This fourth episode in a 12-part 1999 series covering Euro-horror and eroticism looks at the career of José Ramón Larraz. The title of this particular Eurotika! segment refers to Larraz’s place of birth – and place of residence at the time when he was interviewed for the piece.
As a primer for Larraz’ oeuvre, it gives a pretty good overview, even if it doesn’t go into enough detail to satisfy the most ardent fan. However, it features specially recorded interviews with the man himself, as well as friend and collaborator Brian Smedley-Aston and Marianne Morris (of Vampyres (1974) repute).
Marianne Morris as Fran in 1974’s Vampyres (with Murray Brown as Ted)
It’s these chats that form the bulk of the piece, supplemented by unobtrusive voice-over. And there are several clips, mostly from the aforementioned film and while it’s not exhaustive, From Barcelona… is a warm, informative look at a creator who describes himself (rather too modestly) as a “second-rate director”.
The series, by the way was made by Andy Starke and Pete Tombs who, among many other things, currently run the Mondo Macabro DVD/Blu-ray label.
I viewed this as one of the special features on the BFI’s excellent Blu-ray release of Symptoms (1974), probably his best-regarded film – but it’s also available (at the time of writing) here.
What to say about the red-headed stepchild of the Halloween series? Well, quite a lot, really.
I first became aware of it when I caught an article in a copy of Starburst magazine that was lying around at school. It was a short news piece, outlining John Carpenter’s idea to take the series off into a new direction. I was sold.
Now, I wasn’t (technically) old enough to see it at the cinema. I’m not even sure if it was released theatrically in the UK. However, I did catch it one late night on BBC 1, sometime in the mid-80s. From the moment it started, I was hooked. I can even remember my dad’s interest being mildly piqued (he wasn’t normally into this kind of thing).
Director Tommy Lee Wallace is credited as the film’s screenwriter. However, for the greatest part, it’s Nigel Kneale’s baby, albeit that it was rewritten first by Carpenter and then by Wallace.
If you’ve seen Kneale’s Quatermass and the Pit or The Stone Tape, it’s easy to understand his fascination with both science and the supernatural. If you think about it, Carpenter sets up the premise somewhat in Halloween II, when Dr Loomis discovers Myers’ bloody ‘Samhain’ scrawl on a school blackboard. Explaining the phrase, Loomis remarks:
“It’s a Celtic word, Samhain. It means the Lord of the Dead, the end of summer. The Festival of Samhain – October 31st.”
He goes on to say:
“In order to appease the gods, the druid priests held fire rituals. Prisoners of war, criminals, the insane, animals were burned alive in baskets. By observing the way they died, the druids believed they could see omens of the future. Two thousand years later, we’ve come no further. Samhain isn’t evil spirits. It isn’t goblins, ghosts or witches. It’s the unconscious mind. We’re all afraid of the dark inside ourselves.”
So it’s clear that Carpenter was already thinking along these lines, and as a fan of Kneale’s work, he perhaps keyed the writer into the notion of pagan dark magic. Actually, I think it was producer Debra Hill who said that the pitch for the movie was (and I’m paraphrasing): “witchcraft meets the computer age.”
I’m not going to pretend that Halloween III is a grade-A feature film but it does have a lot to offer. For me, it’s far more interesting than the endless retreads featuring Michael Myers. Halloween II is fine. It’s good. I like it quite a bit, but Mikey’s story was rightly intended to end there.
I’ve always been slightly bemused by the constant slamming of Halloween III, and mainly because it doesn’t feature Myers. Do people not read up, even just a little, about a movie before going to see it? Are cinema-goers not up for something a little different? (Rhetorical question.)
The film might have been considered a failure (certainly it was critically mauled) but it made its money back at least five times over at the box office. Of course, it didn’t perform nearly as well as the all-conquering original or even its follow-up, but it wasn’t a flop, even if fan backlash resonated for nearly 30 years after its release.
Anyway, I love Halloween III. I’m not immune to its faults though. I do think Stacey Nelkin is miscast. She doesn’t really bring much to the film, which hurts it a little. Someone a little older, certainly closer in age to Tom Atkins would have made her relationship with him a little more believable. (Yes, in a film where the central premise is fairly unlikely.) To be fair to Nelkin, though, she isn’t given much to play with (other than Atkins, of course. The wily old dog…).
