Cat People (#2)

My second last title on the Time Out Best 100 List was Jacques Tourneur's 1942 film Cat People.

A Serbian immigrant named Irena (Simone Simon) falls in love with Oliver (Kent Smith) an American businessman, but her belief in an ancestral curse threatens to destroy their union.

This was another great picture from the golden era. Over the course of this list, I've come to realize what an important filmmaker Tourneur really was. He had three titles on the Time Out List – Night of the Demon & I Walked With A Zombie being the other two – and they're all solid. Cat People is wonderfully shot and as with the aforementioned titles, features clever use of shadow throughout.

Kent Smith & Jane Randolph in Cat People.

What especially sets Cat People apart is that it features a female protagonist – and ultimately antagonist – in a genre film, which I can't imagine was common in the fourties. Though, she was of foreign descent, which was common among the “monsters” of the time.

It is largely dialogue driven, but Tourneur also brings some added flair to the proceedings. I'd heard about the bus sequence in Cat People, but had never actually seen it until now. It's an extremely well done set piece and instantly made me wonder if was the first “jumper” committed to film. It didn't take me long to find out that the technical term for a jump scare is actually a 'Lewton Bus' named after Cat People's producer Val Lewton. Learn something new every day! Perhaps bleeding in from RKO Pictures other popular low-budget fare, I found Cat People also had a sizable film noir vibe to it, as well.

The moment before...

I think my only critique was that the ending seemed rather abrupt, if not inevitable. I feel the need to rewatch Paul Schrader's sexed-up version from 1982, just to see how much of the source material was actually kept around. I'm guessing not much. As for Tourneur's version being on the Time Out List? Absolutely. His trio of genre pictures fit together nicely as tales that feature human conflicts, as well as those with the supernatural. All are engrossing and exciting works from a true craftsman.

The Black Cat (#3)

The third last title on my Time Out Best 100 List countdown was Edgar G. Ulmer’s 1934 film The Black Cat. It took some doing, as it was surprisingly difficult to find, but I finally managed to track it down.

Newlyweds Peter (David Manners) & Joan (Julie Bishop) and a mysterious doctor named Werdegast (Bela Lugosi) end up at the manor of Hjalmar Poelzig (Boris Karloff) after their bus crashes. Soon, the couple realize they are caught in the middle of a deadly vendetta between the two men.

The Black Cat is an odd little film. I can certainly see the significance, since this was the first time that genre juggernauts Bela Lugosi & Boris Karloff appeared in the same film together. I can only imagine what a big deal that would’ve been in the thirties – Universal obviously did as they continued pairing them for many years afterwards. I mean, the only thing that even approaches this from our era is perhaps Freddy vs. Jason, and that took over a decade to produce just a single outing.

I was certainly glad to see Karloff in a more dialogue heavy role this time around. Up to this point, I'd only seen him in roles that were either incidental or cursory, like The Old Dark House and 1968's Targets – which, granted, he's super badass in – or sympathetic, like his legendary role as Frankenstein's monster. In The Black Cat, he gets to play a straight up villain. Lugosi is, of course, in top form as well, continuing his hypnotic cadence that made his turn as Dracula so iconic.

Lugosi (left) & Karloff square off in The Black Cat.

I have to say though that I found how little this film resembles the Edgar Allan Poe story it is supposed to be based on rather distracting. I realize the film says it only “suggests” the Poe story, but I was definitely expecting more than just that a black cat happens to walk into frame every once and a while. It was quite baffling. I guess the use of a recognized work to sell an unrelated project is not a new tactic, but silly me, I thought those were more innocent times. But then again, I am talking about a film that involved war criminals, Satan worshippers, torture and implied necrophilia, so maybe it's not so innocent, after all.

Getting back to the cat, I think it gets a raw deal in this picture. The feline in question not only gets called the living embodiment of evil in one scene, but is also skewered with a letter opener in another. Perhaps most peculiar is when Peter later says,

“Strange about the cat. Joan seemed so curiously affected when you killed it.”

Really? I don’t how things were in the thirties, but nowadays chicks tend to frown upon animals being impaled in their presence.

