The Bat (1959)
Grade: B-
Stagy-but-serviceable chiller starring Agnes Moorehead as a mystery writer who rents an old mansion, only to end up in the center of a tangled web of murder, money, and Microchiroptera.
The chief villain is the titular Bat, a serial killer whose M.O. of choice is ripping people's throats out with steel claws. Edgy stuff for a mainstream movie in 1959, but it's rendered toothless by the fact that even the film's onscreen killings are totally devoid of blood. When a character has her throat slashed, her neck and dress remain as pristine as the driven snow.
In his role as the genially sinister doctor who lives nearby, Price displays his usual fey elegance, though a couple scenes subtly highlight his imposing stature.
But the real star here is Moorehead, whose sharp-tongued and sharp-witted performance helps to energize material that, truth be told, is roughly comparable to an above-average episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents: still pretty good, but a bit anemic at key moments.
The House on Haunted Hill (1959)
Grade: C
Moderately entertaining potboiler about five people who are selected, seemingly at random, to be locked in for a night with a millionaire (and his wife) in the "haunted" mansion he's renting. Whoever survives until morning gets 10 grand, which is equivalent to over $80k in 2013 dollars.
This should be good, schlocky fun, and to some degree it is. But several of the characters are miscast or otherwise unappealing, especially Elisha Cook Jr.'s one-note performance as the perpetually plastered homeowner, Watson Pritchard (though in fairness, who could do a damn thing with THAT role?).
More damagingly, the plot has holes you could drive a truck through, and on our second viewing that became all too apparent. (How did the rope move? How could either Mr. or Mrs. Loren invite Dr. Trent without arousing the other's suspicion?)
Still, you can't go wrong with Vincent Price as the ghoulishly genteel millionaire, whose relationship with his wife is more poisonous than a bottle of Vampire Bat™ Sleeping Pills.
We particularly enjoyed the dreamy, unfocused look he gets in his eyes while imagining the different ways in which he and his wife might off one another.
The Last Man on Earth (1964)
Grade: D+
This ambitious adaptation of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend has its heart in the right place (so to speak), but winds up being a dreadfully draggy, dreary affair. It'd seem to have everything one could want: a relentlessly grim worldview; long, bleak stretches without dialogue or narration; and an adaption of the book that, we're told, is far more faithful than other versions of the Matheson story.
Plus, of course, it has Vincent Price as our fearless vampire killer, facing an endless stream of undead foes.
And these are things that work well in other movies, but somehow, it never gels here.
Maybe the problem is the film's pacing, or maybe Price really was miscast (as Matheson apparently believed). He doesn't really seem like a man possessed with righteous fire, but more like a vaguely dandyish older gentleman for whom the marauding vampire-zombies are an intrusion on his OCD rituals and evening libations.
In any event, we suspect The Last Man on Earth is one of those films where the idea of having seen it, or (at least) the idea that it exists, is preferable to actually watching it. It's a bit like having children, or at least when your neighbors have children.
Or like when your friend recounts a funny scene from a movie, and you think to yourself "Jeepers, I've gotta see that one, it's sure to be a laff riot!" But when you do, no laughs ensue, and you are blue.
Certain things, after all is said and done, aren't much fun.
No comments:
Post a Comment