerously obsessed with her.

When Jean’s father, Judge Thatcher, forbids Vollin from seeing her, the doctor plots revenge. He recruits Edmond Bateman (Karloff), an escaped convict seeking facial reconstruction, by promising to fix his appearance. Instead, Vollin disfigures half of Bateman’s face to ensure his cooperation.

The facial disfiguration inflicted upon Edmond Bateman (Boris Karloff) by Dr. Vollin (Bela Lugosi) in The Raven (1935) is a gruesome and shocking act of cruelty. Vollin deliberately mutilates one side of Bateman’s face during what was supposed to be reconstructive surgery. The disfiguration is described as severely damaging the seventh cranial nerve, resulting in a grotesque asymmetry. The right side of Bateman’s face is left hideously scarred, with one eye rendered useless and the surrounding tissue distorted. The damage is so severe that when Bateman sees his reflection, he reacts with horror, desperately asking, “Do I look… different?” The audience is treated to a disturbing close-up of Karloff’s face, revealing the extent of the disfiguration – a mass of twisted flesh, a sightless eye, and nerve damage that likely causes partial facial paralysis.

This alarmingly graphic disfiguration serves as a visual representation of Vollin’s sadistic nature and becomes a central element in manipulating Bateman into becoming an unwilling accomplice in his twisted schemes.

Vollin’s basement houses recreations of Poe’s torture devices, including the pendulum from The Pit and the Pendulum. Vollin’s cruel manipulation of Bateman’s appearance is a central plot point.

The Raven culminates in a tense sequence where Vollin attempts to torture and kill Jean, her fiancé Jerry, and Judge Thatcher using his Poe-inspired devices, which consist of putting them in a small space with the walls closing in that will eventually crush them. Bateman, having developed sympathy for Jean, turns against Vollin. In the ensuing struggle, both Bateman and Vollin meet gruesome ends.

#18 down, 132 to go. Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

 

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #17 The Blood Spattered Bride 1972 & Blood and Roses 1960

THE BLOOD SPATTERED BRIDE 1972

The Blood Spattered Bride (Spanish: “La novia ensangrentada”) is a 1972 Spanish horror film directed by Vicente Aranda, based on Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s vampire novella “Carmilla.” The film stars Simón Andreu as the husband, Maribel Martín as Susan, and Alexandra Bastedo as Carmilla/Mircala Karstein.

Newlyweds Susan and her husband arrive at his ancestral estate for their honeymoon. Susan begins experiencing disturbing dreams and visions of Mircala Karstein, an ancestor who murdered her husband on their wedding night centuries ago. As Susan becomes increasingly detached from her husband, she falls under the influence of Carmilla, a mysterious woman who appears on the beach.

Central to the film’s impact is the seductive Carmilla, who is revealed to be a vampire and the reincarnation of Mircala Karstein. She seduces Susan, awakening her repressed desires and leading her on a bloody rampage. The film climaxes in a violent confrontation between the women and Susan’s husband.

The Blood Spattered Bride gained cult status for its blend of horror, vampirism, progressive ideas on gender and sexuality, female empowerment, and rebellion against patriarchal oppression set against the backdrop of Gothic horror.

The film’s erotic elements and violent imagery, including dream sequences and surreal visions, contribute to its unsettling atmosphere as Aranda’s direction creates a haunting and visually striking film that explores sexual politics cloaked in traditional vampire lore.

BLOOD AND ROSES 1960

Roger Vadim’s Blood and Roses (1960) is a visually sumptuous and erotically charged adaptation of Sheridan Le Fanu’s “Carmilla,” transporting the vampire tale to modern-day Italy. Set in modern-day Italy, the film follows Carmilla (Annette Vadim), who becomes possessed by her vampire ancestor Millarca (also Vadim) during her cousin’s engagement party.