The title character in one of its rare appearances.

At a scant sixty-five minutes, The Black Cat actually manages to feel longer due to a narrative which seems to be pulling in different directions at once. As I said before, I understand the significance but its inclusion on Time Out List seems a little dubious.

I Walked With A Zombie (#4)

The Time Out Best 100 List countdown continues with Jacques Tourneur’s 1943 film I Walked With A Zombie.

A nurse named Betsy (Frances Dee) travels abroad to care for Jessica Holland (Christine Gordon), the catatonic wife of a rich businessman (Tom Conway). Once there, she finds that Jessica’s illness may have a more supernatural cause. Delving into the voodoo culture of the island inhabitants, she seeks to set things right.

This is a solid film. After viewing all these old Universal pictures over the last few years, the thing that has struck me the most is how they evolved over time. Starting with the monster movie character pieces of the thirties, they morphed into more ensemble-based efforts like this one, and later my personal favourite, The Thing From Another World in 1951. I like the rhythm of I Walked With A Zombie and how naturally the exposition is conveyed via dialogue.

Tom Conway & Frances Dee in I Walked With A Zombie.

It was also interesting to see what pre-Romero zombies were like. Before flesh-eating ghouls invaded Pittsburgh, zombies were just mindless slaves, usually controlled by voodoo or black magic. Or as Dr. Maxwell (James Bell) explains in one scene.

“(A zombie is) a ghost, a living dead. And it’s also a drink.”

That made me think of some Nicotero zombies sittin’ around a pool drinking Bloody Marys.

I liked the look of this film, as well. The scene with Betsy and Jessica walking though the cane fields in genuinely creepy, and well, I don’t think I need to say how striking Carrefour (Darby Jones) was in this film. It likely took no work on the part of the cinematographer to make Jones look eight feet tall. It’s a rare talent for an actor to look menacing by doing barely anything at all.

Carrefour (Darby Jones) stands guard.

So, I Walked With A Zombie is another winner, succeeding with straightforward narrative and stark visuals. That’s no easy task with a colourful title like that.

Vampyr (#5)

The next title I watched on the Time Out Best 100 List, was the 1932 German film Vampyr.

A man obsessed with the occult happens upon a small village that is being victimized by a vampire.

Okay, now we’re talking. This is the kind of thing I can get behind.

The film itself is a combination of two short stories from a collection called A Glass Darkly, but there are clearly elements from Dracula here, as well. There was so much going on here visually, with great use of shadow and a host of clever camera tricks.

Danish director Carl Theodor Dreyer gets the most out of his cast, largely made up of non-actors, even though the film employs very little dialogue. Actually, Vampyr feels more like a silent film in execution.

As with my experience a few months ago watching Bergman’s Hour of the Wolf, this is one of those special films that was influenced as much as it was influential. The work of the expressionists of the twenties was clearly not lost on Dreyer, as he adopted the same anything-goes attitude that made their films so striking. It may not be as extreme as something like Luis Buñuel’s Un Chien Andalou – as Vampyr does still possess a linear narrative – but the sentiment is there. On the flipside, I can see much of this film in Hour of the Wolf, as well as the work of the surrealists that would come after him, like David Lynch and Alejandro Jodorowsky.

Even though the Time Out List is flooded with vampire flicks – nine in total – there is definitely a place for this film. It is a feast of visual wonders, made when the technology of film was still being mastered.

The Old Dark House (#6)

I’m getting down to the nitty-gritty of the Time Out Best 100 List now, with only six titles left. By coincidence, all but one of the remaining films were made well before I was born – hell, before my parents were born! – so tracking them down has been a challenge. The latest one to struck from the list was James Whale’s 1932 film The Old Dark House.

Wary travellers seek shelter in a rickety old mansion during a raging storm, but soon find out that the inhabitants may be even more unpredictable than the inclement weather outside.

Whale made The Old Dark House fairly early in his career, releasing it in the four-year period between his two iconic films Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein. I feel this film has a more intimate quality to it. It is largely one location and features copious amounts of animated dialogue, much like a stage play.

