Castle Rocks Hard

HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL (1959)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Original review from 1999)

After recently watching William Castle's spooky, funny classic "House on Haunted Hill," one is instantly reminded of the innocence that existed in horror films of the past. Director William Castle pushed for publicity and got it by promoting wild gimmicks in theaters. In the case with this film, a plastic skeleton would emerge from above the screen and terrorize the audience - the gimmick was known as "Emergo." Kids would toss popcorn at the skeleton but Castle's brilliance was in attracting an audience and he did. "House on Haunted Hill" does not need such external effects because it does succeed on its own merits.

This quaint horror item stars the benevolent Vincent Price as Frederick Loren, a millionaire who invites a group of selected guests to stay at a haunted house for one night for $10,000 - the trick is to spend an entire night in the house. Unfortunately, once the servants leave at midnight, there is no way to leave the house, no electricity (candles are in abundance) and the phone line is dead.

The guests include Elisha Cook Jr. (the Steve Buscemi of his day) as Watson Pritchard, a believer in ghosts who has a disturbing family history in the dreaded house; Carolyn Craig as Nora Manning, a secretary who needs the money to support her family; Richard Long as a suave, brave pilot who thrives on big thrills; Julie Mitchum as a gossip columnist aiming to pay back some gambling debts, and Dr. David Trent (Alan Marshal) who uses the opportunity to do a study on hysteria. And the coup de resistance is not a walking skeleton but a lovely, duplicitous blonde, Mr. Loren's young wife (Carol Ohmart) - afraid that her husband will poison her as he has the former wives.

The movie begins with lots of wicked, black humor touches such as the hearses that arrive in unison at the house, the delicacy of Price's line readings when offering booze to the curious guests and explaining the strategy of the long evening, the chandelier crashing down on some guests while Price looks on with amusement, the first conversation between Price and Ohmart as they talk about poison, death and jealousy, and so on.

The first half of "House on Haunted Hill" is chock full of moody atmosphere and shock effects, some of it surpassing even 1963's "The Haunting." After a while, director Castle can't resist the obligatory "who's there?" routine and the seemingly ghostly, floating apparitions appearing outside windows and darkly lit rooms. Oh, and there is an awful lot of screaming courtesy of Nora (a whiner if I ever knew one, and why does nobody ever hear her in the entire movie?) There is also a surprise ending that is more anticlimactic and illogical given the numerous plot holes preceding it. For instance, what is the deal with the caretakers? Why is one blind woman who seemed to be a ghost involved in scaring the bejesus out of everyone? Was she part of some master plan? And how does one keep a vat of acid in a basement for so long?

Of course, I am nitpicking a movie that should not be picked out for logic or narrative cohesion, nor is director Castle the kind of man to care as long as people are entertained (imagine what he might have done with "Rosemary's Baby" if Polanski was not hired to direct). If you want an innocent, good old time at the movies with some spooks and occasional scares and the pleasing presence of the reliable Vincent Price, then by all means go and enjoy. If you are expecting the seriousness and chilling air of "The Haunting," look elsewhere.

Kevin McCarthy hits you in the solar plexus

NIGHTMARE (1956)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

One of my favorite genres has and always will be film noir. Noir is steeped in the existential, a world of no real heroes and where one's morality is put to the test. A story of amnesia where the protagonist has no clue why he has a recurring nightmare of killing someone, only to discover he might have, is not a new tale and it wasn't in 1956 with the release of the film "Nightmare," but it doesn't change how effective it can be in the right hands.

Kevin McCarthy is a jazz clarinetist, Stan Grayson, who is suffering from one of those recurring nightmares. He is staying in a New Orleans hotel but the last thing on his mind is attending a jazz album recording - he has blood on his arm and possesses a mysterious key (all this occurs after waking up from the nightmare). Enter Stan's brother-in-law, Rene (Edward G. Robinson), a detective who is suspicious of Stan's nightmare since Stan inadvertently takes him and his own sister to a mansion off the beaten path where a murder may have occurred. Stan insists he had nothing to do with it and Rene is ready to arrest him until...ah, would not dream of it.

