Film Reviews by Steve

Creepy occult horror expanded from a short story by Robert Bloch which doesn't deliver any big scares but creates a nice atmosphere of supernatural dread. A dishonest trader in paranormal nick-nacks (Patrick Wymark) wants to sell the skull of the evil Marquis de Sade to an obsessive collector (Peter Cushing) despite the warning of its former owner (Christopher Lee).

The skull is possessed and has a malign authority over anyone who acquires it. Consequently the film has a sedated, hypnotic ambience, as all the characters are to some degree under its influence. Then on the night of the new moon, the terrible power of the dead French aristocrat is revealed. OK, the effects are rudimentary, but the impression is unsettling.

The plot is padded out from its brief source. A strange Kafka-esque dream sequence is particularly ill suited to the style of the rest of the film. The best episodes have the feel of an MR James story, with dusty, male academics meddling with weird, arcane paraphernalia which they don't understand. There isn't much of a female presence, beyond screaming.

It was made by Amicus and maybe it would have been better tucked away into one of their horror anthologies. Still, the cast do fine work in treating the hokum with sincerity. The abundant clutter of black magic novelties adds to the spooky atmosphere and creates dark shadows and blind spots. It's not sophisticated, but still an eerie, fatalistic curiosity.

Rugged action adventure which is a tribute to the Norwegian Resistance during WWII, particularly their sabotage of a heavy water plant implicated in the potential manufacture of Nazi atomic weapons. This kind of memorial was typical of the immediate post war years but is made more spectacular with the use of stunt teams, explosives, Panavison, Technicolor and helicopter shots.

While the events are broadly true, they are distorted to fit the conventions of a popular entertainment. The heroics are not underplayed. Kirk Douglas is a kind of playboy boffin who opens the film getting it on with one of the lab assistants in a darkroom. Soon he is leader of the underground and liaising with London on their perilous, courageous insurrection.

And romancing his ex-wife played by Ulla Jacobson. The corny love story actually detracts from the suspense and too much screen time is wasted trying to make Kirk look like a conventional Hollywood hero. Richard Harris is more credible as his sidekick, a pugnacious and tenacious patriot. Michael Redgrave's peripheral role is bewildering.

The real star of the film is Robert Krasker's widescreen photography of the awesome Norwegian landscape. The missions are exciting and well staged and the history is fascinating. It works as a testimonial to the bravery of the Resistance and the sacrifices of the civilians. It's one of the better war blockbusters of the sixties.

Released right on the bang of when The Beatles exploded as a cultural as well as musical phenomenon, their debut film also feels like a turning point in the decade. The UK still looks like the tatty, sooty industrial wasteland of the British new wave, but the screen comes alive with a freedom and optimism which heralds the swinging sixties.

George, John, Paul and Ringo are the essence of the band as a gang.  They inhabit a shared, secret domain, which separates and protects the group from outsiders. They wryly mock the old England of social class, war heroes, bobbies on the beat and the old school tie.

And this feeling of emancipation is in Richard Lester's direction too. All is movement, with the hand held cameras, the zooms, pans and jump cuts. Not all in focus. It is a day in the life of the band, which they mostly spend horsing around with Wilfred Bramble, then climaxes with a performance at a tv studio to an audience of screaming girls.

The script draws on their image as four ordinary lads from Liverpool. There is barely a plot so when the narrative gets stuck it coasts on surreal humour. But the action is stuffed with music, including three UK/US number ones. Now it's a period piece, and a reminder of a time when pop groups could become global superstars without expensive dentistry.

Sweet and sour comedy about a struggling actor which gave Kenneth More one of the best roles of his career. He plays a wry, dogged survivor who is now middle aged and has failed to make good on his career ambitions and ideals, while watching his romantic last chances slide by.

The film portrays the circumstances of a jobbing actor as  being pretty grim; mainly due to the insecurity which undermines every aspect of life. More's leaky bedsit in a shared slum building is particularly dismal. He gets by on brittle optimism and booze and a support network of other failing thespians. And if one of them gets a break, it's worse.

The film creates a detailed impression of the physical world of the sixties precariat. There's a funny/sad script full of wise, witty lines which More punches home with uncharacteristic melancholy.  A cameo from Cecil Parker as an elderly, homeless washout is especially poignant.