The film also stars Mel Ferrer as Leopoldo and Elsa Martinelli as Georgia. Vadim’s direction blends surrealism, psychological horror, and sensuality, creating a dreamlike atmosphere that blurs the line between reality and fantasy. A defining scene that encapsulates the film’s unique style is the surreal black-and-white dream sequence with vibrant blood-red accents. In this pivotal moment, Georgia experiences a hallucinatory journey through a watery landscape, culminating in an operating theater where Carmilla/Millarca reveals her true nature. The sequence, with its striking visuals and symbolic imagery, showcases Vadim’s artistic approach to the vampire genre. The film’s innovative use of color, particularly in its surreal black-and-white sequence with red accents, elevates it beyond typical vampire fare.

Claude Renoir’s cinematography is a breathtaking piece of phantasmagoria, particularly in scenes like Carmilla’s ethereal wandering through the misty cemetery in her white dress. The lush setting of Hadrian’s Villa provides a backdrop of decadent beauty, contrasting with the film’s darker themes.

Blood and Roses explores themes of jealousy, forbidden desire, and the thin veil between life and death, offering a sophisticated take on the vampire mythos that influenced later erotic horror films. While it may not have achieved widespread recognition, it remains a visually striking and thematically rich entry in the vampire genre.

#17 down, 133 to go. Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

Under the Radar: The Unseen Side of Film Noir – Part 3 – It Always Rains on Sunday (1947)

Darkness Without Escape: British Noir’s Bleak Horizons

It Always Rains on Sunday 1947

In director Robert Hamer’s masterful film It Always Rains on Sunday, the relentless downpour that drenches nearly every scene serves as both a symbol of psychological downpour as it is one of torrential weather. This persistent rain reflects the bleak, oppressive atmosphere of postwar London, mirroring the emotional turmoil and shattered dreams of its characters.

A bleak, numbing damp seeps through the air, a haunting echo of the shattered, bombed-out dreams of the various characters navigating a single gritty Sunday on the rain-drained streets of postwar East End London where Googie Withers offers a safe haven to her former lover, the escaped felon Tommy Swann (John McCallum).

In a commanding performance as Rose Sandigate, Googie Withers embodies the frustrations of a disillusioned housewife from Bethnal Green trapped in a monotonous marriage.

Boxed in by good-natured yet intrusive neighbors, she grapples with the bitter feelings of envy toward her stepdaughter’s vibrant social life. When her mundane existence is abruptly disrupted by her ex-lover resurfacing, it forces her to confront her longing for the past and the constraints of her current reality.

Susan Shaw as Googie Wither’s stepdaughter Vi.

Concealed in the sanctuary of her bedroom, Tommy stays out of sight while the ordinary rhythm of domesticity plays out just beyond the walls. Meanwhile, outside the house, the relentless threat of police and journalists at her door looking for him will disrupt their plans.

“ But with that desperate situation as its emotional and narrative core, It Always Rains on Sunday fans out into a sprawling, Altmanesque tapestry of East End life.” ( from Film at Lincoln Center)

Condensed into a gripping hour and a half, the film unfolds with relentless intensity, where every moment is imbued with meaning. As day gives way to the nighttime realm, the despair and alienation culminate in a surreal Stratford train-yard finale. Here, elongated shadows dance amidst swirling smoke and intricate rear projections, creating a fever-dream landscape where all narrative threads converge.

It Always Rains on Sunday is a 1947 British film adaptation of Arthur La Bern’s novel of the same name. Arthur La Bern also wrote the story that became Hitchcock’s psycho-sexual thriller Frenzy.

Robert Hamer, who directed the film, also helmed the irreverent Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949), The Spider and the Fly (1949), Dead of Night (1945) sequence – the eerie and disturbing “The Haunted Mirror,” Pink String & Sealing Wax 1945, The Detective (1954) starring Frank Sinatra which dealt head-on with then considered deviant subject matter, To Paris with Love (1955), The Scapegoat (1959), and School for Scoundrels (1960).

The British writers Robert Murphy and Graham Fuller compared It Always Rains on Sunday to the poetic realism movement in French cinema a few years earlier.

