Dr. Cyclops

(1940) Directed by Ernest B. Schoedsack; Written by Tom Kilpatrick; Starring: Albert Dekker, Thomas Coley, Janice Logan, Charles Halton, Victor Kilian and Frank Yaconelli; Available on Blue-ray and DVD

Rating: ***

“Are we then country doctors? You do not realize what we have here. In our very hands we have the cosmic force of creation itself. In our very hands! We can shape life, take it apart, put it together again, mold it like putty.” – Dr. Thorkel (Albert Dekker)

If one thing’s for certain, movie scientists of the ‘30s and ‘40s were up to no good, tampering with nature’s laws and creating unspeakable horrors in the process. Dr. Cyclops continues in the proud tradition of deranged doctors with ambitions that are inversely proportional to their conscience. The folks at Paramount kept things under wraps while the film was in development, but considering it was the brainchild of one of the creative forces behind King Kong (1933), Ernest B. Schoedsack,* chances were it was bound to be something big. Well, yes and no. The fact that Dr. Cyclops was the first genre film to be produced in three-strip Technicolor was certainly a big deal. On the other hand, Schoedsack had something more petite in mind for his newest spectacle, in which a mad doctor reduces people and animals to doll size.

* Fun Fact #1: According to film historian Richard Harland Smith’s (occasionally meandering) DVD commentary, Schoedsack had a 200-page sketchbook full of drawings and notes, which formed the basis of Dr. Cyclops. Although the book’s current whereabouts are unknown, it would be interesting to see what visuals and concepts never made it into the finished film. Perhaps the world will never know.

In the opening scene, the brazen Dr. Thorkel (Albert Dekker)*/** and his cautious assistant Dr. Mendoza (Paul Fix) bicker about the ramifications of the senior scientist’s recent breakthrough. Mendoza expresses his moral indignation about Thorkel delving into life’s mysteries, forbidding him to continue with the experiments (“Destroy your slides, burn your notes.”). Naturally, this ends about as well as you’d expect, with Thorkel murdering his naïve colleague. Soon after, the not-so-good doctor receives a group of visitors (invited by Dr. Thorkel to help him figure out a problem) including a trio of scientists, along with a rancher and a farmhand. When the visitors overstay their welcome, the paranoid doctor assumes they’re trying to steal his secrets. He tricks them into entering his test chamber, reducing the pesky unwanted guests to a fraction of their original size. They emerge, bewildered, and fashionably attired in handkerchiefs (Question: While everyone else is wearing some variation of a toga, why does farmhand Pedro get a diaper?). Now, their main concern becomes trying to avoid the maniacal doctor and survive in a world that’s suddenly grown larger and infinitely more hostile.

* Fun Fact #2: After his hair started growing back, Dekker was called back by Schoedsack for additional scenes, playing the follically challenged mad scientist. Dekker refused to shave his head again, demanding a bald cap instead. For the majority of the film, Dekker’s head is clearly shaved. It’s quite obvious, however, that he’s wearing a bald cap in the introductory scene.

** Interesting Note: If you’re not aware of the fascinating life and ignominious death of Albert Dekker, it’s well worth a trip down the internet rabbit hole, but a word of caution: tread carefully.

Let’s get this out of the way, so we can get on with life. Don’t expect Dr. Cyclops to feature a physician resembling the mythological one-eyed creature – If you’re expecting something from Ray Harryhausen, move on. In an early scene, Dr. Bulfinch (Charles Halton) likens Thorkel to the Cyclops of Greek mythology (“Cyclops too felt size and strength were sufficient. He was a very ignorant fellow.”). Only when one lens of his glasses is broken does the myopic doctor take on any of the physical properties of the mythological creature. As played by Dekker with devious abandon, Dr. Thorkel doesn’t possess many redeemable traits. He’s evil through and through, a lone-wolf researcher, drunk with the power of his discovery and unconcerned with the consequences. He keeps his cat Satana* well fed with cast-offs from his experiments, and callously dispatches Dr. Bulfinch with a chemical-soaked wad of cotton. People are nothing to him – merely regarded as temporary help or permanent hindrance.