We’ve all heard the term “it was a dark and stormy night” and I wonder if The Old Dark House is the film genesis of this byline. Once inside the house though, it turned into fairly standard fare. Apart from some nice flourishes with shadow, I didn’t find there was much going on visually. The house is certainly a wonderful set piece, almost feeling like a character itself at some points, but I can’t say it really came off as menacing.

Boris Karloff & Gloria Stuart in The Old Dark House.

Considering this was the first film that Boris Karloff received top billing, it didn’t really seem like he was given much to do. The few appearances he does make feature no dialogue – which could’ve been fine as we all know just his expressions spoke volumes – and his presence is, for the most part, ineffectual.

I think the most interesting fact about this film is that it was almost lost. When Universal failed to retain the rights, they were picked up by Columbia and the film was basically buried to make way for Bill Castle’s 1963 remake of the same name. It wasn’t until decades later when director Curtis Harrington took it upon himself to track down the only remaining copy that was hidden away in Columbia’s vault.

The Old Dark House is a curious little effort. It was a fun oddity to watch, but didn’t really strike me as something that deserved to be on the list – and certainly not as high as #57. Next up, will be another film from 1932, but from a different corner of the globe.

Horror of Dracula (#7)

The next title I watched on Time Out Best 100 List was Hammer Films 1958 staple Dracula aka Horror of Dracula. I know it may seem odd that I'd never seen this movie, but, when it comes to Hammer, I've always gravitated to the more female-centric titles in their catalogue. Shocking, I know...

This adaptation of Bram Stoker's classic story sees Jonathan Harker (John Van Eyssen) and Dr. Van Helsing (Peter Cushing) battling the evil Count Dracula (Christopher Lee). 

Watching Dracula was a pleasurable experience, but I can't help but feel this is one of the more dated entries on the list. Having said that though, there was plenty of stuff to love. Director Terence Fisher puts his workman-like stamp, that served him so well throughout the fifties and sixties, on the proceedings by beautifully transporting us back to the end of the nineteenth century. Not surprisingly, Cushing is the shit in this film. Much like his performance in Fisher's creature feature Island of Terror eight years later, Cushing  takes charge of the situation and does what needs to be done. 

Peter Cushing as Dr. Van Helsing in Horror of Dracula.

If I had one gripe about the film, it was how little Dracula was actually in it. Lee comes in at the beginning and, after dispatching Harker, steels away for a good chunk of the film. Apart from briefly ravishing a few damsels in distress, we don't see Dracula again until his final confrontation with Van Helsing and his compatriot, Arthur (Michael Gough). I know this was the first in a long line of Dracula films featuring Lee, but considering he is the title character, I figured he'd have more screen time. 

John Van Eyssen (left) as Jonathan Harker & Christopher Lee as Count Dracula.

Hammer Films are a huge part of the horror canon and have inspired countless filmmakers, so I cannot contest the inclusion of Horror of Dracula on the Time Out list. Though I may not value Hammer as highly as some, I fully recognize their artistic importance.

Night of the Demon (#8)

Viewing the next entry on the Time Out Best 100 List, Jacques Tourneur's 1957 film Night of the Demon, turned out to be quite the adventure. It began with a trip to the video store (yes, they still exist) that netted me a copy of a Z-grade eighties flick about a killer Bigfoot which shared the same moniker. I knew almost nothing of Tourneur's film, but the moment this other one flashed onscreen, I knew there had been some egregious error made. So, after a humble exchange, I finally got my hands on the right demon.

While attempting to expose shady cult leader Julian Carswell (Niall MacGinnis), psychologist Dr. John Holden (Dana Andrews) becomes the target of a powerful demon curse. Always the skeptic, Holden dismisses the idea until some inexplicable events begin to convince him otherwise. Aided by the niece of a former victim of the curse, Holden races against time to stop Carswell's evil deeds once and for all.