More finds brief success in a series of popular tv adverts, but hates himself for selling out. His pal (Edmund Purdom) hits the big time in a blockbuster, but there is still an impression this isn't fulfilment. It's not Cyrano. These are people for whom dreams almost never come true, but who achieve an obscure heroism in their endurance.

Slow burning psychological drama primarily remembered for Kim Stanley's Oscar nominated role as a mentally disturbed medium who kidnaps a young girl on the demands of her stillborn son. And in the hope that she will be revered for finding the abducted child with her special gift. And she is chilling, and brings a touch of American gothic to Wimbledon.

Richard Attenborough is also excellent as her browbeaten husband who just wants his wife to be well again. But how far will he go? It's mostly a two-hander, just opened out to include the investigation into their crime. While it's a drama, there are also tremors of suspense and horror, which are intensified by John Barry's atmospheric, eerie score.

Brian Forbes directs with considerable style, and his script also includes a satisfying thread of dark humour. The deliberate pacing allows a perverse, unsettling ambience to settle over the film. However the premise is slight and overextended. It's too long, and the film comes to a dead stop at the midpoint which the dialogue is unable to resuscitate.  

Then it recovers for a powerfully sombre and daunting conclusion. The visuals are stunning, especially the photography and set design. It isn't a complete success, but still imaginative and strange and embellished by Kim Stanley's otherworldly performance, as if a tragic Tennessee Williams heroine has strayed into a classic of the British New Wave.

Wordy but fascinating psychological thriller which was unfortunately preoccupied with existential despair just as London was starting to swing. So there are long conversations about mental disintegration on the moody, muddy banks of the Thames. A psychotherapist is found dead and presumed to have shot himself.

But what if he was killed by one of his patients? Stephen Boyd is a nihilistic, driven television journalist who was a client of the dead man. He is encouraged by the shrink's young daughter to suspect one of the other regulars. These are played by a trio of guest stars: Richard Attenborough, Diane Cilento and Jack Hawkins. Who are all exceptional.

But the stand out is Pamela Franklin as the orphaned girl, with a secret. This is an all time great performances from a child actor. Her portrayal is so mature it's possible to forget she is playing a 14 year old, her real age. She creates a hypnotic rapport with Boyd, who soon begins to sense that he is investigating himself.

The climax is a knockout. Occasionally the cerebral script strays into pretentiousness, and won't be to all tastes. There is an exciting thriller format, but this is a downbeat film about emotionally traumatised people in a pitiless world. This melancholy is deepened by the sombre visual imagery of London in black and white CinemaScope. And it's a haunting experience.

Sprawling, epic account of the defence of the Christian mission at Rorke's Drift during the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879 when 150 British soldiers armed with rifles held their ground against an attack from over 3000 Zulu warriors with spears. The imposing production was shot on location in Natal near the site of the battle. The many Zulu extras were descendants of the actual fighters.

The film is respectful to both sides and while the names of the eleven recipients of the Victoria Cross are solemnly intoned (by Richard Burton) at the conclusion, it is critical of the barbarity of empire. The combat is not staged with much realism in close up, but looks spectacular in the long shots, enhanced by the evocative sound mix.

Performances are variable. This was Michael Caine big break, but he is an unconvincing officer. Jack Hawkins is stuck with an impossible role as a drunken missionary, and it's a relief when he exits the action. Stanley Baker is the best of the leads, and Nigel Green catches the eye. But crucially, all the cast contribute to the vivid visual pageant.

The ostentatious British redcoats look magnificent against the baby blue Technicolor sky, as does the line of Zulu warriors stretched across the CinemaScope horizon. John Barry's score pumps up the bloody combat. This is a long, rousing blockbuster, which takes a few liberties with history. But its reflections on the futility of war will always be relevant.

Trashy soap which lifts the scab of the salacious beauty racket; the post-war glamour contests popular in holiday camps and all the way up to Miss World. It's an exploitation film which, as much as writer/director Val Guest tries to embellish with sleaze, is resisted by the sweet elegance of Janette Scott, as a west country typist who almost gets to wear the crown.

 And who we see model a wide variety of beachwear. Along the way, there are some interesting reflections on fame. And the balance of power in showbiz relationships. It has the gloss of a fifties Hollywood melodrama, with the location shoot in the south of France, the kitsch easy listening soundtrack and the CinemaScope.