* Fun Fact #3: Because the cats tended to get spooked on the set, the filmmakers used six black cats to play “Satana” for the movie.

The effects work might seem a bit dated to 21^st century eyes, but they get the job done (just sit back, shut up, and let your imagination do the rest). The filmmakers used a combination of oversized props* (one of Thorkel’s victims is clutched in a giant hand, similar to a sequence in King Kong), dwarfing the “miniature” actors, and rear projection that make an ordinary house cat, an alligator, and even chickens look fearsome. The best effect was the glorious 3-strip Technicolor cinematography (courtesy of Henry Sharp), and with Kino’s new restoration, it’s safe to say it’s never looked better on home video.  

* Fun Fact #4: The furniture and props were built five times normal size to make the actors appear smaller.

Scientists didn’t often get a fair shake in most science fiction movies from this era. In Dr. Cyclops, humanity is given two unpalatable choices: meet groundbreaking discoveries with fear and distrust or wallow in willful ignorance. The story is paper thin, with mostly generic characters (including Frank Yaconelli’s cringe-worthy, stereotype-laden portrayal of farmhand Pedro), and even at 77 minutes, seems to out-stay its welcome. Half of the film consists of a game of cat and mouse between Dr. Thorkel and his victims, which gets tedious at times. Regardless of any deficiencies, it’s an undeniably fun premise (recycled quite a few times in the 1950s), made enjoyable thanks to Dekker’s eccentric performance, and deserves to be in the collection of any serious genre enthusiast.  

The City of Lost Children

(1995) Directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Marc Caro; Written by Gilles Adrien, Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Marc Caro; Starring: Ron Perlman, Daniel Emilfork, Judith Vittet, Dominique Pinon, Jean-Claude Dreyfus, and Mireille Mossé; Available on Blu-ray and DVD

Rating ****½

“This film is about dreams, and maybe in dreams, we need to see dreams that would awaken us, our imagination… We’ve always been supporting fantasy cinema, and this is what this film is about: If we don’t dream, it’ll kill us. It’ll age us very quickly. It’s as simple as that. It’s what the movie is about.” – Jean-Pierre Jeunet

Fairy tales, in a traditional sense, are enduring stories told in broad strokes, set in an ambiguously distant time. They may possess many (if not all) of these classic elements: strongly delineated protagonists (with the requisite hero’s quest), appropriately loathsome villains, and universally relatable themes, often with a strong moral attached. The City of Lost Children (aka: La Cité des Enfants Perdus)* is a contemporary fairy tale, set in an unspecified seaside city in a mythical era, which borrows designs from yesteryear (think 1930s urban sprawl, blended with touches of post-industrial Victorian steampunk). Filmed almost entirely on a French soundstage for $18 million, The City of Lost Children looks like it cost much more, featuring expansive city sets, meticulously detailed interiors, and a massive wharf complete with ships and seagulls.

* Fun Fact #1: Watch for co-writer/co-director Marc Caro in a cameo as a blind beggar in an early scene, and as a Cyclops cult member.

The genius but emotionally stunted villain Krank (Daniel Emilfork)* resides in a towering offshore oil derrick guarded by mines. He lacks the ability to dream, so he steals children for his nefarious experiments, where he can experience and infiltrate their dreams. He resides with his more even-tempered brother, who exists as a disembodied brain in an aquarium tank, serving as a mediating influence. He’s assisted by four clone henchmen (all played by Dominique Pinon, thanks to some clever effects trickery), along with diminutive researcher, Mademoiselle Bismuth (Mireille Mossé), who keeps the clones in check.

* Not So Fun Fact: In his DVD commentary, Jeunet described Emilfork as a “diva,” who was difficult to work with. He was quick to note, however, how he admired the actor’s performance in the film.