Night of the Demon is a perfect example of great storytelling. It is a straightforward, dialogue driven and expertly executed tale. The strength of this film is the rivalry between Holden and Carswell. There is a real battle of wits between these two which culminates in a final confrontation on a train car which I absolutely loved. These kinds of exchanges are so rare in film these days and really exemplifies how filmmaking has changed over the last fifty years. It seems nowadays that studios feel there needs to be a grand gesture every ten minutes to keep the audience interested, when they should be concentrating on enthralling us for the nine-minutes and fifty-nine seconds previous and thus making time irrelevant.

MacGinnis (left) & Andrews as Julian Carswell and  Dr. John Holden in Night of the Demon.

Much to my surprise, I almost immediately noticed that this film was the template that director Sam Raimi used for his 2009 horror flick Drag Me To Hell. If you replace the loan officer and gypsy characters with a psychologist and cult leader, you basically have the same story. Even both climaxes take place at a train station. In tone and aesthetic, these two are obviously polar opposites, but I can't believe this comparison wasn't made more often upon Drag Me To Hell's release. This isn't a condemnation you understand, as this type of thing is common practice these days, just an observation.

However, as good as Night of the Demon is, I have to admit being a little disappointed with the actual Demon. It looked rather rudimentary, but it was somewhat offset by the cool-looking smoky visual effect that signalled its appearance. I did a little reading and found out that the creature was later added in against Tourneur's wishes by producer Hal E. Chester. I'm afraid have to side with Tourneur on this one.

The Demon cometh.

There is no question that Night of the Demon should be on the list. All the cornerstones of a great horror story are present and accounted for here. It has solid performances and a sense of dread and immediacy brought on by concise storytelling, rather than bells and whistles.

Hour of the Wolf (#9)

The next title I checked out from the Time Out Best 100 List was Ingmar Bergman’s 1968 film Hour of the Wolf.

Alma (Liv Ullman) relates the story of the ill-fated island vacation with her artist husband Johan (Max Von Sydow).

I’m getting down to the final few titles now and judging by what I have remaining, this process may also act as an informal film school.

Before all the bells and whistles of today, Bergman and filmmakers of his era were of a different breed, using the tools of narrative and inference like master craftsmen. In Hour of the Wolf, Bergman employs an even keel of dread throughout, thus amplifying the effect when he throws something abstract into the mix. I was especially caught off guard at the film's rather abrupt conclusion. It was only on my second viewing, and again hearing some of those early conversations between Johan & Alma, that things became clear. This is one of the strengths of this film, as Bergman is not concerned about spelling out what is and isn't real. He merely tells the story via Ullman's character and leaves it up to you to interpret it however you like. I found the underlying theme of infectious psychosis really intriguing, and surprisingly unique.

Max Von Sydow (left) & Liv Ullman in Hour of the Wolf.

I also find Hour of the Wolf fascinating because it falls in a time period where I can see films from which Bergman drew inspiration, as well as ones that were later influenced by him. Even though my knowledge of pre-sixties horror films is limited, I can see that Bergman’s visual palette may have been drawn from European silent era pictures like Nosferatu and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. I also thought there might have been a whiff of Herk Harvey's Carnival of Souls, but I know not whether Bergman would’ve ever seen that film prior to 1968.

On the flip side, it seems to me that Hour of the Wolf would have been the kind of thing that a young David Lynch would have eaten up. That strange and foreboding conversation between Alma and the old lady with the hat early on in the movie is exactly the kind of exchange we’ve been seeing in Lynch’s work for decades. And that's not even mentioning his penchant for protagonist insanity and symbolism.

See what I mean?

Moving on from that, I was impressed with the naturalistic performances. After growing up seeing Max Von Sydow in countless films - The Exorcist, Dreamscape, Strange Brew and Dune just to name a few – it was cool to see him in one of his earlier roles. Although, even here he still looked like an older gentleman, which makes me wonder if he was ever young. Ullman is also great and reminded me a little of Jessica Chastain, but that could very well have been due to me seeing three of her films that same week.

So, for excelling in simplistic storytelling alone, I can see why Hour of the Wolf is on the list. When you add in the great cast and the dreary look of the film, you have yourself something that really sticks to your bones.

