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Month: February 2023

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Plot: who or what is causing the dead to rise in a sleepy Cornish hamlet?

The house of Hammer could never be accused of not pouring their everything into whatever they were producing. If it has attained any kind of longevity these days it’s because The Plague Of the Zombies was the second in a double feature with the much more high-profile Dracula: Prince of Darkness (1966). While that’s hardly the worst company to be in even Hammer’s secondary features always ooze with charm. The Plague Of the Zombies has the benefit of a lovable cast of reliable second-stringers headlined by one of Hammer’s unsung leading men, the always prim and perfectly groomed André Morell. The Plague Of the Zombies is a delightfully old-fashioned zombie movie and spiritually far closer to, say, something like Zombies of Mora Tau (1957) or Del Tenney’s I Eat Your Skin (1964/1971). As such it was likely the last of its kind before George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968) would immediately and profoundly change the zombie movie as it was understood. Five decades and a half later it’s nigh on unfathomable to grasp what a stark difference these two years make. In good old Hammer tradition The Plague Of the Zombies is overflowing with atmosphere and even without any of their big stars it’s well worth checking out.

Great Britain, 1860. Sir James Forbes (André Morell), a retired doctor and respected medical professor, receives a letter from his friend and former student Dr. Peter Tompson (Brook Williams) who’s currently practicing in a sleepy hamlet in Cornwall. In the letter Tompson explains that his village has been engulfed by a mysterious plague in the last year and that the affliction has claimed the lives of twelve so far. He hopes that his old mentor might be able to shed some light on the disease given his decades of experience and breadth of knowledge. Tompson is married to Alice (Jacqueline Pearce), a good friend of Forbes’ daughter Sylvia (Diane Clare). At Sylvia’s insistence Forbes decides to travel to Cornwall and assist Tompson in investigating and combating the disease any way he can. In the village the Forbes carriage run into a group of mounted fox-hunters and draw the ire of their leader Denver (Alexander Davion, as Alex Davion) when Sylvia misdirects the hunters away from their prey. In town the fox-hunters surround the carriage, threatening life and limb of Sylvia and the chaos and confusion that follows is enough to disrupt a small funeral procession. Denver and his men knock the casket over the guardrail of a bridge spilling its contents, local man John Martinus (Ben Aris) into the water. The man’s brother Tom (Marcus Hammond) blames the Forbeses for Denver’s conduct and assures them that trouble awaits next time they meet. Their acquaintances with the locals made the Forbes hurry to meet the Tompsons. Sir James’ interest in the case is piqued when he lays eyes on young Alice.

Tompson has been unable to conduct any serious investigation into the affliction as the superstitious villagers don’t approve of autopsies and de facto town governor nobleman Squire Clive Hamilton (John Carson) has no intention is issuing him, or anybody else for that matter, the neccessary paperwork. Under the cloak of night the two men of science do what anyone in their position would and take to exhuming the dead Martinus brother themselves. Meanwhile Sylvia sees Alice skulking away in the darkness and decides to follow her. While Sylvia runs afoul of Denver and his gang Sir James and Peter are caught in flagrante delicto by sergeant Swift (Michael Ripper) and arrested for grave-robbing. The doctors are able to convince Swift to postpone proceedings for 48 hours and buy them some time to conduct their investigation. When Alice is found dead the following morning this leads to the arrest of the living Martinus as he’d been spotted where she was last seen alive. Tom explains that he last saw his brother carrying a woman in the woods and Sylvia agrees that the ghoul she saw bore enough of a resemblance to Tom’s deceased brother. Sir James seeks an audience with a local vicar (Roy Royston) to consult his vast library on the occult. From there he deducts that someone must be practicing Haitian Vodou. The next day Hamilton finds an elaborate excuse to procure Sylvia’s blood during Alice’s funeral ceremony and that night she’s summoned to his tin mines. While Peter follows Sylvia and Sir James investigates the squire’s dwelling the men of science conclude that they have identified the perpetrator at the root of the village’s apparent plague of the walking undead.