A hero’s journey can’t be accomplished without a solid protagonist, and virtuous circus strongman One (Ron Perlman) rises to the challenge. One* may be deficient in intellect, but he possesses a heart as big as his physique. He takes a young orphan boy, Denree (Joseph Lucien), under his wing, referring to him as his “little brother.” When Denree is abducted by a group of fanatics, One resolves to get him back. He meets up with a scrappy band of orphan thieves led by crafty street urchin Miette (Judith Vittet). The orphans are under the watchful eye of conjoined twins and former sideshow performers known collectively as La Pieuvre, or “The Octopus” (played by real-life twin sisters Geneviève Brunet and Odile Mallet), a sort of Fagin (multiplied twice) to Miette’s Oliver Twist. Perlman described the film as “the exploration of innocence.” I would probably replace “exploration” with “exploitation,” since none of the kids in this film have an easy life. One stands as the one nurturing, compassionate influence in Denree’s (and later Miette’s) life, as a pseudo-paternal figure. We’re never in doubt, however, who’s really in charge.  

* Fun Fact #2: Why was his character called “One?” According to Perlman, after he initially read the script, he asked Jeunet, whose only reply was “Why not?”

A predominant theme in The City of Lost Children is individualism versus conformity. One stands alone, as a force of good among a cruel and unyielding city. Miette, hardened by her experiences, gets by on her wits alone. On the flipside, the four clones bicker endlessly about which one is the original (SPOILER: It’s someone else, also played by Dominique Pinon). Much like the clones, the unscrupulous twin sisters scheme together as one criminal mind. Similarly, an ascetic cult of “Cyclops” (who shun their organic vision in favor of a third, electronic eye) function as a hive mind, roaming the city streets, searching for more to convert to their order.

The gorgeous production design/art direction by Marco Caro and Jean Rabasse takes center stage, employing an intentional color palette, in which reds and greens dominate.* The beautifully detailed sets masterfully create the illusion of a city made of bricks and steel, while Krank’s oil derrick lair (a convincing large-scale model) resembles something out of Jules Verne’s nightmares. Somewhat less effective is the cartoonish CGI flea, which stands out amidst the intricate three-dimensional set pieces. In defense of computer-generated imagery, it’s utilized to much better effect to create the distorted perspectives of the dream sequences, or a glowing green cloud of dreams trapped in a brass cannister.

* Fun Fact #3: According to Jeunet, the filmmakers were inspired by the work of painter Giorgio de Chirico for the look of the film.

The City of Lost Children is delightfully weird in all the right ways. Directors Jeunet and Caro somehow manage to rein in the eccentric characters and colorful surroundings without seeming distancing or overwhelmingly busy. The visuals create the narrative. Much like its predecessor, Delicatessen (1991), Jeunet and Caro have created an immersive world made enjoyable through innovative, playful visuals and Rube Goldberg-inspired gags. A mesmeric street organ-tinged score by frequent David Lynch collaborator Angelo Badalamenti fits the dark carnival tone of the film perfectly. The City of Lost Children emulates a dream, where the rules of reality only superficially apply. It’s a buoyant, funhouse experience only something truly magical can produce, and couldn’t we all use a little magic right now?

 

Doctor X

(1932) Directed by Michael Curtiz; Written by Robert Tasker and Earl Baldwin; Based on a play by Howard W. Comstock and Allen C. Miller; Starring: Lionel Atwill, Fay Wray, Lee Tracy, Preston Foster, John Wray, Harry Beresford and Dr. Rowitz; Available on DVD (in the “Hollywood Legends of Horror Collection”) 

Rating: ***½ stars

 “Dr. Xavier is still working on his theory that strong mental repressions, phobias hidden in the darkest corners of the subconscious mind, can be brought to the surface and made to register through certain reactions of the heart. Am I correct, professor?” – Dr. Wells (Preston Foster)