Dead of Night (#10)

In a stroke of good fortune, I was able to strike off another one of the Time Out Best 100 List titles during a recent Laser Blast meet-up. 1945’s Ealing Studios anthology Dead of Night.

I have some issues with Dead of Night’s placement on the list, but let’s first focus on the positives. The wraparound story of Mr. Craig (Mervyn Johns) feeling some serious déjà vu while attending a party at a country house is pretty entertaining. Dead of Night is from the fourties, so it has that classic vibe with the fast, overlapping dialogue that Howard Hawks pioneered. I enjoy that stuff. People seemed so jolly in films back then.

The first few stories of the piece are somewhat glorified anecdotes and I’d say that “Golfing Story” – based on a story by H.G. Wells – feels like the most dated, as it features two men courting a woman who seems completely content (overjoyed in fact) that she has no say in her future. It is no doubt a sign of the times, but it also has a comedic bent that seems out of place among the rest. Once Dead of Night gets into the meat of the picture though, there is some really good stuff to be had.

The film’s strength lies with the pair of stories, “The Haunted Mirror” and “The Ventriloquist’s Dummy”. The former has a storyline that surely would have inspired some future genre scribes like Rod Serling and Richard Matheson and also features a visual flair quite striking for the time. The latter is what I imagine most of the filmmakers’ who vaulted Dead of Night onto the lists’ upper echelon remember, and I have to admit that even some sixty-some years on, it is still pretty creepy. It is the last story in the anthology and ends on a strong note, even if the conclusion of the wraparound is something we have seen countless times since.

Michael Redgrave (right) with Hugo.

After many months of knocking movies off this list, I don’t think I’ve come up across one that I’m in disagreement with… until now. Don’t get me wrong, Dead of Night is a solid film, but number thirty-five? No way! And considering this is only one of two horror anthologies on the list – the other being Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath, which easily earns its spot on artistic merit alone – I can’t justify its place here. In my opinion, it is not even the best British anthology, as I feel Amicus’ 1972 Tales From The Crypt offers more bang for your buck.

There is no question that Dead of Night is influential. It was one of the first films to employ the anthology format (behind 1943's Dr. Terror's House of Horrors and a few earlier German productions) and it gets points for trailblazing, but overall its lofty position on the Time Out List seems inflated to me.

Come And See (#11)

The next film I checked out on the Time Out Best 100 List was Elem Klimov's 1985 film Come and See, a title that just cracked their list at #100.

Set during WWII, a young Byelorussian boy named Flyora (Andrei Konchalovsky) is recruited into the Soviet army and it isn't long before he experiences the many horrors of war.

I knew absolutely nothing about this film going in, which is a rare occurrence. When was the last time you saw a film completely cold? As I watched, I realized that this film was not a horror film, but rather on the list because it was, by design, inherently horrific. Like Time Out List entries Threads and Salo, (#93 and #77 respectively) it depicts humanity at its utmost ugliest.

Come and See is not as well known as most contemporary war films, but it is no less important. It is incredibly raw and shines a light on a particular region that was sandwiched between the Russian and German forces. It was one of the worst places to be during WWII, as either side had free reign to do whatever they wanted to the population caught in the middle of their conflict. Klimov's filmmaking is extraordinary and his liberal use of Steadicam really gives you an on-the-ground sense of this unfortunate time. The narrative is long, meandering and often disorienting, but then again, so was the campaign of which it was documenting.

As I said, Come and See is not a horror film, but I can see why it made the list. This film would've had a profound effect on young filmmakers upon its release. It was 1985 (though while I was viewing it, I would've guessed it was even older), shortly before two seminal American war films, Platoon and Full Metal Jacket, would hit screens.

I don't have much more to say about Come and See. Before watching it, I would've said there were countless horror films that deserved that last spot (Candyman, Session 9 and Cemetary Man to name a few), but now that I have, I can't in good conscience say that it doesn't deserve to be on there.

The Abominable Dr. Phibes (#12)

Now that all of this film festival coverage is behind me, I can get back into knocking off the rest of these Time Out Best 100 List titles. The next one I checked out was Robert Fuest’s 1971 film The Abominable Dr. Phibes.