The film features a screenplay By Angus Mcphail, Robert Hamer, and Henry Cornelius, with moody cinematography by Douglas Slocombe, who began his career as a photojournalist. Slocombe also shot Kind Hearts and Coronets 1949, The Lavender Hill Mob 1951, The Man in the White Suit 1951, The Servant 1963, and the taut psychological thriller starring Stephen Boyd, Jack Hawkins, and Pamela Franklin The Third Secret 1964.

It Always Rains on Sunday marked the first significant success for Ealing Studios in Britain, one of the oldest film studios in existence. It opened its doors in 1905 and is still operating today.

Googie Withers and John McCallum met while filming It Always Rains on Sunday. They married the following year and remained together until McCallum’s passing in 2010 at the age of 91.

In a striking scene, Rose notices scars on Tommy’s back, remnants of the flogging he endured with cat-o’-nine-tails during his time in prison. This brutal form of punishment was a practice in British prisons dating back to the 19th century and was only abolished in 1948, the year after this film’s release.

Damian Murphy at The Sydney Morning Herald referred to Googie Withers as dubbed the Best British bad girl with a ‘haughty sexuality.’ Read this wonderful article here:

Googie Wither’s performance as the independent, hungry, and disillusioned Helen Nosteros in Jules Dassin’s masterpiece Night and the City was nothing short of extraordinary. Night and the City was Googie Withers’s last film for Ealing Studios, and thanks to her striking performance as a woman trapped in claustrophobic domesticity, it is perhaps one of her best.

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

Hermione Baddeley has a minor role as the proprietor of a flophouse. She is perhaps best remembered for her portrayal of Mrs. Naugatuck in the television series Maude or as the maid in Mary Poppins (1964).

British actress Hermione Baddeley as Mrs. Spry.

The film depicts events occurring on a Sunday, specifically March 23, 1947, as noted on a blackboard at the local underground station. The setting is Bethnal Green, an area in the East End of London that had endured significant devastation from bombings and the hardships of post-war life.

It Always Rains on Sunday unfolds over a single, dreary Sunday in post-war London’s East End. The story revolves around Rose Sandigate, whose mundane life is upended when her former lover, Tommy Swann, appears at her doorstep.

Rose Sandigate is a former barmaid who is now married to a middle-aged man with two teenage daughters from his previous marriage. Having stepped into the role of a housewife and stepmother, she navigates the challenges of post-war rationing and a bleak environment, supported by her kind husband (Edward Chapman) as he heals from past emotional wounds.

Googie Withers, Susan Shaw, and Edward Chapman.

Gladys Henson.

Edie Martin.

Alfie Bass, John Carol, Fred Griffiths, and Jimmy Hanley.

Meier Tzelniker.

Surrounding this central couple, Hamer crafts a richly intricate picture of the post-war East End. The community teems with a variety of characters, lively markets, and the story of a Jewish immigrant family.

We also encounter the philandering saxophone player navigating his romantic entanglements, there’s a small-time petty criminal, and his gangster brother, Lou (John Slater), who has eyes for Vi Sandgate’s (Susan Shaw) sister, Doris (Patricia Plunkett), and a group of hapless thieves and idlers whose recent warehouse robbery yielded nothing more than a bunch of children’s roller skates. All trying to make ends meet.

These diverse storylines intertwine, creating a vivid portrait of working-class life in post-war Britain, all set against the backdrop of relentless rain that mirrors the characters’ gloomy circumstances. The film’s atmospheric sense of doom overshadows the characters’ lives with a palpable tinge of noir-fatalism as it offers an intimate glimpse into the gritty underbelly of London’s working-class existence.

Rose learns from the newspaper about her former lover, Tommy Swann, who while serving four years of a seven-year sentence for robbery with violence, has escaped from Dartmoor prison and is on the run.

