Vampire (1964)

By the mid-1960s George Harrison Marks could stake a claim to being the most famous glamour photographer in Britain. A reputation enhanced by Marks diversifying into directing feature films like Naked as Nature Intended. As well as numerous 8mm glamour films, designed to feature his models taking their clothes off and aimed at the home viewing market.

Regularly billing himself –with trademark immodesty - as ‘The King of the Camera’ and the ‘World Famous Photographer’ Marks was certainly one of the more cineliterate of the characters shooting 8mm glamour films back then, and could boast to owning a bookshelf that creaked under the weight of tomes about the talkies, Charlie Chaplin and Horror cinema. Influences which were visibly filtering down into his own short films. Marks dabbled in horror film themes for a number of his 8mm glamour productions. In ‘The Mummy’ (1966) the eponymous creature plays peeping tom to a number of topless serving girls before attempting to make off with one of them (Teri Martine). ‘Flesh and Fantasie’ (1963) , now more commonly known as 'Nightmare at Elm Manor', sees June Palmer staying the night at a creepy Manor, where she suffers nightmares about being pursued by a cape wearing bald man, and of course loses her clothes in the process. Whilst in ‘Perchance to Scream’ (1967) Jane Paul is transported back to the Middle Ages where an evil monk orders topless women to be flogged and beheaded.

Having let his friend Stuart Samuels play the villains in the latter two films, Marks himself steps into the lead role for 1964’s ‘Vampire’, casting himself opposite topless model Wendy Luton. Like a zillion other 8mm glamour films, Vampire opens with a woman, Carmilla (Luton) undressing, and striking nude poses in her bedroom, before retiring to bed. However all is not well in the land of nakedness, as elsewhere Count Dracula III (Marks) rises from his grave in search of fresh blood. Taking the rather unusual approach of hypnotising his victims with a pendant, Dracula III lures Carmilla back to his crypt where she is soon sporting bite marks on her neck and her very own set of fangs (she has also managed to acquire a pair of panties in the meantime as well). Fortunately for ​Carmilla, she is spared further unpleasantness as dawn breaks, forcing Dracula III back into his coffin.  In a twist on traditional vampire lore, rather than the sunlight reducing her to ashes it instead restores Carmilla back to her pre-vampirised state. Thus allowing her time to wander around the vampire’s lair...pose nude...discover a second vampire asleep in a coffin...faint...pose nude some more...before finally exacting revenge on Count Dracula III.

In light of the comedy name Marks gave to his vampire character it comes as a welcome surprise to discover that Vampire avoids spoofery and is entirely played straight. Hidden under ghoul make-up and with his hair and trademark goatee tinted grey, the Harrison Marks on display here is far removed from the goofy roles he usual gave himself in his own films, or indeed the gregarious ladies’ man, alcoholic, cat lover and pornographer that Marks was in real life.

Special mention should also be given to the eccentric but highly talented Tony Roberts. Marks’ studio manager who built the incredible sets for the glamour films, that over the years would see Marks’ studio transformed into a Chinese garden, an Egyptian pyramid, a French bistro and even an alien spaceship. Roberts lived in a tenement building near to Marks’ Gerrard Street studio, along with the entire Roberts clan which included a brother noted for his love of practical jokes- such as causing explosions and spiking people’s drinks- and a sister who had worked as a Bluebell girl in Paris. Roberts quickly became part of Marks’ inner circle, and together the two men often behaved like a comedy double act. “He was a really nice guy” remembers Teri Martine “kind of on the quiet side, but loved what he did”. Roberts’ sets here really are the business. Decorated in cobwebs and dry ice, his crypt and dungeon creations wouldn't shame a Hammer or Mario Bava film from the period. Its telling that once Roberts’ sets began to disappear from Marks’ 8mm films in the mid-1970s so too did Marks’ interest and enthusiasm for making them.

For an 8mm glamour film, Marks main concerns here seem to have been evoking a horror film atmosphere and savouring his fleeting, ten minutes of glory as a horror film star. Of course that isn't to say Vampire goes completely against type for a Marks production. A huge close-up of Wendy Luton’s breasts, worked into the scene where she explores the vampire’s lair, serves to remind you that –unlike Count Dracula III- it wasn’t Wendy’s neck that Marks’ audience were hoping to get an eyeful of.