This is all undeniably pre-feminist but Guest's cynicism about the beauty jungle is exquisitely driven home in a brilliantly dystopian final twist. Scott is perfect casting, though it's disappointing that the male leads lack her polish. Still, there is the curiosity of guest appearances by a few celebrities as themselves, including Sid James and Stirling Moss!

It feels like the film version of a fat, glossy airport novel. And it's as lightweight and moreish as that sounds; a pulp exposé rather than a comic satire. It makes good use of its backgrounds, whether Monte Carlo or Weston-super-Mare. There is a tasty script too. But most of all it's an ideal setting for the luminous, beautiful star.

Beautiful and articulate rites of passage story set in Dublin, about an affair between an inexperienced country girl and a much older and married writer. It's adapted from Edna O'Brien's second novel which was banned in Ireland for its portrayal of adultery and sex, though the film looks extremely tasteful now.

It's about the the youngster's sexual and social awakening,. The commonplace events are deepened by the sensitive performances: Rita Tushingham plays the spirited ingénue brought up in the conservative provinces under the thumb of her crude father and the country priest. Peter Finch is her worldly but inflexible mentor/lover.

There's a witty and exuberant script too. But above all, it's the photography (by Manny Wynn) which excels, shot in a pale monochrome. The sunlight illuminating the well chosen interiors is exquisite. The gorgeous visual style is even more touching than the ill fated romance. Though the b&w means we never see the colour of the jealous girl's eyes!

There is a lively impression of Dublin in the early sixties. And of a teenager caught between city and country, youth and maturity and religion and freedom. Maybe it's incongruous that English actors like Rita and Lynn Redgrave should play Irish women, but their performances are spot on. It's a delicate, detailed, artistic miniature.

Low budget science fiction loosely based on John Wyndham's acclaimed best seller. This adaptation throws out most of the novel. It retain the basic premise of mankind blinded in a meteor storm then preyed upon by ambulant, man-eating plants. And the memorable opening episode of the sighted hero (Howard Keel) walking over a deserted Westminster Bridge.

Wyndham's cold war subtext is all gone, and his contemporary politics. And most of the scenes about the collapse of social order. There is a new subplot of married biologists (Janette Scott and Kieron Moore) living in a lighthouse searching for the means to fight back. Conservative values win out as Keel accumulates a family and the survivors surprisingly assemble to thank god.

Anyone who watches films to enjoy twenty-first century special effects will be disappointed. Poor monsters prevail. But those who can suspend disbelief will find an entertaining post apocalypse tale enhanced by rich colour* and CinemaScope, and sincere performances by all the cast. Keel is a phlegmatic, dependable lead. And he doesn't sing...

Choices are limited by financial realities, but the story of Keel's journey south from a wrecked London to a colony of survivors in Spain resonates with a deep melancholy. It's an end-of-the-world film made when those fears were commonplace. While there's not much Wyndham on screen, what remains is one of the better UK science fiction films of the period.

*beware poor prints.

Knockabout cops and robbers caper which maintains a broad appeal while clearly a class above contemporary Carry On films. The star is Peter Sellers, trying out his French accent months before his debut as Inspector Clouseau. This time he's a Cockney mob boss with a front in haute couture. But the lead is Lionel Jeffries as a clueless copper.

A gang of Aussie villains is impersonating police officers and snatching the swag from every job in London. So Scotland Yard and the underworld come together to fight back. This doesn't reinvent the wheel. Parts of it can be traced back to the Keystone Kops, particularly a climactic chase sequence. And it sends up contemporary heist films.

Some of the humour is lost in time. When the gangs form a syndicate, they pastiche popular impressions of bumptious trade unions. But it mostly creates absurd situations which the actors navigate in earnest stone face. Like when the alliance meets in a funfair and negotiate on the rides. It's still funny in places, but mostly a charming entertainment.

The familiar cast considerably elevates the droll script, especially a peak period Peter Sellers. Jeffries makes a fine stooge. The location shoot around residential London lends some authenticity. This is the best of many British crime film comedies of the sixties, triggered by the success of The Lavender Hill Mob a decade earlier.