While he may have not been a Hammer leading man the way Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing were, André Morell was a beloved force in British cinema. Morell debuted in 1938 and crossed paths with Anita Ekberg twice. First in Terence Young's Zarak (1956) (wherein Ekberg did a bellydance that would make Bella Cortez, Nai Bonet and Diana Bastet proud) and then again in the Anglo-American thriller Interpol (1957). He had prominent supporting roles in everything from The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) to Behemoth the Sea Monster (1959), The Hound of the Baskervilles (1959), and the big budget peplum Ben-Hur (1959). For Hammer he was a reliable lead when none of the big names were available and for the company he figured into other John Gilling-directed romps The Shadow of the Cat (1961) and The Mummy's Shroud (1967) but also She (1965) and its sequel. He alternated his horror pulp with prestigious big budget fare as Julius Caesar (1970), Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon (1975), and The First Great Train Robbery (1978). Diane Clare was hardly a screamqueen as such but she had appearead in The Haunting (1963) and Witchcraft (1964). Jacqueline Pearce went on to have a respectable career in television but at this early stage in her career she was nothing more than a Barbara Steele wannabe. John Carson would later star in Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter (1974). Hammer’s secondary features never lacked in charm and The Plague Of the Zombies easily can match itself with The Kiss of the Vampire (1963) from three years before.

The Plague of the Zombies was written by Peter Bryan who had written The Hound of the Baskervilles (1959) and The Brides Of Dracula (1960) for the company as well as The Blood Beast Terror (1968) for Tigon and the piss-poor Herman Cohen-produced prehistoric monster slog Trog (1970) (legendary for its embarrassing drunken performance from Hollywood Golden Age leading lady Joan Crawford). Posthumously Bryan was credited with co-writing the Antonio Margheriti giallo Seven Deaths in the Cat's Eye (1973) along with fellow Hammer alumnus Gilling. As was the money-saving tradition with Hammer by this point this was filmed this back-to-back with The Reptile (1966) allowing them to use many of the same sets, most noticeably the main village set on the back lot at Bray Studios. The score by James Bernard is his typical portent, pompous fare and nothing out of the ordinary as such. The special effects by Les Bowie and Roy Ashton are quite good, especially the ghoulish decayed zombie make-up is remarkable for the decade. Outside of one very obvious night-for-day section during the conclusion at the tin mine this is another Hammer feature that has aged quite gracefully. The costumes and locations are lovely as always and with someone like Morell standing in for Peter Cushing or Christopher Lee their absence isn’t really felt. Diane Clare is homely as Hammer starlets of this decade tended to be (nobody was going to mistake her for, say, Veronica Carlson or Susan Denberg) and the Jacqueline Pearce part could easlly been played by someone like Isobel Black.

What more is this if not a very British take on the Bela Lugosi monochrome horror classic White Zombie (1932)? By 1966 it was painfully clear that Hammer could no longer keep up with the rapidly changing European cinematic landscape and the latest Hollywood productions. The studio that once led to British horror through some of its greatest stylistic victories now had become a relic of a bygone era. In a desperate attempt to stay relevant in the wake of the explosion of erotic vampire horror following Emilio Vieyra's Blood Of the Virgins (1967), Jean Rollin’s The Nude Vampire (1970) and Jess Franco’s Soledad Miranda spectacular Vampyros Lesbos (1971) Hammer did the most logical from what they were famous for. Were before their productions were awash with heaving bosoms and gratuitous cleavage now they spiced up its gothics with an abundance of bare breasts and blood as models (nude and otherwise) took the place of actresses. And yes, this is where Norwegian black metal troublemakers Carpathian Forest took that songtitle for 2001’s “Morbid Fascination of Death” from, eventhough the song in question has no lyrical (or thematic) connection to the movie. For all intents and purposes, The Plague of the Zombies was about the last of its kind before Night of the Living Dead (1968) set the new standard and continental Europe (primarily Italy, and to a lesser degree Spain) dominated the genre by the next decade. As far as enduring legacies go, it’s hardly the worst thing to be remembered by.

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Plot: forty-something and two feisty twenty-year-olds roadtrip around rural France.