Although Universal was the undisputed leader in horror in the 1930s, it wasn’t the only game in town. Hollywood rival First National had something up its sleeve, with Doctor X, filmed in “Two-Strip” Technicolor, an expensive*/** early color process that combined red and green film strips to create a color image. To today’s viewers, the film has a surreal, otherworldly appearance, resembling something from a comic book or a dream state.*** The screenplay was derived from a 1930 stage production, which originated from an unproduced 1928 play, Terror. The film version was initially conceived as a horror vehicle starring Bela Lugosi, but First National eventually changed its tune, deciding to produce a mystery/thriller with comic overtones. Prolific director Michael Curtiz filmed Doctor X over a grueling 20-day schedule, requiring 15 to 20-hour days.  

* Fun Fact #1: According to film historian Scott MacQueen in the DVD commentary, the “Two-Strip” process cost two-and-a-half times the amount of black and white film, requiring high-speed cameras that needed four times the amount of lighting.

** Fun Fact #2: Doctor X was simultaneously filmed in color and black and white. The black and white prints, which included different takes from the color version, were intended for international release.

*** Fun Fact #3: Due to the limitations of the film process, blues, purples, or yellows could not be accurately duplicated. See the EastmanMuseum website for more details.  

After a series of murders near a medical school run by Dr. Jerry Xavier (Lionel Atwill), the police have set their sights on the school’s staff. Further signs point to Xavier’s school when Xavier’s examination of a victim’s body reveals an incision that appears to have been perpetrated with a precision scalpel. Adding to the mystery, he discovers that a sizable chunk has been cut out of the body, suggesting cannibalism. Concerned about the potential bad press that the investigation will cause, Dr. Xavier resolves to mitigate the scrutiny by conducting his own investigation, using scientific methods. Unfortunately for the good doctor, things are not as hush, hush as he intended, on account of a snooping reporter, Lee Taylor (Lee Tracy).

We’re introduced to the eccentric suspects, all researchers employed by Dr. Xavier. One-armed Dr. Wells (Preston Foster) conducts research on reanimation of body parts, and is also an ardent student of cannibalistic practices. Dr. Haines (John Wray) studies brain grafting, and has a fondness for erotica (the filmmakers were careful to tiptoe around the censors, by avoiding too many details). Dr. Rowitz (Arthur Edmund Carewe) researches the moon’s effects on the mind. Both Haines and Rowitz were involved in a shipwreck, where a third survivor vanished under mysterious circumstances (Could it have been…cannibalism?). Dr. Duke (Harry Beresford), the fourth researcher, is confined to a wheelchair, appearing the least likely to have perpetrated the murders. Dr. Xavier puts his plan into action, in an overly elaborate scheme to ferret out the killer. In what seems an awful long way to go on such short notice, the suspects are subjected to a re-enactment of the murders at his spooky cliffside mansion (under the full moon), with wax figures and live actors. Meanwhile, the suspects are confined to chairs connected to special equipment designed to measure their physiological response (Don’t hurt your brain trying to determine the science behind this experiment).  

Doctor X balances horror and comedy (emphasizing the comedy), with mixed results. Goofy, go-getting reporter Lee Taylor provides the lion’s share of the comic relief, with a little going a long way. He’s obnoxious and overbearing at every turn, wearing out his welcome long before we’ve reached the midpoint. Taylor has more on his mind than landing a juicy story when he falls for Xavier’s aloof daughter Joanne (Fay Wray, in an underwritten role). Perhaps the biggest stretch, in a film full of contrivances, is that Joanne eventually falls for him, as the script dictates. Much more effective is George Rosener’s* quirky/creepy performance as Dr. Xavier’s enthusiastic butler with a morbid streak, Otto. He enjoys tormenting Mamie the maid, played by Leila Bennett (it would be easy to see her contemporary, Una O’Connor, in the same role). She’s prone to bouts of hysteria, keeping a bottle of booze under her pillow to keep the demons at bay. 

* Fun Fact #4: Roesener wrote the first draft of the screenplay, which was mostly discarded.