Evidently Marks must have enjoyed transforming himself from The King of the Camera to The King of the Undead, as he donned the cape and fangs again a year later for a vignette in his feature film ‘The Naked World of Harrison Marks’(1965). One that saw him being imagined as a Dracula type figure. Not that exciting moments such as that could keep Marks awake during a preview screening of that film “we were no sooner in our seats then George fell asleep” recalls Teri Martine “and was snoring so loud I had to wake him up”.

Viewed collectively Marks’ horror themed 8mm glamour films do put forward a credible case that Marks may well have had a couple of decent horror feature films in him, should the opportunity to fully work in the genre have ever arose. Sadly by the end of the 1960s Marks had become firmly typecast in the minds of the British public as a man who photographed and filmed boobs for a living. “I had a screenplay I wrote, a heavily dramatic feature” he later remembered “but no one would take Harrison Marks seriously with a dramatic feature. They’d say ‘go and do one like the last one with lots of girls and laughs’. I thought fuck it that’s what they want, that’s what they get.” Fate it seemed had decided that it was bare breasts rather than bared fangs that George Harrison Marks was destined to be remembered for.

A slightly different version of this review originally appeared in Bedabbled #4 in 2014. Vampire can be seen online for free at the BFI Player 

The Return of Alan Strange (2016)

 

Michael J Murphy's last film- he unexpectedly died not long after completing it- appropriately enough deals with a man reflecting on and finally coming to terms with his career. The Return of Alan Strange also displays a hitherto unknown fondness for 1960s Cult TV, and may well be Murphy's most overtly gay themed movie.

Gone to seed actor Peter Hennesey (Patrick Olliver) was once famous for playing the lead character, a time travelling psychic detective, in the 1960s TV series 'Alan Strange'. That is until Peter Wyngarde-esque revelations about his sexuality all but destroyed his career. Having long since abandoned any pretense of heterosexuality, Hennesey is now an outrageous, extremely politically incorrect gay man, whose glory days are long behind him. As the 1990s dawn, Hennesey is invited to a New Year's Eve party. Only for old wounds to reopen when he is forced to rub shoulders with his ex-wife and former co-star Gaye Delaney (Judith Holding) who has similarly grown old disgracefully, via breast implants and a tell all book about their sham marriage, entitled 'Who's Gaye'. Hennesey also crosses swords with fellow actor Alexander Beck (Phil Lyndon) who took over the Alan Strange role, and whom Hennesey blames for outing him to the press. The New Year's bash isn't without its perks though, with Hennesey getting the chance to flirt with Daniel Bradford (Daniel Bailey) the young aspiring actor who hopes to inherit the Strange role in a big budget reboot. The Return of Alan Strange adds up to a tremendous bitch fest between Murphy regulars, Olliver, Holding and Lyndon, all three clearly having a ball here. The trio are revelations in comedic, uninhibited turns that cut loose from the seriousness of their usual roles in Murphy's movies. By rights Hennesey and his fellow has beens should all register as showbiz grotesqueries, yet for all their sharp edges these are characters with unexpected warmth and humanity to them.

Murphy's own affection for Olliver, Holding and Lyndon is evident in spades, as is their longtime association with him. Clips we see of them in 'Alan Strange' episodes actually being culled from their years before appearances in Murphy films like Death Run, Moonchild and Atlantis. A meta aspect to the film, that allows Murphy's actors, as well as the director himself, the chance to look back at their shared past with a mixture of nostalgia and the occasional cringe at the low budget shortcomings of their youthful endeavors. It is an unusual touch for Murphy, by all accounts the type of filmmaker who regarded his best film as the next one, and rarely shared his fanbase's enthusiasm for revisiting his past works. In any of Murphy's other films, the venom between Hennesey and his fellow Alan Strange veterans would have boiled over into murder, bloodshed and revenge. Despite an amount of teasing that it is about to go down the horror movie route though, The Return of Alan Strange breaks rank by emerging as a moving little drama about reconciling with estranged friends and putting your house in order before saying goodbye. A coda made even more poignant given Murphy's own death soon after. It's not the ideal place to start when it comes to Murphy's career, but it is a fitting end.

Conjuring: The Book of the Dead (2020)

 

When it comes to Richard Driscoll films, I was ten years clean until I foolishly caved into curiosity after his latest film popped up free and legally on YouTube. Was the relapse worth it? Oh hell no...if anything Tricky Dicky has gotten a whole lot worse now that he has been reduced to working on micro-budgets. Simultaneously passionless and narcissistic in a way that only a Driscoll film can be, Conjuring: The Book of the Dead is the sort of sequel to Evil Calls: The Raven (2008) which caused me to swear off watching his movies a decade ago.