The first few directorial features from Joël Séria have an autobiographical slant. His debut Don’t Deliver Us From Evil (1971) was an irreverent coming of age tale loosely based on the 1954 Parker–Hulme murder case in Christchurch, New Zealand. Séria had designed it after his own experiences and rigid Catholic upbringing in the rural environs of provincial France. Before Satánico Pandemónium (1975) and Alucarda (1977) shocked deeply devout Mexican audiences senseless Don’t Deliver Us From Evil (1971) didn’t spare church nor state and was deemed so transgressive, incendiary, and iconoclastic that it was banned domestically on grounds of blasphemy. Even many decades after its original release Don’t Deliver Us From Evil (1971) effortlessly manages to shock. Which brings us to Charlie et ses deux nénettes (or Charlie and His Two Chicks hereafter), or Joël Séria’s soulful contemplation on everything beautiful in life. Whether that is a continental breakfast, a fresh pint of beer, or a half-naked adolescent girl. Before becoming a director Séria was a struggling actor and worked as a street vendor. Charlie and His Two Chicks was his way of reflecting on that phase of his life.

Whereas Don’t Deliver Us From Evil (1971) was unapologetically bleak and oozed with the blackest of contempt Charlie and His Two Chicks goes the exact opposite direction. Only Marie, the Doll (1976) would come close, and even that started out just as lighthearted, and good-natured as this and As the Moon (1977) a year later. Mais non, this is about as far removed from Don’t Deliver Us From Evil (1971) as is possible. Charlie and His Two Chicks is a comedic drama about the small things that make life worth living. Often described as a working class take on Madly (1970) (from and with Alain Delon) or a hippie-free-love riff on Ernst Lubitsch's Design For Living (1933); it wouldn’t be a Séria feature if there wasn’t some social commentary. This time Séria unashamedly examines and questions the establishment and accepted social constructs that force people into positions (social, economic, and otherwise) that they don’t want. Above all else, it opposes the French worker ethic – and that good things come to those who put in the hours, the diligence, and the effort. It rejects the Malthusian Darwinian theory and Protestant ethic of hard work under an exploitative, predatory capitalist system that is nothing more than a social construct to keep its citizenry tired and docile. Instead it oozes with an infectious joie de vivre and posits that the carefree lifestyle does wonders for body, mind, and soul. Perhaps also not unimportant it shows that the average homme quadragénaire without a solid income can land two searingly hot twenty-year-olds in his lap without doing much of anything to warrant it.

Charlie Moret (Serge Sauvion) is a 39-year-old work reluctant and commitment averse vagrant. On the steps of the National Employment Agency somewhere in the Parisian suburbs he strikes up a conversation with two beautiful girls. Guislaine (Jeanne Goupil) and Josyane (Nathalie Drivet) are both are twenty and out of work. The former is a hairstylist and the latter is salesclerk and both want something more out of life than the soul-killing 9-to-5 grind After having spoken to the recruitment consultant (Annie Savarin) on a whim Charlie invites the two chicks to a drink in a nearby café on the sidewalk and continue their conversation there. Guislaine and Josyane are wide-eyed and pretty. They’re ditzy, smiley, giggly, and enthusiast to converse with someone nearly twice their age. The chemistry and connection with Charlie is instantaneous. The drink turns into a dinner date and when the night is over he invites the girls to his home. Instead of sleeping on the couch, they dive straight into bed with him. By the following morning the three comfortably continue their arrangement. Charlie, Guislaine, and Josyane engage in a mutually respectful platonic love triangle. Charlie loves his girls and in him they see the loving father figure they apparently never had.

To make ends meet Charlie and his two chicks become traveling street vendors. Guislaine and Josyane become vital additions and soon the three are making a pretty penny to finance their freewheeling, carefree lifestyle. As they travel from town to town on one such markets the three make their acquaintance with worldly Tony (Jean-Pierre Marielle), a vendor of Chartres cathedral miniatures. Tony is a suave and fast-talking macho who easily insinuates himself into the thus far uncomplicated love triangle. He storms into their cozy little world and sweeps young Josyane hopelessly off her feet with his luxurious trailer and sophistication. After much deliberation and thought Josyane ventures out into the world with Tony leaving Charlie and Guislaine heartbroken and sad. Now with Josyane no longer around Charlie and Guislaine dutifully travel from market to market, and as the seasons change it becomes increasingly clear that they are living next to, and not with, each other. The passion when Josyane was around is no longer there. On their way to Paris Charlie and Guislaine notice an abandoned vehicle on the side of the road. Sitting shivering and crying in the trunk is a destitute Josyane. At long last reunited Charlie et ses deux nénettes reconcile, rekindle their flame, and hit the open road.