Tommy Swann, now an escaped convict, seeks shelter from the authorities, forcing Rose to conceal him from both the law and her unsuspecting family.

In noir fashion, there are a series of flashbacks reflecting on the time Rose and Tommy were engaged to be married. Tommy gets arrested for a robbery, and it is quite possible that he may actually be the father of Rose’s young son.

John Slater as Lou and Patricia Plunkett as Rose’s stepdaughter Doris.

The woman-driven narrative offers some unforgettable performances, richly layered and completely captivating. Among them is Rose’s beautiful daughter, Vi Sandigate (Susan Shaw), Rose’s elder stepdaughter; while stunning, she is also somewhat mercurial and entangled in an affair with occasional lover Morry Hyams (Sydney Taffler), the sax player who is very much married.

There’s also Doris, Vi’s younger sister, portrayed by Patricia Plunkett in her first film role. Despite her gentle demeanor and kind heart, Doris possesses quiet strength and is unafraid to voice her opinions or stand firm when the situation demands it. In contrast, we have Sadie, Morry’s wife, played by Betty Ann Davies. Sadie is no fool; she’s acutely aware of her husband’s infidelities.

Sidney Tafler as Morry and Betty Ann Davies as Sadie.

In a particularly poignant scene, Sadie confronts Morry with a mix of resignation and defiance, declaring, “ I know all about you and your little shiksas. I’ve known a long time, even if I haven’t said anything. But I’m not going to have them come here into my house.”  

[Morry has just told off Sadie for buying retail]
Morry: Where are you going?
Sadie Hyams: To get some fresh air. Don’t worry; I’ll get it wholesale.

Rose’s stepdaughters — Doris and Vi.

The film introduces us to Rose in a subtle yet intriguing manner. We first hear her voice through the wall, rousing her stepdaughters with a request for tea on their father’s behalf. This initial verbal introduction cleverly piques our curiosity about her identity and her role within the household. Soon after, we’re granted an intimate glimpse into Rose’s world as she begins her day. The camera follows her through a cramped bedroom shared with her husband, George. We observe her mundane morning rituals – reluctantly drawing the curtains to reveal yet another dreary, rain-soaked day, methodically unraveling the pin curls from her hair that give the impression of shadowy night.

All the while, her husband George’s voice provides a backdrop of newspaper headlines, to which Rose responds with perfunctory interest. However, the mention of an escaped convict named Thomas Swann suddenly breaks through Rose’s apparent ennui. Though she quickly masks her reaction from George, her momentary lapse in composure speaks volumes. It’s a masterful bit of storytelling, instantly conveying to the audience that Rose’s connection to Swann runs far deeper than her outward indifference suggests, hinting at the hidden depths of her character and setting the stage for the drama to unfold.

A poignant flashback transports us to Rose’s past, revealing a vivacious young woman with hair the color of burnished gold, tending bar at a local pub. We witness pivotal moments: her first encounter with the charismatic Tommy Swann, his heartfelt proposal, and Rose eagerly packing for their wedding.

However, her dreams are shattered when news of Tommy’s arrest for robbery reaches her. The contrast between Rose’s former self, full of passion and life, and her present existence is striking. She now inhabits a world of quiet desperation. Her cramped sardine can of a house, shared with two grown women, a rowdy teenager, and a respectable yet uninspiring husband, stands as a testament to her diminished circumstances. The home’s dilapidated state, with rain seeping through broken windowpanes and taking baths in the kitchen next to the stove, further underscores the stark difference between the possibilities of her past life and the nihilism of her present one.

Rose’s first shocking encounter with Tommy Swann is when she finds him hiding in her family’s air raid shelter. He asks her to help him hide out until nightfall. Though she suffers from an oppressive feeling in her life, despite her initial shock when he puts his hand over her mouth to silence her, Rose’s unresolved feelings and lasting affection for Tommy quickly surface. Her concern for his sodden state, “You’re soaking!” she says and fears that he might fall ill betray a deep-seated yearning for their past connection that persists despite the years apart.

