The Spooky Finale (1 of 2)

Just a few more days to go until Halloween! We have our two Pottery Barn jack-o-lanterns perched on the ledge above the stairs but that's about as far as we've taken the decorating this year. We keep the holiday accessories to a minimum since our condo is already maximally overcrowded with bookshelves, bureaus, stands and pictures. The minimalists we know may not be fans of our place, but it is warm, comfortable and clean, and that's what matters most to us. Personally, I need to be surrounded by books, movies and art, and there's a plethora of all that in our house (although I use the term "art" loosely for some of our paintings). Before I get started on these final few films of my 2024 Halloween film festival, I think it bears saying that the scary movies I've mentioned on this blog do not constitute a comprehensive list of everything I've watched since October 1; I just don't have time to go into the details of every single one of them. Another thing you may have noticed is that there aren't a great many "classic" movies listed in the previous October entries. That's because most of the Universal and Hammer horrors, the Michael Myers, Freddy's and Jason's, along with a host of other fan favorites--excellent though they may be--have been analyzed and debated to death in literally thousands of articles, theses, books and online discussions over the years and, quite frankly, I have no interest in rehashing them. This year, instead of covering familiar ground, I've tried to center many of these posts around the underseen, underrated and unloved (some deservedly so) films that have grown close to my heart in recent times. Or not. There are exceptions. 

This week's biggest exception is Frank Capra's 1944 madcap Halloween comedy, Arsenic and Old Lace. I remember seeing this sometime in my late teens and thinking that I enjoyed it. In retrospect, I now believe that, when I first watched Arsenic and Old Lace, I was in my cups. I can think of no other logical explanation. Although I had long maintained a soft spot for this movie, when I attempted to revisit it 3 or 4 years ago, I wasn't able to make it past the midway point. Very curious. Maybe I had been in a bad mood, or, for some other reason, simply unable to focus. Last night I decided to give this much-praised, bona-fide treasure another chance. Surely, I'd find my previously sour viewpoint had been the result of a temporary bout of insanity. Whatever the case, I was determined to make it through the entire picture before forming an opinion. I really, really wanted to like this movie since almost everyone I know (of a certain age) seems to adore it. Unfortunately, after gritting my teeth and soldiering through the movie, I came to the realization that my previous opinion was not off the mark. I really, REALLY dislike Arsenic and Old Lace. 

Cary Grant is cast as Mortimer Brewster, a famously anti-marriage drama critic who just got hitched to the minister's daughter (Priscilla Lane) living next door to his maiden aunts (Josephine Hull, Jean Adair). When he discovers that his beloved aunts are poisoning lonely, elderly men and engaging Mortimer's brother--who believes he's Teddy Roosevelt--to bury the bodies in the Panama Canal (aka the basement), Mortimer has a meltdown. The old dears genuinely believe they're doing these old men a favor by putting them out of their (presumed) misery. Mortimer must now figure out a way to deal with Teddy and his aunts before anyone else is killed--and before the local cops get wind of their activities. That same day, Mortimer's elder brother, Jonathan--an evil, disfigured psychopath played by Raymond Massey--slips into the household with his accomplice, Dr. Einstein (Peter Lorre), and begins terrorizing the aunts. Jonathan's intent is to remain indefinitely until Dr. Einstein, a not-very-good plastic surgeon, can give Jonathan a new face and, thus, avoid being arrested for the many murders he's committed. Meanwhile, Mortimer's new bride, a pair of friendly cops and a frustrated taxi driver pop in and out at regular intervals, presumably to add even more comic touches to the out-of-control goings-on. 

Honestly, Arsenic and Old Lace has not aged well. At all. The script feels silly and outdated, even though it's based on a Broadway hit. All the outlandish antics are migraine-inducing and it was truly a test of endurance for me to make it through to the end. But, worst of all, is Cary Grant's manic and hysterical rendering of Mortimer. The longer the film goes on, the more frenzied his performance becomes; by the middle of the movie I found him completely unbearable. I can't watch him in Bringing Up Baby, either. I didn't think the cops interference was funny, although Peter Lorre and the actors playing the aunts are amusing. The cameo by Edward Everett Horton is also nice. Raymond Massey is scarily sadistic as serial-killer Jonathan, which grounds the movie in the spirit of the season. All in all, I don't find this movie to be funny, although I'm not a huge fan of screwball comedies anyway. I've enjoyed Cary Grant's performances in many other films (His Girl Friday, his Hitchcock collabs, Charade) but I absolutely despise him here. At least I didn't waste my money ordering the new 4k release from Criterion. 

Ken Russell's name may not be the first to appear on the list of 20th Century best directors, especially among cineastes of today, and that's kind of a shame. His adaptation of D.H. Lawrence's Women in Love is truly one of the great films of the 1960's. Later films like The Devils, The Boyfriend, the Who's Tommy, and Altered States weren't too shabby either. But there were also the outrageous carnivals of tastelessness, including The Music Lovers, Crimes of Passion and Whore. (The Devils actually may, indeed, be a carnival of tastelessness but it is still well-regarded). 

Lair of the White Worm, Russell's 1988 (loose) adaptation of a Bram Stoker novel, totally falls into the latter category although it is shamelessly entertaining, nonetheless. As the centuries-old high priestess of a cult that worships a snake god, Amanda Donohoe is absolutely delicious as she struts about the English countryside spouting witty bon mots in her come-fuck-me pumps and eye-popping fashions. By day, she's sophisticated Lady Sylvia, mistress of the forbidding, run-down manor in the woods; at night, she dons her slinkiest Frederick's of Hollywood lingerie to reel in the errant boy scouts and none-too-bright police constabulary--people she can really sink her teeth into--who drift into her orbit. And Lady Sylvia has teeth, really big teeth, fangs, in fact: her bite turns unlucky victims into mindless servants with equally large fangs. 