Other than that gripe and certain lapses in logic, Halloween III is a very entertaining movie and one that goes to some very whacky and decidedly dark places.
Dan O’Herlihy is superb as the twinkly Irish patron of sleepy Santa Mira. He gives an acting master class; effortlessly demonstrating how to tackle a B-movie role perfectly. He plays it with absolute commitment – providing a nuanced and eminently watchable performance as the film’s bad guy.
For O’Herlihy’s Conal Cochran, his job has its perks, and while he is clearly dedicated to his rather genocidal endeavour, he’s damn sure he’s going to have some fun in the process. (“Ajoke on the children”, if you will.)
An example: before, during and after the Test Area A scene (which is really quite disturbing), O’Herlihy plays it three ways: wry amusement, implacable seriousness and, then, a kind of weary disgust. It’s written all over his face as if to say: “This is what it’s all about. Not long to go now.”
I love the way all of Cochran’s suited guys are played. These supporting actors are clearly devoted to their respective roles and, with the likes of Dick Warlock in their ranks, they come across as blandly creepy – and rather destructive.
For me, the film is part of a near-perfect trio of Halloween movies produced by Debra Hill and John Carpenter, who were both heavily involved in number III’s gestation and realisation. And the trinity is complete with the peerless Dean Cundey, who weaves his cinematographic witchcraft into every frame.
As director, Tommy Lee Wallace, like Rick Rosenthal and Carpenter before him, does a very good job. He’s certainly got an eye for the story’s visuals elements, using the full extent of the anamorphic lens. A perfect example is the way that he directs the suited assassin as he arrives at the hospital, goes about his business and leaves, often disappearing just out of frame as the camera and Dr Challis try to keep up. Overall, Wallace brings a lot of style to proceedings, even if he’s a little uncertain with the acting at times.
The music is great too, one of my favourite Carpenter soundtracks. There are no obvious ‘hits’ but it’s a lovely, layered and rather melancholy score that enhances the mood of the piece perfectly.
So, Halloween III… it’s my second favourite of the series. It’s behind the original, of course, but it is often the one that I enjoy the most. After this, the Halloween‘franchise’ (rolls eyes at that word) would never be this good, this creative and this much devilish fun again. (Well, not until Halloween (2018), that is…)
One of my very favourite things about John Carpenter is his unabashed love of the cinema of his youth, particularly the films of Howard Hawks. By the time he was studying the medium at USC, he had already gained valuable filmmaking education simply by going to the movies.
His second feature film, Assault on Precinct 13 was essentially his first full-fledged movie; effectively his calling card to Hollywood saying, “Hey, look what I can do with a budget of around $200,000 – come get me!” The film didn’t have that immediate effect, but it wasn’t long before Carpenter became hot property.
Assaultbears the hallmarks of an archetypal Hawks production: disparate characters under siege, cons and law enforcement personnel working together, decisions to be made and drama begetting humour.
Director Howard Hawks on the set of classic siege-based Western, Rio Bravo in the summer of 1958 (with John Wayne, Dean Martin and Ricky Nelson). (In this film, Wayne plays John T Chance, a pseudonym that Carpenter uses as his editor credit for his 1976 movie)
In this urban Western, it’s also possible to detect an evocation – perhaps unconscious – of the thrillers of Don Siegel; the white assassin (Frank Doubleday)’s scoping of random, helpless African Americans, à la Dirty Harry, for instance. There’s even a discernible Lalo Schifrin vibe to Carpenter’s Julie theme.
In their sights – Frank Doubleday in Assault on Precinct 13 and Andrew Robinson in Don Siegel’s Dirty Harry (1971)
The director’s assuredness permeates every facet of the production, allowing the actors to give their very best while working on a tight schedule and with few resources. The main cast is pleasingly diverse: black, white, male, female (not to mention the multi-ethnic street gang). Austin Stoker invests Bishop, a police lieutenant new to his role, with a combination of strength and quiet humour – and the kind of humanity that instantly piques the attention of Darwin Joston’s dangerous jailbird, Napoleon Wilson. Julie Zimmer – all old-time smouldering Hollywood poise – is cool-as-you-like like Leigh, who keeps herself together in terrifying circumstances and isn’t just around to make up the numbers.
After the smoke has cleared – Austin Stoker, Laurie Zimmer and Darwin Joston
Even the non-speaking actors are strong, particularly the main quartet of bad guys; the scene in which they silently assemble their assault rifles in a moving car is compellingly played – and smartly choreographed by Carpenter.