A humorous scene, applied with care, can help defuse tension in horror. In this case, however, less comedy would have been an asset. The film betrays its theatrical roots with scenes that are a bit too stagey and static. The basic whodunit story isn’t anything you haven’t seen before, but the morbid premise breathes new life into the proceedings, especially when the boogeyman is revealed in the climactic payoff. In the movie’s most distinctive scene (with makeup effects credited to Max Factor), the mad scientist undergoes a hideous transformation,* slathering on the clay-like artificial skin like a demonic Mummenschanz performer. It’s a scene that continues to mesmerize today, and likely caused a stir or two when it first played. Creaky plot elements and irritating characters notwithstanding, Doctor X remains a minor classic, a milestone in horror, and a must-see for any film fan.

* Fun Fact #5: According to the DVD commentary, British film censors deemed the transformation scene too horrifying, omitting it from prints at the time.

Note: Doctor X spawned a sequel, albeit in name only, The Return of Doctor X (1939), starring Humphrey Bogart, in a role he despised (but I quite enjoyed).

Source for this article: DVD commentary by Scott MacQueen, Eastman Museum website: https://www.eastman.org/

April Quick Picks and Pans

The Strangler (1964) This overlooked little thriller is worthy of rediscovery, thanks to Victor Buono’s gloriously unhinged performance as Leo Kroll, a man frozen in a stage of arrested development. The standard police procedural plot is nothing special, hampered by wooden acting from David McLean and Baynes Barron as obtuse cops. Buono takes the film to a different level as Kroll with his intimidating presence, sociopathic tendencies and idiosyncrasies (he targets nurses and collects dolls, which he keeps locked in a desk drawer). He’s tormented by his hospitalized, domineering mother (Ellen Corby), who teaches him to distrust women. In one of the most memorable scenes, he expresses his love to a horrified arcade prize booth worker. If you can excuse the dated psychology, it’s a compelling portrait of a profoundly disturbed individual.  

Rating: ***½. Available on DVD and Tubi

The Perfume of the Lady in Black (1974) Mimsy Farmer stars as Silvia Hacherman, a successful chemist, in director/co-writer Francesco Barilli’s (writer of Who Saw Her Die?) unconventional, slow-moving mystery. She’s confronted by many questions and few answers, as she comes face to face with a young girl who seems to know a little too much about her shady past. The film invites viewers to separate reality from delusions, with shades of Repulsion and multiple references to Alice in Wonderland, as Silvia’s sanity gradually erodes. The story moves with a deliberate pace, in a giallo seemingly devoid of murders, but stick with it as the bodies pile up in the third act. The conclusion is as baffling as it’s disturbing

Rating: ***½. Available on Blu-ray, DVD and Kanopy

The Believers (1987) Martin Sheen stars as police psychologist Cal Jamison, a recent widower, who relocates to New York. He barely gets settled before becoming embroiled in a case involving a series of ritualized child murders (linked to an extremist sect of Santeria). As he digs deeper for answers, his young son (Harley Cross) is targeted by the murderous cult, whose tendrils spread far and wide. Sheen is over the top, but there are some good supporting performances by Robert Loggia as a police lieutenant, Harris Yulin as a wealthy philanthropist, and Helen Shaver as his landlord/girlfriend (she has the honor of being in the film’s ickiest scene). Director John Schlesinger builds a modicum of suspense and paranoia, although it probably would have been wise to omit the dodgy opening scene, depicting the improbable accident (milk and coffee makers don’t mix) that killed Jamison’s wife. The film might not make you a believer (pardon the pun), but there are worse ways to spend 90 or so minutes.