Most of "Nightmare" is claustrophobic and keeps you on edge, unaware of where it may be headed. Did Stan actually commit a murder or it is all a major coincidence? But then a revelation occurs that seems to have popped into the filmmakers' heads without leading us into the twist with some inner clues. An odd character appears that comes directly out of left field and makes one pause for a moment - did the nightmare have to lead to a resolution that was tidy and a little too perfect? I love ambiguity in movies and especially noir and McCarthy, who conveys the noir ideal of desperation beautifully, sings sour, nuanced notes of isolation and suicidal tendencies. It is a damn near perfect performance that should have led to a downer of an ending or some other finish - Stan is a man unable to control his impulses and unable to distinguish between nightmare and reality (Edward G. Robinson made a similar "dream noir" with the excellent "The Woman in the Window" a decade earlier). Such an intense performance merits something much darker and foreboding.

"Nightmare" is often shrewdly written and directed by Maxwell Shane, and this film is a remake of his own "Fear in the Night" with DeForest Kelley. That film is unseen by me. A title like "Nightmare" should have ended with something less than light and airy yet McCarthy's sweaty, urgent performance hits you in the solar plexus.

Become one of us, one of us

INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS (1956)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Don Siegel's 1956 sci-fi classic "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" is not just a film about an alien invasion - it is also about losing one's emotions in favor of conforming to a loveless, emotionless society. Scary and awash in paranoia, "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" is one of the best sci-fi films of the 1950's.

The 80-minute version of this film begins and ends with a studio-imposed prologue and epilogue, which diminishes the impact of the alternate version (the one I am most aware of). Nevertheless, Miles, the small-town doctor of Santa Mira (played with effervescent energy by Kevin McCarthy, an actor who demonstrated a similar glow when I met him at Chiller Theatre many years back) wonders what is happening to the people in town. Concerned family members of the denizens of Santa Maria are wondering why certain people have changed - no emotional response though they resemble the people they know and love. Miles' own friends, Jack and Theodora, have discovered a body that is not fully formed on their pool table. Miles also finds giant leafy pods in his greenhouse, bubbling and forming into human shapes! What on earth is going on?

Director Don Siegel's pacing and frantic energy brings "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" a lot of snap and it becomes progressively scarier as it proceeds. The aliens assume the form of the humans they clone and presumably kill them. Miles doesn't know who to trust, and hides in his office with his girlfriend Becky (Dana Wynter) in gradual fear and with the hope of escaping town to warn others. It is that relentless fear and paranoia that carries the film, the fear of being found and of being cloned. Two scenes stand out among many brilliant ones - the townsquare where swarms of people converge to the center of the square, awaiting further instructions (it has the look and feel of a militarized dictatorship). The other scene follows soon after when Miles and Becky feign emotionlessness and Becky cries out in shock when a dog is nearly run over. A lot of this smacks of the 1950's Communist witchhunt - a time when Communists and Russians were deemed as devoid of emotion towards others and when the fear of a Red existing in your own town, even if it was a false accusation, could cause panic. Is there a Red under your bed, or is it an alien pod? Take your pick.

The original version of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" simply had Miles in the highway, warning all motorists not to go to Santa Mira. It is the ending I prefer, a little bleaker only because how do you warn humans about aliens who look human as well? How does one differentiate between emotional responses and lack of them when the film existed in a time of suppressed emotions? That is what makes the film scary - it is not so much the anti-Communist allegory, which is good for political enthusiasts, that makes the film work on a subtextual level (For the 1950's era, conformity to society's expectations was in full swing - an ideal that I am not sure ever truly went away). It is the fact that 60 years later, those of us so inclined to use our cell phones to text people rather than speaking to them may want to be reminded that we are less comfortable with our emotions than previously thought.