Preparing for an assault on Precinct 13…
The film isn’t perfect, even the director will cheerfully point to its flaws – but none of this matters because everyone brings their ‘A’ game, performers and crew alike (with some of the latter also appearing in front of the camera as unspecified gang members).
Assault on Precinct 13is a thrilling, entertaining slice of exploitation cinema that looks to the past for inspiration, without ever resorting to pastiche.
Dracula’s Daughter picks up straight after the climax of Dracula (1931), which saw Renfield strangled to death and Professor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan) driving a stake through the Count’s heart.
In the seconds since those events, the good professor appears to have undergone a minor name change (he’s now Von Helsing); perhaps this was a half-hearted attempt to distance himself from all those vampire shenanigans.
Renfield (Dwight Fry) – the poor chap’s now lost his life as well as his marbles. Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan) – he’s undergone an emergency change of name. (Dracula – 1931)
It makes sense, then, that the start of the film takes place in Whitby, North Yorkshire, which, oddly enough, seems to be populated entirely by Cockneys, posh Londoners and Americans. It also appears to be within walking distance of England’s capital…
It’s quite odd, you know – when Von Helsing tells the head of Scotland Yard, Sir Basil Humphrey (Gilbert Emery) about things that have only just happened, he does so as if he’s describing incidents that occurred, say, five years ago. Hmmm… (*strokes chin thoughtfully*)
As Dracula’s cold, undead body grows even colder, the fruit of his loins, Countess Marya Zaleska (Gloria Holden), turns up, having hitherto never been seen nor mentioned. Zaleska, by the way, resembles a cross between Siouxsie Sioux (appropriately enough) and Meryl Streep.
Siouxsie Sioux + Meryl Streep = Gloria Holden. No? Well, I guess it’s just me, then…
Zaleska is an interesting character. She doesn’t share her dad’s lust for blood (although she does need it). Instead, she wants to quit the vampire life, get out of the bat race, if you will.
She identifies the perfect person to help her: psychologist Dr Jeffrey Garth (Otto Kruger) but he’s not so keen, despite an initial attraction to the Countess. In any case, he’s in a steady relationship with Janet (Marguerite Churchill), who looks not unlike Taylor Swift. It’s no surprise, then, given both females’ rock-and-pop-music analogues, that they do not and clearly never will get along.
Marguerite Churchill and Taylor Swift – okay, I’m reaching…
Dracula’s Daughterleans far more into vaudeville than its predecessor – right from the get-go, in fact, with EE Clive’s comedy copper. And there’s a lot more of that sort of thing throughout the movie but, happily, it’s all quite amusing (unlike some of the ‘humorous’ routines in the 1931 film). This sequel is also more of a mystery story than an outright horror film, and features some romantic overtones. Actually, it’s surprisingly sensual for a mainstream American film of the 1930s, especially the sexually charged scene featuring Zaleska and poor unfortunate Lili (Nan Grey) – and, later, the near-seduction of a hypnotised Jane by the Countess after the action has decamped to Transylvania. (The subtext of this scene is, as I choose to interpret it: Siouxsie, the goth, telling unconscious prisoner Taylor, the mainstream pop star: “Your brand of music goes against everything I hold sacred; therefore, I am going to take you, body and soul.”
Countess Marya Zaleska (Holden) has designs on Lili (Nan Grey)
I must say, this is a very decent sequel. I think I actually prefer it to the original, which I have quite a few issues with (one example: Bela Lugosi is fine enough but it always bugs me when he puts the emphasis on the word ‘they’ in, ”The children of the night what music they make.” Eh?)
Anyway, Dracula’s Daughter is very professionally made, quite imaginatively directed and features very effective lighting, particularly during the scenes in which Zaleska beguiles her first victim, and Garth hypnotises Lili. I also liked the montage sequence that is used as visual shorthand for a series of media broadcasts requesting information regarding the whereabouts of the abducted Janet.
Admittedly, quite a lot of the film is fairly wonky and I’ve already touched on some examples. Another is the speed with which our heroes get to Transylvania – a country that seems to be stuck in one hell of a time warp, by the way. I’m sure this film isn’t alone in its credulity-stretching depiction of relative cultures, though. Some 36 years later, Marvel Comics, for instance, does very much the same thing in its (rather good) Tomb of Dracula series.