Rating: ***. Available on Blu-ray, DVD and Prime Video

Burke and Hare (1972) Despite the tremendous potential of the subject matter, this movie somehow squanders its retelling of the infamous Burke and Hare murders, which occurred in Edinburgh, Scotland in the early 19^th century. Vernon Sewell’s 1972 film attempts to be erotic and comic, yet fails on both counts. Ne’er do wells Burke and Hare (Derren Nesbitt and Glynn Edwards) hatch a scheme to get rich, selling bodies to an anatomical school. In order to meet the increasing demands of the school, and their greed, they resort to murder to keep the product flowing. The film suffers from lethargic pacing (spending too much time with a subplot about a local brothel, frequented by doctors and medical students), feeble attempts at comedy, and does little to evoke a sense of horror or atmosphere. The theme song by The Scaffold is kind of catchy, though.

Rating: **½. Available on Blu-ray, DVD and Kanopy

Polyester

(1981) Written and directed by John Waters; Starring: Divine, Tab Hunter, Edith Massey, David Samson and Mink Stole; Available on Blu-ray and DVD

Rating: ***½

“If Polyester is suburban hell, then I don’t think… I think people could be happy in suburbia. I’m not saying that they can’t be… I could never be. If there was a John Waters utopia, it would probably be a great house, with great rugs, next door to a prison.”

– John Waters (from 1993 Criterion commentary)

John Waters once remarked that when he was a kid, he wanted to sit in William Castle’s lap for Christmas. While it’s doubtful he ever got his original wish, Waters followed in the footsteps of his idol, with an affectionate tribute to Mr. Castle’s famous gimmicks, Polyester. Presented in “Odorama,” * Polyester combined two seemingly disparate things: Waters’ anarchic, anti-establishment comedy and Castle’s flair for showmanship. Shot in 35 mm (compared to 16 mm for his earlier efforts) with a $300,000 budget, it was his biggest production to date. As a film designated for mainstream cinemas, as opposed to the midnight movie circuit, it heralded a new era for the filmmaker.

* Fun Fact #1: Audiences were introduced (or assaulted) to a smell-related gimmick, years earlier, with Scent of Mystery (1960), presented in “Smell-O-Vision,” and starring Peter Lorre, Denholm Elliott and Diana Dors. Oddly enough, this wasn’t a Castle film.

For the benefit of those who didn’t attend an original theatrical screening of the film (including yours truly), we have the next best thing with the Criterion Blu-ray (there’s also a DVD available), which includes an Odorama* card. The card replicates its theatrical counterpart, complete with numbered scratch and sniff sections that correspond to flashing numbers on the screen, so everyone can play along at home. Considering the source, it should be no surprise that not everything smells like roses (although that’s one of the scents). Instead, expect more along the lines of “fart” and “smelly tennis shoes” (I won’t divulge which numbers on the card correspond to what).**

* Fun Fact #2: According to Waters, per legal requirements, the film company had to confirm that the original scratch-n-sniff cards, manufactured by 3M, would be non-toxic in the event that someone tried to eat them.

** Fun Fact #3: For the creation of the Odorama cards, the 3M company used some smells off the shelf from their library (including “rose” and “skunk”), while they had to get creative with a combination of scents, to get the desired effect for some of the more infamous odors.

Divine, who played some truly despicable characters in Waters’ earlier films, gets a chance to win our sympathies as beleaguered suburban housewife Francine Fishpaw, gifted with exceptional olfactory abilities (lucky us, we get to smell what she smells), but seemingly cursed with everything else. Francine laments, “I look into my future, and all I see is a long, dark highway filled with endless toll booths and no exits.” Everything seems to go wrong in her nuclear family turned upside down, starting with her loutish husband Elmer (David Samson), who operates a local porn theater, berates her on a daily basis, and cheats on her with his girlfriend (Mink Stole). Her son Dexter (Ken King) has a foot fetish and a penchant for serial foot stomping, while pregnant daughter Lu-Lu (Mary Garlington) hangs out with a disreputable crowd – notably, her boyfriend Bo-Bo (played by ex-Dead Boy, Stiv Bators). Just when it looks like things can’t get bleaker, even the family dog decides to end it all. The one bright spot in Francine’s life is her well-to-do friend Cuddles (Edith Massey), * who stands by her when things are at their worst. It’s when things are at their worst that Francine finds love in an unexpected place, from slick-talking, Corvette-driving conman Todd Tomorrow, played by ‘50s/’60s heartthrob Tab Hunter (who also sings the title song, with Blondie’s Debbie Harry as backup).