Colourful, episodic blockbuster loosely based on a third century BC text by Apollonius Rhodius about a rootless adventurer and his mythical quest for the magical golden fleece. While plot points are changed, it's still quite surprising and heartening that it wasn't just made up by a group of staff scriptwriters over a boozy lunch.

Todd Armstrong is a brawny, square jawed Jason, flashing of tooth and blade. His co-star Nancy Kovack arrives late in the tale to contribute a dance and some voluptuous glamour. The two US stars are dubbed and the support cast is all familiar British and Irish actors, because the ancient Greeks spoke in received pronunciation... 

The destinies of mankind are preordained by the gods. So Zeuss (Niall MacGinnes) commands the resolute hero to fight a sequence of supernatural monsters. Which brings us the the astonishing stop-motion animation of Ray Harryhausen. This is his greatest work, and my personal favourite is Talos, the bronze giant who pursues Hercules (Nigel Green).

The Hydra is magnificent too, and just when it looks like the fun is over, we get the seven sword fighting skeletons at the climax. Bernard Herrmann's score of rousing fanfares is perfect accompaniment. Don Chaffey shoots a bright and entertaining background on the sunny Italian coast, but the film is a testament to Harryhausen's legendary art.

Unusual dystopian allegory adapted from the classroom classic by William Golding. A group of English public schoolboys are washed up on an uninhabited island in the Pacific during a nuclear war. Isolated from the normal control of civilisation, they revert to a state of tribal savagery. The influence of society is superficial and soon abandoned.

Theatre director Peter Brook took 30 children to Puerto Rico during their summer holidays and improvised the action. The amateur performances are sometimes laboured, but effective. Tom Chapin is well cast as the leader of the hunters, and Tom Gaman has a little awkward, mystical magnetism as the most enlightened of the boys.

It's experimental cinema, but more appealing than that sounds. While the film explores philosophical concepts, there is still narrative realism as the group divides into factions founded on their degree of self-interest or the waning pull of reason. So it's natural to take a side. In their primitive state, the boys still reflect normal social and political hierarchies.

The location photography makes a huge contribution to the ultra-realistic style. It would be tempting to call this film unique, except it was remade in 1990... But the '63 version is more faithful to the novel and gets closer to the primal state. There are many desert island films which explore the isolation of the human animal from society. This is the most pessimistic.

For the sequel to The Mouse that Roared, almost all the cast and crew were replaced. Which means no Peter Sellers in multiple roles. Ron Moody substitutes effectively as the PM of a tiny European state, though Margaret Rutherford has little to do as the Grand Duchess.

Only David Kossoff returns as the lugubrious, whimsical nuclear scientist, and he steals every scene. This time he plans to land a rocket on the moon using a volatile local wine as fuel while the Soviets and Americans get snagged up in the vortex of inspired absurdity.

While the film satirises the space race, it acutely sends up convoluted cold war politics and espionage. This time around, Grand Fenwick more obviously stands in for the diminished status of Britain after WWII. And it's even funnier than the original, with the comic lunacy almost always on target.

Richard Lester directs the energetic farce with gusto and the sets of the obscure medieval city state are pretty good for a low budget comedy. Bernard Cribbins' usual schtick as a bumbling halfwit gets tiresome, but that may be a matter of taste. This is a genuinely hilarious, irreverant comedy, with a brain.

Faithful version of Harold Pinter's tragicomedy which retains Donald Pleasence and Alan Bates from its West End debut and Robert Shaw from the opening on Broadway. It's an absurdist play/film and which examines the cruelty of power and hierarchy through its three characters, though there is little plot.

Robert Shaw plays an isolated working class man who had electric shock treatment as a teenager and now is numb and withdrawn. He takes a homeless ex-serviceman (Donald Pleasence) to his vacant, junk filled attic where the visitor is oppressed by Shaw's manic, menacing, more enterprising brother (Alan Bates).

This is an art film. While it look like realism, it takes place in a space of poetic imagination. Pinter's themes are undefined and open to interpretation. And it's spellbinding. Of course the script is paramount, but the cast is definitive, with Pleasence the standout as the bigoted, malicious, persecuted vagrant. 

It was made for a pittance with donations from many artists, including Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Nic Roeg was the cinematographer. The co-editor went on to manage Wham! The audio effects were by the composer of the theme from Dr. Who. This is a fascinating curiosity and an obvious labour of love from everyone involved.