Die! Die! Die! My Darling! – or Fanatic as it was called upon its UK release – is a well-made, well-acted entry in the ‘psycho-biddy’ or ‘hag horror’ movie subgenre. In this instance, the mad old bat is played by theatrical legend Tallulah Bankhead.
This Richard Matheson-scripted, Silvio Narizzano-directed Hammer film follows the formula established in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Basically, take a once hugely famous and beautiful leading lady and get her to menace some poor unfortunate. Bankhead’s Mrs Trefoile is not a million miles away from Bette Davis’ Jane Hudson – and, on occasion, she clutches a teddy bear, an obvious signposting of her arrested development. (Coincidentally, Bankhead turned down the role that reinvented Davis for new audiences in 1962. And the actresses were big friends.)
Mrs Trefoile’s shtick is her absolute piety and her perpetual railing against the permissive, sexualised era that she now finds herself growing old in.
The film’s playful title sequence features gel-lit cat and mouse, hinting at what lies ahead (although it’s not really that kind of movie.)
Although, Die! Die! Die!does start off in light, comic mode – before slowly turning into a gripping ‘captive’ thriller. At first, I was a bit worried that the film was going to become quite tedious, what with Mrs Trefoiles many eulogies to God and so on, but things do pick up.
The small cast is excellent. Bankhead is superb value as the sometimes-charming, mostly deranged spinster. Stefanie Powers is very engaging as the fly that enters the spider’s web, and when things get tough, she handles the drama very well. (And the actress appears to allow herself to be thrown about quite a bit too!) I like her character; she’s resourceful (if frequently thwarted).
Donald Sutherland seems to be having fun in a largely non-speaking role, Yootha Joyce’s Anna is strict yet vulnerable and Peter Vaughan’s Harry is a very menacing character indeed.
During the latter stages of the movie, most of the action takes place in Mrs Trefoil’s basement. Here, there’s some nice use of ‘giallo’ lighting, which provides an eerie atmosphere that perfectly complements the reveal of the old lady’s past.
I came to this movie via its excellent soundtrack (composed by Piero Piccioni) and with the assumption that director-producer Radley Metzger was merely a soft-core pornographer. On the evidence of Camille 2000, however, it would appear that he had higher aspirations than to have his movies play at seedy downtown cinemas. For one thing, the film is beautifully photographed and the shot compositions are well-considered and often extremely arresting. Don’t get me wrong, despite being based, albeit loosely, on Alexandre Dumas (the younger)’s 1848 novel and 1852 play, La Dame aux Camélias, this isn’t ground-breaking drama. However, it is carefully put together; the production design and costuming alone are really quite gorgeous.
The ‘Camille’ of the piece is Marguerite (Danièle Gaubert). Hers is a bourgeois world in which everyone appears to live off some kind of inheritance or the good favours of the super-rich. The sets and locations fully reflect the hedonism and dead-eyed decadence of this milieu and its players. Take Marguerite as an example – this doomed-from-the-start character’s abode is modern and antiseptic, a pop-art paradise lacking any kind of warmth – and a far cry from the history-steeped Rome that we see elsewhere.
Back to the music: Piccioni picks up on the glamour, excitement and exoticism of life among the Roman elite of the late sixties. His main theme reflects the tragedy of Marguerite’s arc and is twisted into different moods as the storyline demands. The soundtrack also has all the lounge sensibilities and grungy sexadelic overtures that one could possibly hope for.
Of interest possibly only to me: Camille 2000features your typical casino scene, more specifically, the game of baccarat. You know, the card game you’ve seen in many a James Bond flick. Anyway, this is the first film I’ve seen that actually made it clear how the game is played.
Footprints on the Moon / Le Orme is hard to categorise, the type of film that will likely provoke adoration and dismay in equal measure.
One thing that I think most will agree on is the way it looks; it’s very well-directed by Luigi Bazzoni and beautifully photographed by Vittorio Storaro. The plot, however…
Alice (Florinda Bolkan) is one of many translators who we see working at a scientific conference concerning the likely state of the world by the year 2000. Unbeknownst to her, she appears to have ‘lost’ two days of her life, which ultimately results in her being fired from her job. Alice can’t reconcile the missing days and seriously starts to doubt her sanity. In the kitchen of her clean-lined, ultra-modern apartment, she notices a torn-up postcard depicting a hotel in a place (a country?) called Garma. Intrigued, it’s not long before she flies out to the location in question to try and uncover what happened during those blank days.