* Fun Fact #4: Waters noted that Massey (a Baltimore fixture and regular in his films since 1970’s Multiple Maniacs) had trouble remembering her lines and pronouncing some of the dialogue, resulting in multiple takes.

Waters has a knack for turning the microscope on modern society, filtered through his gleefully distorted lens. Polyester sets its sights on suburbia and what he considered “nouveau riche bad taste,” with its atrocious fashions, garish color schemes and questionable trends (witness Waters regular Mink Stole in corn rows – a mocking call-back to Bo Derek’s 10 look). Casting Edith Massey against type, as a wealthy socialite, is another inspired choice. In a film packed with gags, one of the funniest (and more elaborate) involves a highbrow drive-in theater that shows obscure French arthouse film (come to think of it, that’s not such a bad idea). The topper is a romantic montage to end all romantic montages, with Francine and Todd cavorting in a field to the strains of a love song crooned by Bill Murray (it’s about as surreal as you could imagine).

* Not-So-Fun-Fact: In one scene where an enraged gospel singer bites into a car tire, actress Jean Hill became a bit too involved in her role, which resulted in losing her front teeth.

Polyester successfully heralds the transition between John Waters’ earlier, demonstratively less-commercial efforts (Pink Flamingos, Female Trouble) and his more people-pleasing endeavors (Hairspray, Serial Mom). The common denominator that runs through all his work, however, is a fondness for pushing buttons and a disdain for conformity. The most shocking thing about Polyester might be that Waters ultimately has an (Gasp!) uplifting message for us, with a soft spot for the underdogs, the downtrodden and misunderstood. Amidst the bad smells and depictions of antisocial behavior, we’re encouraged to learn to respect others’ differences, and just as importantly, value ourselves. Mr. Waters gently nudges us in the ribs, reminds us that going to the movies engages all our senses (and all that implies). William Castle (who passed away in 1977) never lived to see Waters’ film, but I’m sure he would have been touched to see that good showmanship (albeit in the interest of bad taste) never died. 

The Vincent Price Blogathon – Wrap Up

It’s hard to believe that we’ve reached the end of the Vincent Price Blogathon, after months of planning. The call for submissions went out in February, and participants rose to the challenge with multiple reviews, a podcast, videos, a cocktail recipe, and another fabulous word puzzle, courtesy of The Anagram Hunter (see answers below). I’m overwhelmed and awed by the quality and breadth of topics about this versatile, multi-talented performer. The films covered included many favorites, and a quite a few more obscure selections. Sadly, I never got the chance to meet Mr. Price in person, but this blogathon was the next best thing.

Once again, I’d like to thank my blogging pal Gill from Realweegiemidget Reviews for being such a wonderful, resourceful co-host. I’m truly grateful for our collaboration, and look forward to working together on many future blogathons. Also, thanks to everyone who contributed, making this the biggest blogathon we’ve ever done!

And finally, in an announcement that shouldn’t surprise too many loyal bloggers and readers, Gill and I have decided to host a third Hammer-Amicus Blogathon later this year. Watch for details soon. We hope to see many of you again soon.   

If you’re still planning a last-minute submission for the Vincent Price Blogathon, let us know, and we’ll post a link. Post a comment below, email me at barry_cinematic@yahoo.com, or reach me on Twitter (@barry_cinematic). You may also contact Gill by commenting on her post, through her blog’s Contact Me page, or on Twitter (@realweegiemidge).

And now, on with the contest. Drumroll, please! The winner of the Italian poster pair of The Pit and the Pendulum is…

Al Daugherty!

Congratulations! 