A police detective (Peter Jeffrey) struggles to find the man responsible for a rash of bizarre murders involving physicians.

This shouldn’t come as any surprise to anyone who has seen this, but The Abominable Dr. Phibes is a gem of a film. There were several things about it that I was really not expecting. It is lavishly colourful and has this strong musical element that really gives the film some pomp and circumstance. It is fantastical and possesses that flamboyant air of an older generation of motion pictures.

It is also fairly restrained in the top half of the picture, using only the aforementioned music and camera to tell the story.  In fact, I believe it is at least a full ten minutes before a single line of dialogue is even spoken.  This falls in line with the great Vincent Price’s performance as well, as you can tell he fully relished this part.  Apart from a few monologues delivered through a speech device, his role is all mannerism. It was a joy to watch.

The film overall is just a fun time. Fuest is able to toe that line between humour and the macabre wonderfully. The deaths, based off the ten plagues of the Old Testament were made for some creative set pieces.

Most of all though, I was just plainly unaware of how influential this film was. I could see so many contemporary films inside The Abominable Dr. Phibes, whether it was Sam Raimi’s design of Darkman or the biblical-inspired serial killings re-appropriated for David Fincher’s Se7en.  Hell, James Wan basically lifted a scene right out of this film for his debut, Saw.

Vincent Price as The Abominable Dr. Phibes.

Out of all the movies that I have watched for the Time Out List, The Abominable Dr. Phibes is definitely one I regret not seeing as a youngster. I feel I would’ve really latched onto this, being that I’ve always been a fan of Ten Little Indians-style fables. The Abominable Dr. Phibes is wildly inventive fare that looks stunning to boot and easily earns its place on the list.

Black Sunday (#13)

The last of the Mario Bava films on the Time Out Best 100 List that I had yet to see was his 1960 debut, Black Sunday.

Black Sunday (aka The Mask of Satan, the original version I watched) tells the story of Princess Asa (Barbara Steele) & Javuto (Arturo Dominici), two evil souls put to death for heresy, attempting to claw their way back to the land of the living on the two-hundredth anniversary of their execution.

Bava had been working in the film business as a cinematographer for many years and had already stepped in as director on a few projects prior to Black Sunday, but this one is considered his official start as a director. As evidenced by the journeyman quality of this picture, he was clearly ready and up to the task.

You may think that a man who became so renowned for his use of colour, would’ve been somewhat limited by black & white, but that was not the case at all. As with his giallo The Girl Who Knew Too Much in 1963, he still manages to do marvelous things with shadow and in camera effects. This film has more of a traditional Gothic narrative to it, seemingly emulating the popular Hammer films of the era, as well as the Universal classics before them. Those sensibilities mixed with Bava’s raw visual flair made for a very interesting hybrid.

Star Barbara Steele holds nothing back, showing us why she was dubbed a Queen of Horror. She does a great job playing two characters that are exact opposites, and I implore you to take your eyes off hers when she is onscreen. I find it sad that this was unfortunately the only time she ever worked with Mario Bava.

Barbara Steele in Black Sunday.

For a film made in 1960, I found it remarkably more gruesome than I expected. Italian horror’s obsession with eye trauma – in addition to Un Chien Andalou of course – can likely be traced back to this film. Apparently, I’m not the only one who noticed the gore, as Black Sunday’s distributor, the iconic American International Pictures, also had several reservations about the content. For its domestic release, a full three minutes was cut from the film, but it has since been fortunately restored in subsequent video releases.

As with Black Sabbath – and most Bava pictures for that matter – there is barely a single scene in Black Sunday that didn’t influence scores of filmmakers. It's certainly not hard to see why the opening sequence, where Steele is violently put to death, was burned into the minds of many an artist.

Black Sabbath (#14)

After a nice little break, I continued on with my viewings of the unseen titles on the Time Out Best 100 List. The two remaining entries to which I’d been most looking forward, were a pair from Italian maestro Mario Bava, Black Sabbath and Black Sunday. Today, I’ll be talking about the former.

Black Sabbath (aka Three Faces of Fear, the original Italian version that I watched) spins three spine-tingling tales in this 1963 anthology hosted by Boris Karloff.