Once Alice arrives in Garma, roughly 20 minutes into the film’s runtime, things become even more surreal. It’s as if she’s in a dream, conscious but not awake and with no control over what is happening. In that sense, it’s not unlike cult late-sixties’ TV show The Prisoner. Things just happen, kind of fall into place without any seeming rhyme or reason. Everyone Alice meets appears to know who she is or, at least, some version of her (who is called Nicole). There’s a young red-headed girl, Paula (Nicoletta Elmi), whom Alice spends quite a lot of time talking too. There’s also a middle-aged lady on a beach called Mrs Helm (Lila Kedrova) and there’s a woman who runs a clothes shop played by Caterino Boratto. While all appear to have knowledge of Alice, she doesn’t know them at all. Then there’s a pleasant – if a little insistent – English chap called Henry (Peter McEnery), whom she regularly bumps into.
Who are all these people? Has she been to Garma before? Or does she, perhaps, have a doppelganger?
The film is all the weirder for the way in which it intersperses footage from what is meant to be an old sci-fi film (featuring Klaus Kinski) that Alice used to enjoy as a kid. What has this got to do with anything? Well, you’ll find out by the film’s end – or will you?
My only real criticism of Le ormeis the text that appears on screen at the climax, which, if true, rather reduces the mystery. However, it could be posited that this is just another layer of obfuscation. After all, ‘they’ would say that, wouldn’t they?
Le orme is very slow-paced but this works in its favour. I could have watched a lot more of Alice’s wandering about and meeting people she’s never met before but who profess to know her.
As I mentioned earlier, the film looks stunning, not least because of the gorgeous Turkish locations that represent the probably mythical Garma. The visuals are matched by Nicola Piovani’s very haunting score while, in the lead role, Bolkan gives an intense performance, making it easy to believe in a woman straddling the thin line between rationality and delirium
I watched the English dub of this (which lapses into Italian or French on occasion). Normally, this isn’t my preferred way of viewing a foreign film but I must say that it’s done pretty well. It sounds to me, too, as though Bolkan ADRs her own voice – Peter McEnery certainly does.
According to this film, Earth is populated entirely by dullards so it doesn’t come as much of a surprise when some flying-saucer-travelling extraterrestrials decide to take over. The trouble is, the aliens are a pretty boring bunch, too. (Bloody hypocrites!) I mean, they are terrible conversationalists – and they walk about as though their bodies are on back to front. And they use what looks like a giant, crumpled-up tissue to control puny human brains. What a bunch of jerks.
Oh well, at least Ray Harryhausen is on hand to provide some (mostly) very stellar effects work, which is very much in evidence during the film’s final act. I bet those saucer attacks must have seemed mighty impressive back in the day. Actually, they manage to stand up pretty well nearly seven decades later. Harryhausen’s efforts aside, there’s very little to be thrilled about.
A Mexican horror film that relies on mood rather than viscera. It concerns four young women who share the same apartment. One of their number, Ofelia (Claudia Islas), learns that she has inherited her recently deceased Aunt Susana (Tamara Garina)’s old house – but there’s one catch, she must look after Bécquer, the dead lady’s beloved cat.
Ofelia very magnanimously invites her three friends to live with her in this new (old) home but at least two of the girls aren’t happy that they have to share it with a cat.
Boo! Personally, I’d make it a stipulation that one or more cats be part of any inheritance.
Anyway, they check the house out; it’s looked after by a stern, somewhat suspicious housekeeper called Sofia (Alicia Palacios), who seems to come as part of the package.
Quite a lot of the film is spent watching nothing very much happening. It’s quite sometime before anything really weird starts occurring. However, if a film is sufficiently well made (which this Carlos Enrique Taboada-directed movie is), I’m more than happy to stick with it.
Things start to go tits-up when Bécquer kills Aurora (Susana Dosamentes)’s pet canary. It’s not long before the pussycat is found dead in the cellar and things start to go truly awry.