Producer Gérard Lebovici originally wanted Jean-Paul Belmondo to star, but when Séria send him a copy of Don’t Deliver Us From Evil (1971) he politely declined. Lebovici left and the project was handed to Albina du Boisrouvray instead. Given the task of replacing Belmondo were Jean-Pierre Marielle and Serge Sauvion. Marielle was a monument in French cinema and his ventures into English-speaking roles are far and few. Dario Argento's Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1971) and Ron Howard’s The Da Vinci Code (2006) (watch for him as the aging and murdered Louvre curator Jacques Saunière) appear to be the better known. Sauvion was mainly a television – and voice actor who regularly could be found on the big screen, but is unknown otherwise. Back again is Séria muse Jeanne Goupil – and what a difference a year makes. Or two as it is in this case. Goupil has blossomed into a stunning young woman, and whatever awkwardness she was plagued with during Don’t Deliver Us From Evil (1971) is wholly and completely absent here. Goupil and Séria would marry in 1975, have a child, and have been together since. The second nénette is Nathalie Drivet who would work with Séria again for the comedy Cookies (1975) and the twisted romance Marie, the Doll (1976). Somehow Goupil and Drivet never ended up working with Jean Rollin.

Like the German comedies from around this time Charlie and His Two Chicks is a very laidback affair. At no point is it in a hurry to tell any sort of story as it freewheels from one scene to the next having Charlie and his two girls either enjoying a good meal or driving to their next stop. While it may not possess the deeply oneiric atmosphere of Faustine and the Beautiful Summer (1972) it concerns itself not much with comedy, and more often than not it’s a contemplation on life, and the small things that make it worthwhile. And that’s really what concerns Charlie and His Two Chicks, the platonic relation between the three leads. For the most part it just wobbles along in a sort of episodic fashion until Jean-Pierre Marielle is introduced. His character is the crux of the feature. In Josyane’s absence Charlie and Guislaine come to the sobering realization that the chemistry and mutual affection is gone when Josyane’s no longer around. It’s a sweet little tale of redemption about three everyday misfits (pariahs in the eyes of “normal” society) who find comfort in each other’s company. Perhaps it would be a stretch to call Charlie and His Two Chicks a fairytale, but it has that magic realism often found in French cinema. It’s not Amélie (2001) but it’s never for a lack of trying. It was to blue-collar France what Rita, Sue and Bob, Too (1987) was to Great Britain.

The most interesting thing about Séria’s career is that he followed the exact opposite trajectory of many of his contemporaries. He started out in horror with Don’t Deliver Us From Evil (1971) and from there gradually ascended into regular, mainstream cinema. Of the Séria canon Charlie and His Two Chicks is, by a wide margin, the most easy-going and accessible up until that point. Only Cookies (1975) and As the Moon (1977) would navigate even further into the mainstream with Marie, the Doll (1976) smackdab in the middle as the prerequisite transitional effort between the two phases. And that’s the strange thing about Joël Séria, he never went on to make either languid, dreamy fluff like Faustine and the Beautiful Summer (1972) nor something resembling a proxy-Jean Rollin fantastique as Girl Slaves Of Morgana Le Fay (1971). In that respect only Marie, the Doll (1976) bordered lightly on said territory. Of course, Séria was smart to ride the wave of German and Italian comedies from around this time, and Charlie and His Two Chicks, Cookies (1975) and As the Moon (1977) fit perfectly within that context. It just makes you wonder what Joël could have done had he followed Don’t Deliver Us From Evil (1971) with a bunch of lesbian vampire flicks to give Jean Rollin some competition or an occult horror in the vein of Erotic Witchcraft (1972) or A Woman Possessed (1975) from Mario Mercier. It could have been the French Blood Of the Virgins (1967) or Vampyres (1974). The world may never know.