Answers to the anagram quiz from Day 1 (No peeking, if you haven’t played yet):

1. Theatre of blood 2. House of Wax 3. The Tomb of Ligeia 4. Return of the Fly 5. Beach Party 6. Witchfinder General 7. Twice Told Tales 8. House on Haunted Hill 10. Edward Scissorhands 11. The Abominable Dr. Phibes 12. The Last Man on Earth 13. The Haunted Palace 14. Scream and Scream Again 15. Dr. Phibes Rises Again

Be sure to visit the recaps from days One and Two:

Day 1 

Day 2 

Here are the submissions for Day Three:

Daniberry from Kinojoan seeks out Witchfinder General (1968).

http://kinojoan.co.uk/blog/witchfinder-general-elegant-gore

 Enjoy your favorite libation while you read Andrew Wickliffe’s (from The Stop Button) review of Champagne for Caesar (1950).

https://www.thestopbutton.com/2020/04/18/champagne-caesar-1950/

Cody Hamman from Life Between Frames reviews The Oblong Box (1969)

https://lifebetweenframes.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-vincent-price-blogathon-oblong-box.html

Eric Binford from Diary of a Movie Maniac let us know if murder mystery Moss Rose (1947) is worth a look.

https://diaryofamoviemaniac.wordpress.com/2020/04/18/moss-rose-1947/

Kevin Crighton, aka The Grump of Horror, passes judgement on Witchfinder General (aka: The Conqueror Worm) (1968)

https://thegrumpofhorror.wordpress.com/2020/04/19/blogathon-witchfinder-general-1968/

Black Cats and Poppies makes her blogging debut with a look at Dragonwyck (1946)

https://blackcatsandpoppies.blogspot.com/2020/04/dragonwyke-1946-pursuit-of-happiness.html

 What the Craggus Saw witnesses a Bloodbath at the House of Death (1984)

https://thecraggus.com/2020/04/18/bloodbath-at-the-house-of-death-1984/

Andrew from Maniacs and Monsters would like to extend an exclusive invitation to The Monster Club (1981)

https://maniacsandmonsters.com/2020/04/19/that-time-vincent-price-went-clubbing/

Let Debbie Vega from Moon in Gemini be your guide in The House of the Seven Gables (1940).

https://debravega.wordpress.com/2020/04/19/the-vincent-price-blogathon-the-house-of-the-seven-gables/

Rebecca Deniston from Taking Up Room reviews the film noir classic Laura (1944).

https://takinguproom.wordpress.com/2020/04/19/laura/

Don’t be afraid to read the Metzinger Sisters’ (from Silver Scenes) discussion of the BBC radio serial The Price of Fear (1973).

https://silverscenesblog.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-price-of-fear-bbc-radio-serial.html

Tommy Ross from B-Movie Gazette has prepared a special Theatre of Blood (1973) poem.

https://bmoviegazette.tumblr.com/post/615880867928326144/theater-of-blood-poem-written-exclusively-for-the

Movie Rob is back to tell us about the World War II drama The Eve of St. Mark (1944).

https://movierob.wordpress.com/2020/04/19/the-vincent-price-blogathon-the-eve-of-st-mark-1944/

Buzz on over to The Psychotronic Kinematograph, where Glenn McCulla takes a look at The Fly (1958).

http://psychtronickinematograph.blogspot.com/

Don’t be startled, it’s just Gabriela from Pale Writer with a review of Shock (1946).

https://palewriter2.home.blog/2020/04/20/paging-dr-death-vincent-price-in-shock-1946/

Paul from Reel Distracted hangs out with The Last Man on Earth (1964)

https://www.reeldistracted.com/major-distractions-blog/some-guys-cant-get-a-break-the-last-man-on-earth-1964

Are you brave enough to explore The House on Haunted Hill (1959) with Lê from Critica Retro?https://criticaretro.blogspot.com/2020/04/a-casa-dos-maus-espiritos-1959-house-on.html