One of the most dependable constants in horror is Mario Bava. He rarely, if ever, disappoints and Black Sabbath is a shining example of that. In Italian genre film, you often get the beautiful visuals of the surreal and interesting, grounded narratives, but rarely in the same picture. You usually get one or the other, but I find that Bava balances the two effortlessly. The structure of Black Sabbath is very well laid out, sandwiching a supernatural story between two contemporary thrillers, involving revenge and greed.

The first story entitled The Telephone, is a wonderfully orchestrated piece of suspense. It features the beautiful and curvy Michelle Mercier terrorized by an unknown caller who seems to know her every move inside her apartment. Likely knowing they were the strongest of the trio, Bava puts the emphasis on the dialogue and performances for this one. However, even with this part being the most reserved visually, it is still gorgeous to look at. I was quite astonished to discover that this segment was apparently the first Italian thriller to be shot in colour. Bava had always been a master of lighting – just a way a shadow falls across a characters face can speak volumes – but I find it amazing that he could become so quickly adept at using colour in this context.

Michelle Mercier in Black Sabbath's The Telephone.

The second part of Black Sabbath is a period piece called The Wurdalak, and is about vampires that feed on the blood of those they loved while they were alive. It stars genre great Boris Karloff as the title character and Mark Damon. Damon, who in addition to his successful acting career, went on to become a legendary producer and is the man we have to thank for introducing Clint Eastwood to Sergio Leone. It is during this story that the visuals and mood kick into another gear. As I've stated before, it is impossible to watch a Bava film and not see something that was subsequently reappropriated by other filmmakers. I wager that director – and coincidentally Best 100 panelist – Guillermo del Toro was a big fan of this film.

Black Sabbath (left) & del Toro's The Devil's Backbone.

Getting back to the use of colour, I have noticed that Bava tends to choose one and then use it to punctuate an entire piece. In 1965's Blood & Black Lace, that colour is red – the crimson mannequins and velvety curtains literally spring from the screen – and in Black Sabbath it is purple, which makes for some breathtaking shots.

The last story, and my favourite, is The Drop of Water. It has a fantastic hook and a wonderful urban legend quality to it. It is the kind of story, involving Jacqueline Pierreux being haunted after stealing from the dead, that you can imagine yourself telling while sitting with friends around a roaring campfire. This story is also the most visual of the three with an antagonist that is the stuff of nightmares. Again, it was hard not to think of how many filmmakers this affected.

Mario Bava's Black Sabbath (1963)

Dario Argento's Suspiria (1977)

James Wan's Insidous (2010)

Not to sound like a broken record, but there can be no overestimating the importance of Bava’s work on modern horror. The Time Out crew were obviously aware of this, as Bava has four titles on the list, tying him with George A. Romero as the most prolific director on there. Check back tomorrow when I share my thoughts on Bava's 1960 debut, Black Sunday.

The Haunting (#15)

As promised, the next film I watched on the Time Out Best 100 Horror List was Robert Wise's 1963 film The Haunting.

Dr. Markway (Richard Johnson) brings a group of people together to aid in his research of Hill House, a remote estate long thought to be haunted. It isn't long after they arrive that strange things start happening.

This is another solid pick from the Time Out crew, as I can't fault anything in this film. I thought the cast was perfectly balanced and each role had just the right amount of characterization. The ringleader Markway is clearly led by his passion to document acutal proof of the paranormal, even if means putting his subjects in jeopardy to do it. The one most at risk is the sensitive and shrewish Eleanor (Julie Harris). She is so desperate to get away from her unhappy existence, that she's willing to do just about anything. Luke (Russ Tamblyn) the heir and eventual owner of the estate, is also along for the ride to make sure nothing happens to his meal ticket. Lastly, and most interesting to me, is the psychic Theodora (Claire Bloom). She has a playful, yet devilish nature and takes an immediate liking to Eleanor.

Claire Bloom (left) & Julie Harris in The Haunting.