Librarian Aurora is stalked in her place of work by what looks like an old lady with a cane (Aunt Susana?). Ofelia later discovers her friend hanging upside down; apparently, her heart stopped (is no one even a little bit suspicious about the hanging upside down bit?). Later, Pilar (Helena Rojo) is pursued around the basement of their house but she manages to get out unscathed. She later falls from the top of the stairs after taking fright at the spectre of Aunt Susana. Marta (Lucía Méndez) is the last to die, stabbed through the chest with two knitting needles (at the start of the film, we see the old woman doing some knitting).
As it turns out, the three dead girls had taken part in beating Bécquer to death, which is why Ofelia survives. That was the deal: Bécquer came with the house and they should have paid him more attention. RIP, Bécquer.
I really liked Más negro que la noche; cats and the macabre always seem to go well together. The film’s well-designed, very atmospheric and assuredly paced. The direction is good, particularly the library scenes, and the gals’ mid-seventies’ outfits and hairstyles are always a joy to behold (the guys, not so much so).
There’s a strong sense of macabre morality at the heart of the screenplay; it’s a story of respect (or lack thereof). If the young ladies had been just a little more gracious in their dealings with Bécquer, they would probably still be alive. It’s kind of neat, too, that Sofia – although set up as some kind of malign presence – is actually a decent person who did try to warn the women at various times. I also liked that the first death took place some distance away from the house, which means that simply moving out wouldn’t have stopped the rest of the cat-murderers from escaping the curse.
One of the oddest things about the movie, though, is the reaction to each death. The surviving girls always seem to be quite unfazed and carry on as if nothing had happened. When only Ofelia and Marta are left, they excitedly decide to have a party!
I honestly think that Ofelia was more upset at the death of Bécquer (which I kind of understand).
Successful fashion model Lynn (Sue Lloyd) and her surgeon husband Sir John (Peter Cushing) attend a swinging London party. Seedy photographer Mike (Anthony Booth) is present and he persuades Lynn to pose for photographs (actually, she doesn’t take much encouragement). Sir John isn’t happy about this impromptu photo shoot, and so he and Mike proceed to tussle. The fracas causes an arc lamp to fall on Lynn’s face, one side of which becomes horribly burned.
Luckily, Sir John is a resourceful chap. After some intensive research, he works out that he can heal the wounds with the aid of a laser and a spare pituitary gland. He has access to the former via his place of work; the latter he is able to procure from the head of a recently deceased young girl, who currently resides in the hospital morgue.
Following surgery, Lynn’s face is restored to its previously unblemished condition. Unfortunately, it’s not too long before the treated skin begins to degrade (corrupt, if you will). Sir John reasons that the pituitary gland needs to come from a freshly deceased young woman so he hooks up with a call girl, whom he murders before removing her head.
Job done. Lynn’s face is soon as good as new.
The relationship between Sir John and Lynn begins to deteriorate. He is starting to feel remorse for his murderous actions, while she has come to rely on the spilling of fresh new blood, which means stopping the flow of the milk of human kindness.
The discomfited couple retreat to their holiday home on the East Sussex coast and it’s not long before Lynn spots the next unwitting pituitary gland donor: a young, seemingly unattached hiker called Terry (Wendy Varnals). They invite her to stay a while with a view to lopping off her head at some point in the near future (without her prior permission, of course). Well, Lynn’s all ready for this but Sir John is seriously starting to waver; he is unable to screw his courage to the sticking place.
Not that it matters because it turns out that Terry is part of a troupe of beatniks that has designs on Sir John and Lynn’s valuables. Sure enough, they soon alight on the holiday getaway. This invasion only serves to tip the balance of Lynn’s fragile mind into the danger zone. It’s not long before she activates the laser, causing her own death and that of Sir John and various bohemian scallywags – and Lynn’s sister (played by Kate O’Mara) and her boyfriend, both of whom turn up late to the ‘party’.
Corruptionis replete with oddities (and I don’t just mean middle-aged David Lodge playing one of the beatniks). The score by Bill McGuffie, for instance, is a strident, jazzy affair that never really matches what’s happening on the screen. This simultaneously nasty and silly film has one trump card, however – Peter Cushing, who can always be relied upon to give his absolute best, even if his heart’s not in it (which I believe was the case with this movie).
Despite its unevenness,Corruption is never less than interesting. The Grindhouse Releasing Blu-ray presentation is especially stellar, revitalising long-faded colours to their 1968 finest; the blue skies above the Seaford coast, the red of Cushing’s holiday shirt and the orange of Varnal’s sweater being prime examples of this welcome restoration.
Elektrical Turbulence 