Under his acting name Steven Craine, Driscoll once again steps into the role of horror novelist George Carney. Still haunted by memories of Robin Askwith shagging his wife, Carney has become hooked on vicodin and gets farmed out to authenticate a rare, occult book by his publisher Martha (Lysette Anthony). She also slips him a parchment, which allows Driscoll to pass this off as an adaptation of M.R. James' 'Casting the Runes' in the opening credits. Thereafter it's a slow shuffle around the showbiz graveyard as Carney converses with characters played by Oliver Tobias, Bai Ling, Sylvester McCoy, Michael Madsen, Tom Sizemore, as well as flashback appearances by Robin Askwith and Dudley 'don't ask me to pronounce necronomicon' Sutton. People tend to rag on British sex comedies of the 1970s, weeping over how lack of work forced 'some of our favourite actors' into appearing in them. Oh please!! Of course in those cases, by 'some of our favourite actors' they tend to be referring to people who's day jobs involved appearing in sitcoms, summer shows or stage farces, so were hardly taking much of a step down there. Behind the scenes stories, not to mention publicity photos, hardly supports the idea that those acting greats were having a wretched time by appearing in close proximity to naked young ladies either. No, if you truly want to know career degradation, check out the elderly actors and once promising, once successful people who here get plunged into the green screened, bottomless hell that is a Richard Driscoll film. Everyone looks miserable and painfully aware that they are blotting their own acting legacies by appearing here, even Driscoll himself can't help but look thoroughly bored throughout.

For all the attempts to fill the screen with fan convention names here, Conjuring: The Book of the Dead still registers as 'The Richard Driscoll Show' -watch chronically uninteresting scenes of Driscoll thrashing about in bed whilst having an erotic dream about Bai Ling or hunched over a laptop trying to knock out a best seller. Since the budget barely stretches to anything resembling 'action' Driscoll falls back on long ago footage from Evil Calls: The Raven- recycled here as a 'visualisation' of a graphic novel that Carney is working on. A decision that also allows Driscoll to work Jason Donovan and Eileen Daly, into the credited cast here.

Barely anything happens in Conjuring: The Book of the Dead, and when it does it barely makes any sense. Only once does Driscoll's shysterism become amusing- Carney chats with an occult tour guide played by Tom Sizemore who is about to conduct a tour whilst dressed as a headless ghost and therefore can't possibly take his costume off. Which is awfully convenient, since while it is Sizemore's voice you hear, you can sure bet it isn't Sizemore under that costume. The scene in question is also meant to be taking place at Al Crowley's old haunt The Absinthe House in New Orleans, but anyone who has ever visited Driscoll's native Cornwall -or has seen Legend of the Witches- will likely recognise the location as The Museum of Witchcraft and Magic in Boscastle...which is a long way from New Orleans.

Female characters in the film range from mean bitches who like it rough (Lysette Anthony's publisher) to crazy bitches who like it rough (Bai Ling's occult expert). Was this all just an excuse for Driscoll to have rough sex onscreen with Lysette Anthony and Bai Ling (not at the same time, in case you were wondering) or get some dirty talk from Lysette? "Do you want to put it in my mouth or my cunt" she asks him...can't you just feel the M.R. James influence shining through in dialogue like that.

To add insult to injury, Driscoll sold the YouTube rights to the dreaded 'Watch Movies Now' channel. Best avoided like the plague due to their policy of cutting sex and violence out of movies, presumably in order to make their uploads family friendly and bombard you with the maximum amount of ads. The censorship here manifests itself in 'fogging' out the screen nudity, which results in one (presumably nude) actress being rendered a ghostly, grey mass in-between Driscoll and Bai Ling. An image that inadvertently manages to be more unsettling than any of the dross Driscoll could dream up. If you're a Richard Driscoll fan, there's no hope for you.

 

Bats (2021)

Scott Jeffrey and Rebecca J Matthews make so many movies that it’s hard to keep up with watching all of them, let alone writing them up.  Plots, titles, as well as their fast turnout ethic are in the spirit of 1980s pulp horror novels, with movies like Rats Reborn, Cannibal Troll and Crocodile Vengeance all sounding like adaptations of the type of well thumbed horror paperbacks that you tend to find in second hand bookshops.  Despite that it has taken them until Bats to actually make a movie set in the 1980s.  Mercifully the period setting doesn’t appear to have gone to their heads.  Let’s face it, the world doesn’t need any more 1980s horror pastiches made by people who were probably doing the backstroke in their father’s balls during that decade.  So, it is pleasantly surprising that Bats doesn’t press down as hard as you’d expect on the 1980s nostalgia bandwagon.  The main evidence of Jeffrey and Matthews getting their 1980s groove on here being a mix-tape worthy soundtrack, a few fashion and make-up choices, a plot infused with a touch of Chernobyl era anxiety, and the luxury of a full set of opening credits- remember those? 