There's a bagpipe-playing young Scotsman (Peter Capaldi) who is also an archaeologist conducting a dig in the yard of a pair of sisters played by Sammi Davis and Catherine Oxenberg. When he discovers the fossilized skull of what appears to be an enormous serpent, he contacts the posh nob who owns the land (a very young Hugh Grant at his smarmiest). Yes, the Lord is aware that there are local legends about a snake god that lives in the caves over on a nearby hill so he quickly decides that the four of them will head over for a look-see. There's also a special urgency since, before the movie started, the girls' mum and dad mysterious vanished and were never heard from again. Maybe the answer lies in the caves. They find a watch on the floor of the cave--one that belonged to their father--and it may give the sisters a sense of hope, or, at least, of closure. But nope. Lady Sylvia comes to visit and it turns out that she can spit greenish slime that causes its recipient to hallucinate. She also spits on a crucifix hanging on the wall of the sisters' house and then makes off with the reptilian skull that the young folks left lying on the kitchen table. After touching the spat-upon crucifix, one of the sisters starts having blasphemous, bloody, very nasty hallucinations. Before long, they deduce that there is something afoot in the caves that involves the ancient snake god and a cult. After the hallucinating sister vanishes, it's a race against time to save her from becoming a human sacrifice to the snake god. Lair of the White Worm is a darkly (very) funny camp-fest with some shocking imagery and a fair amount of creepiness and suspense. Hugh Grant is enjoyable as the self-centered hero-wannabe who simply wants to get credit for snaring the beast (which is not mythical, after all) without much thought of what will become of his three friends. 

However, Amanda Donohoe owns this movie. She is wicked, sexy and very, very droll as she flirts, chomps, slithers and, at one point, undulates out of a large wicker basket when snake-charmer music is blasted over a loudspeaker-system. She's the greatest movie villain since Cruella DeVille and just as cartoonish: even at her most despicable, she's so much fun. In the years since its release, Lair of the White Worm has developed quite a large cult following, which is something its eccentric director would likely have appreciated. 

Mario Bava's 1963 gothic ghost story, The Whip and the Body lushly highlights the lurid colors and visual flair Bava perfected a year later in Blood and Black Lace. The Whip and the Body features horror icon, Christopher Lee as Kurt, the dissolute prodigal son of a nobleman (Gustavo de Nardo) who resides in a castle high above the sea. Kurt has been wandering the world for an unspecified amount of time and returns home to claim his inheritance--even though his father is still very much alive--and fetch his brother's wife, Nevenka (Daliah Lavi), with whom he had a torrid affair prior to being driven from the castle. It's all very Poe-like, if Poe had been into whips and chains. Upon Kurt's return, he snatches up a riding crop and flogs Nevenka on the beach before proceeding to have sex with her. It turns out that Kurt is a sadist and that their former alliance was anchored in a mutual affinity for S&M. Things obviously haven't changed much. Either Nevenka's husband, Cristiano (Tony Kendall), is a total blockhead who hasn't got a clue that his wife and brother were (and are, again) engaged in a bit of spanky/panky or he doesn't care. Since he's hot for the winsome Katia, a posh character of indeterminate function who apparently lives with the family, it's probably a little bit of both.

So, while Nevenka remains MIA after this latest beachside nocturne, Kurt returns to the castle, insults and degrades everyone there, and gets a knife stuck in his throat for his troubles. A shaken Nevenka, pale and withdrawn, takes to wandering the halls at night, while Cristiano, Katia, the elderly Count and the servants attempt to find out who could possibly have killed Kurt. Meanwhile, Kurt--or at least Kurt's ghost--appears nightly at Nevenka's bedside to deliver aggressive lashings to his beloved, although she seems to have mixed feelings about the whole undertaking. She hates Kurt and fears him, but she likes what he does to her, even though he's dead. Go figure. When another throat gets slashed, the castle's inhabitants start to panic. Nevenka tries to explain that Kurt has returned from the grave to exact revenge on the family who turned their backs on him. Nevenka, they conclude, is nuts. However, further evidence suggests that, perhaps, Nevenka isn't quite as nuts as they thought. Or, then again, maybe she is. And if she isn't, she's certainly getting there quickly. Her midnight strolls take her to the crumbling mausoleum where Kurt is interred and, for some reason, Losat (Luciano Pigozzi), the old caretaker, is always lurking in the shadows. The housekeeper (Harriet Medin) is also a lurker who was pissed at Kurt for causing her daughter to commit suicide after he dumped her for Nevenka (who dumped Kurt for Cristiano, who would like to dump Nevenka for Katia). Could the housekeeper have been responsible for Kurt's death? While Nevenka channels both Madeline Usher and Annabel Lee (in her kingdom by the sea), Cristiano casts longing glances at Katia, who declares that she will not become his mistress. So there. Nevenka is spirited away by someone or something--possibly the killer--and the crew tries to find her. Adding to the gloomy atmosphere is the eerie mood music and shadowplay going on before the movie finally winds down to its operatic, Poe-inspired conclusion. 

Although the film moves along at its own pace, the dark and stormy Whip and the Body is never boring. Christopher Lee wears a Beatles-style wig and plays his part so convincingly that the whip he so cruelly wields seems like an extension of his own body: he's a scary dom you do not want to cross. Daliah Lavi is also quite good as Nevenka, a role that seems tailor-made for Scream Queen Barbara Steele. Lavi serves up some persuasive angst as the gorgeous sub who just can't get enough (even though she hates herself for it). For all its sadomasochistic brutality, The Whip and the Body is an excellent ghost story/psychological thriller that mimics the macabre workings of Poe's mind while throwing in the spicy touches that Italian filmmakers were known for. 

(to be continued)