I first I thought I was imagining the lesbian overtones, but as the film went on, I could see there was a definite vibe going on. I found this extremely fascinating because in the early sixties, that must have been scandalous. That is, if it was even picked up on at the time. Now, I'm not naïve enough to think that lesbianism in film began in the eighties, just as I was first discovering it on late night TV in films like The Hunger and Desert Hearts, but I couldn't find many references pre-dating Wise's film. I didn't look too thoroughly – I'm not writing a master thesis after all – but I'd wager this has got to be one of the earliest instances in a genre film. Or at least ones that don't involve vampires.

From here I'd like to move onto the most important component of The Haunting; the house. Now, it is not unique that the haunted house be a character unto itself, but I can't say that it has ever been done better. Black & white is the perfect medium here, as I love the way Wise uses shadows in this film.

Bloom, Russ Tamblyn, Harris & Richard Johnson look on.

I say the only shortcoming (of the DVD, not the film) is the sound mix. This is a film that could really lend itself to the 5.1 treatment, but maybe that's not even an option. I suppose depending on how the sound was laid down on the master, it may not even possible to isolate the different sounds. That would be a shame because the bedroom scene with Eleanor & Theo would really rock in surround, as would much of the film.

Unlike with my experience watching Diabolique, I fortunately remembered very little of The Haunting's 1999 counterpart. I only recall who was in it and that the movie collapsed under the weight of its overbearing CG. I'm glad that I hadn't seen the original at that point because I would've been appalled at its falling so short of the mark. Oh well, even thirteen years on, Hollywood has still yet to learn that digital effects are not scary.

The Haunting is a perfect example of the benefits of simplicity and restraint and fully deserves its spot on the Time Out List – at the impressive slot of 17th out of 100 no less! Well, that's another one down. With only fourteen titles left, I'm going to have to start digging deeper.

Les Diaboliques (#16)

The next film I watched on the Time Out Best 100 Horror List, was the 1955 French film noir Les Diaboliques.

An evil headmaster’s wife and mistress conspire to kill him, but the plan goes awry when his body disappears.

My knowledge of films from the fourties & fifties is rather limited, so perhaps the best thing about the Time Out London list is that I’m ingesting a lot of these old silver screen classics.  The minimalist nature of these films is reacquainting me with the fundamentals of filmmaking.  That is not to say that similar minded films do not still exist today, but the type of storytelling utilized in this film is certainly no longer commonplace.

Les Diaboliques - or Diabolique as it known domestically - is a wonderfully crafted thriller.  I can understand why Alfred Hitchcock pursued the rights to this story – director Henri-Georges Clouzot apparently beat him out by mere hours – because it falls right into his oeuvre.  It is a film that is almost entirely dialogue driven and the three main characters are simplistic, yet wholly engaging.  Michel Delasalle (Paul Meurisse) is instantly unlikable and you immediately believe that the two women, who by all accounts should be bitter enemies, would conspire to off him. By herself, the frail and sheepish Christina (Véra Clouzot) would’ve never acted on her impulses, but combined with Nicole’s (Simone Signoret) cool and calculating nature, they become a deadly pair.

Véra Clouzot (left) & Simone Signoret in Diabolique.

In addition to the narrative, I thought the film was visually impressive, as well.  The use of shadow, especially in the last act was highly effective and that shot in the bathroom during the climax was one for the ages. 

I am sad that I spoiled the ending for myself by seeing the 1996 remake when it came out in theatres.  That was during the tail end of my obsession with Sharon Stone, so that’s all I have as an excuse.  I love the closing title card of Diabolique imploring the viewers to keep the ending to themselves

Translation: Don't be a dick and spoil the movie.

Now, as I said, I haven’t seen a lot of films from this era, but this one seemed very risqué.  Seeing Clouzot walk around in a very thin nightgown, coupled with themes of domestic abuse and implied statutory rape were not things I was expecting.  I am aware that the whole essence of film noir was a backlash toward the popular sugarcoated fare of the day, but I was still taken a little aback.

Diabolique is another check mark in the win column for the Time Out List.  What's next on the roster?  Well,  I do believe it will be Robert Wise’s 1963 flick The Haunting.