Rose’s actions speak louder than words. Though Tommy merely requests food, she goes above and beyond, orchestrating a moment when the house is empty to smuggle him inside and feed him. Her insistence that he rest in her bedroom while she tends to his wet clothes illustrates the years of domesticity that have prepared her, though it cannot conceal the restlessness that plagues her.

 

Throughout the day, Rose consistently proves herself to be resourceful, street-smart, and remarkably composed under pressure. Consider the moments of Rose’s cunning: when her stepdaughter Doris unexpectedly returns home, Rose swiftly conceals Tommy’s drying trousers with a towel. Later, when the police arrive at her doorstep, she brazenly declares she would never assist a ” Cheap crook like Tommy Swann.”

While the constable’s fleeting visit brings with it a stark warning: harboring a fugitive could result in a two-year sentence. It doesn’t deter Rose from continuing to conceal Tommy within her walls. But Rose is no fool; she doesn’t fancy herself running off with him. “ It’s too late . . . ten years too late,” Rose tells Tommy with an expression tinged with regret. “Just send me a postcard, that’s all.”

Rose is a truly sympathetic and relatable character, as Tommy’s sudden reappearance has awakened a part of her that has been buried; this re-emergence of her former lover has reunited the old passions she hasn’t felt since he went away to prison. The scene subtly hints at unresolved feelings and yearning for her past that contrasts sharply with her current life.

She successfully keeps his presence hidden from the family, but it’s Sunday, and she must prepare lunch. She scolds the girls about their misbehavior from the previous night while the husband heads out to the pub as he typically does.

Rose’s most emotionally resonant moment—and Withers’s finest acting—occurs when Tommy confesses that he needs money to get away. Initially, she offers him the last of her housekeeping funds, a gesture that underscores her willingness to sacrifice for him.

When Tommy indicates that this amount won’t be enough, Rose fetches the engagement ring he once gave her, which she has stowed away in the back of the drawer, away from George’s eyes. She gives it to Tommy so he can either sell it or take it to a pawn shop.

However, as he admires the ring, he comments that it’s a “ Nice stone” and that he’ll get a good price for it. Rose realizes with a wave of sadness that he doesn’t remember it as the symbol of their past love. She says nothing to him about its meaning.

Withers masterfully shifts emotions. In the flash of a moment, her expression transforms from love to sadness, ultimately settling into a steely acceptance as she simply replies, ” Had it given,” revealing the profound emotional weight of their shared history.

Jack Warner as Lt. Fotherfill and Frederick Piper as Det. Sergt. Leech.

As the rainy Sunday moves on, the police drawer nearer. While Tommy is preparing to flee, a newspaper reporter acting on a tip shows up at the house, enquiring about her past relationship with Swann. When he catches wind of the situation, he tries to tip off the cops, but not before Tommy assaults him and escapes.

In a moment of sheer desperation, Rose finds herself engulfed in panic, contemplating a tragic way out; she tries to commit suicide by gassing herself.

Meanwhile, the police are hot on Tommy’s trail, pursuing him to the railway sidings. After a tense chase, Detective Inspector Fothergill (Jack Warner), who has been relentlessly tracking him down, finally apprehends him.

As the film draws to a close, we see Rose in a hospital bed, surrounded by her husband’s comforting presence. He eventually leaves the hospital alone, stepping out into a serene sky that contrasts sharply with the turmoil that was.

This is your EverLovin’ Joey sayin’ save a little bit of time to visit The Last Drive In for a rainy day!

Oops, there are gremlins in the works!

Hey gang, I know I announced a special feature to celebrate Halloween. I’m experiencing serious technical difficulties moving to a new server, so I’m unable to get my Scream Queens of the 1970s in time for that big day. I hope you’ll bear with me while we exorcise the gremlins mucking up the works!

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I’ll be back soon to say “Heeeeere’s your EverLovin’ Joey!” Happy Halloween!