Crucible of Horror (1971)

          Made in the UK and originally titled The Corpse, this slow-moving shocker boasts adequate performances and solid production values, as well as imaginative cinematography, but the piece is undercut by a muddled storyline. Ostensibly a Hitchockian thriller about domestic strife leading to patricide and then to unexpected repercussions, the picture features only four major characters. Taking place almost entirely inside the countryside home of a small family, the movie catalogs the indignities that uptight insurance executive Walter Eastwood (Michael Gough) inflicts on his wife, Edith (Yvonne Mitchell), and his teenaged daughter, Jane (Sharon Gurney). Walter physically, psychologically, and verbally torments both women, at one point beating Jane with a switch so badly she’s reduced to tears while red welts decorate most of her body. Standing by, obliviously, is Walter’s adult son, Rupert (Simon Gough), whom Walter has designated to be his professional successor. Eventually, the Eastwood ladies decide enough is enough and kill Walter, but then weird thing start happening. Amid the difficulties of trying to surreptitiously dispose of Walter’s corpse, the women perceive phenomena suggesting Walter’s demise might not be as absolute as they thought

          In principle, this sort of story should work just fine for an atmospheric thriller—witness the 1955 French-cinema classic Diabolique. In practice, however, Crucible of Horror is confusing and tedious. Despite a smattering of shock cuts and theremin solos, very little of consequence occurs in the first half-hour of the picture, and the stiff-upper-lip acting makes everything sterile. Although the filmmakers vainly try to emulate the spooky style of Hammer Films, the storytelling is far too disjointed and off-putting. Thus, when things take a gruesome turn, the wheels come off completely, leading to an ending that makes zero sense. British-horror fans might find some pleasure in the texture of this piece, and Gough (who later found U.S. fame playing Alfred Pennyworth to Michael Keaton’s Bruce Wayne) is a minor light in the British-horror firmament. Those seeking real thrills, however, should search elsewhere.

Crucible of Horror: FUNKY

Trog (1970)

One of the stranger factoids about ’70s cinema is that Hollywood legend Joan Crawford made her final big-screen appearance in a terrible UK-made monster movie. Yes, the iconic actress who won an Oscar for Mildred Pierce (1945) concluded her storied career by costarring with a stuntman wearing one of the silliest creature costumes ever committed to celluloid, and she was denied the option of milking her scenes for camp humor. Trog, which concerns a prehistoric troglodyte who runs amok in modern England after being freed from centuries of imprisonment in underground ice, is played straight—even though the title character’s ensemble consists of furry boots, a loincloth, and an absurd monkey mask that looks less like artistic movie makeup and more like the battered treads of a worn-out tire. Watching Crawford interact with this embarrassing excuse for a monster is stupefying, especially when Crawford plays such ridiculous moments as teaching “Trog” to play fetch. Had this picture been made by some grade-Z American company with insufficient funds, one could have excused the inanity of the content as a casualty of compromised circumstances. Alas, Trog was made by a proper British film company, with decent production values and professional lighting. Therefore, the mind reels trying to imagine how the crew of Trog made it through each day of shooting burdened with the sure knowledge they were manufacturing crap. The film’s story is hackneyed in the extreme—after spelunkers discover Trog in his cave, an anthropologist (Crawford) sedates Trog and takes him to her lab, where she studies the creature whom she believes to be the missing link. Meanwhile, an angry local official (Michael Gough) campaigns to get Trog destroyed. (Because, of course, the world’s scientific community would tolerate the murder of a one-of-a-kind beast easily restrained behind bars.) The rest of the story unfolds by rote, at least for anyone who’s ever seen a monster movie—Trog reveals sensitivity, escapes under dubious circumstances, lashes out in fear, and becomes the target of a manhunt. Through it all, Crawford delivers her stilted lines with earnest severity, sporting an unnatural color of blonde hair and a series of monochromatic pantsuits and schmatas. Her look is only slightly more flattering than that sported by the title character.

Trog: LAME

The Go-Between (1971)

The thorny tale of a collision between a romantic triangle and England’s merciless class system circa the year 1900, The Go-Between is defined by the contributions of Harold Pinter, who adapted the story from a novel by L.P. Hartley. The illustrious playwright known for cryptically menacing works like Betrayal, Pinter also boasts a celebrated screenwriting career mostly comprising gloomy adaptations, whether of his own work or esteemed books. The Go-Between was the third and final literary adaptation he made with posh filmmaker Joseph Losey, and like its predecessors the film is distinguished by deceptively polite dialogue, methodical storytelling, and painfully repressed emotion. The sum effect is not for all tastes (Pinter’s monastically restrained style generally tests my patience, and his work on this film is no exception), but there’s no denying that The Go-Between is a film of rare sophistication. The narrative concerns a working-class teen named Leo, who spends a summer at a lavish estate and becomes embroiled in adults’ romantic intrigue. Wealthy Marion (Julie Christie) is engaged to another member of the ruling class, but she lusts after a local farmer, Ted (Alan Bates). Marion charms Leo into carrying notes through which she and Ted arrange trysts, and the discovery of the illicit relationship damages everyone involved—including Leo, who is so anguished by his complicated feelings toward the beautiful Marion that he makes a bad situation much worse. The central narrative is powerful, but it’s surrounded, intentionally, with assorted emotional subplots that contribute to the film’s statement about the perniciousness of arbitrary divisions between people. As a result, the pacing seems glacial at times and the themes are excruciatingly subtle, even though key performances hit the right notes. Dominic Guard is passably petulant as young Leo, while Christie crisply personifies an insufferably self-indulgent brat, and Bates gives a muscular turn as a simple man doomed by unfortunate attraction. As aristocrats who watch the drama unfold, Edward Fox, Michael Gough, and Oscar nominee Margaret Leighton surround the leading players with chilly elegance masking vile snobbery. Amorous and vicious but still challengingly rarified, The Go-Between is a prime example of Christie’s icy allure.

The Go-Between: GROOVY