It’s the land before texting phones and laptops...aka The Eighties...and the King family return home to their village after years in exile.  A result of the place being declared uninhabitable, after some unspecified nuclear disaster.  Surely there won’t be any problem in returning to a village that was the subject of a nuclear disaster only a few years before, and who wouldn’t be lured back to a place with the oh-so welcoming name ‘Nosferatu Village’.  The bereavement theme running through recent Jeffrey productions like The Rise of the Mummy and Evil Genie extends to Bats as well.  The pre-horror ‘drama bits’ in the film evolving around J&M’s reigning queen of glum facial expressions Megan Purvis, whose character Jamie King is struggling with the sudden death of her boyfriend.  The move back to Nosferatu village also unlocks bad memories for her grandmother Georgie King (Kate Sandison) who is haunted by memories of the people who bought it when things went all Threads in Nosferatu Village.  There is lots of weeping in Bats, which might have been more aptly entitled ‘Night of the Blubbering’.  The cast of this film really could cry you a river.  Megan Purvis scales Harvey Keitel levels of screen wailing, while the actress playing her younger sister seems to be channelling an enraged monkey in a cage when it comes time for her to turn on the waterworks.  Bats also sports Nu-Brit Horror’s regular eccentricities when it comes to put-on American accents and age-blind casting.  Poor Kate Sandison doesn’t look old enough to play the mother of the leather jacket wearing dude, who likewise seems too young to be the father of two grown up girls.  Fortunately the scenes that allow the cast to flex their muscles on the bereavement storyline don’t overstay their welcome, and Bats quickly kicks into horror mode with the appearance of a part bat, part man creature.  A left over from the nuclear disaster, which has somehow remained undetected in the King’s attic all these years. 

The monster costume is hands down the best J&M have had in a long time, imagine the creature in The Blood Beast Terror but actually done right, and Bats benefits from a meaner, darker tone than we’ve come to expect from J&M of late.  This film has no qualms about killing off sympathetic characters without mercy, and while some of J&M’s recent films may have been fairly bloodless, here the pair splash out on some Kensington gore for the bat creature’s vampire like attacks on the King family members.  Purvis’ character is also the recipient of an Evil Dead-esque ‘baptism of blood’, the catalyst for her character going from an emotional wreck to blood splattered hero of the piece, who isn’t above losing a few body parts in order to stay alive.  The gore highlight here though comes when Batty McBatface lets out an almighty shriek, which causes one character’s head to burst open.  A pleasantly, unpleasant 1980s style practical effect. 

I will admit to also deriving amusement from the fact that characters here use a baseball bat to defend themselves from an actual bat –very appropriate- or failing that turn to the well known lethal instrument that is a rolling pin (shades of Carnivore: Werewolf of London going on there).  For a film that is played dead serious there are some ridiculous plot details on display here, I guarantee you’ll laugh your ass off at the revelation that someone has thoughtfully left a Samurai sword behind at a deserted church for the heroine to arm herself with....cheers for that vicar.  I have heard a rumour that the film’s shooting title was ‘Nosferatu Village’ (still used as a location name).  Making you wonder if J&M weren’t hoping to capitalise on news of a Nosferatu remake that was floating around a year or so ago...seemingly an influence on the bald headed, pointy eared, fang toothed look of Batty McBatface.  It feels like they were expecting Nosferatu to be a big thing in 2021.  Of course the Nosferatu remake has failed to come to fruition (the IMDB actually lists two remakes of Nosferatu as currently ‘in production’) presumably explaining why this film ended up forgoing that title in favour of ‘Bats: The Awakening’ and now plain old ‘Bats’.  J&M being able to knock out films so fast that, they now appear to be making imitations of movies that have yet to see the light of day.  Overall, I’d say that Bats is J&M’s most entertaining, successfully realized creature feature since ‘Don’t Speak’.  Oh, and Nosferatu Village....C’mon someone has to use that as a movie title one day.