#Dr. Philip Hillyer

[filmjunky-99]

t h e t i m e m a c h i n e, 1960 🎬 dir. george pal

'Well, there's one thing I'll say for you, George. You always could tell a good story. Best adventure yarn I've heard for years. You're a truly fine inventor, George!' - bridewell

[oldschoolsciencefiction]

Happy birthday to the late, great Sebastian Cabot. The stately actor’s name is infrequently associated with science fiction but he did have a couple of memorable roles including playing Dr. Philip Hillyer in “The Time Machine” (1960) and Pip in the 1960 Twilight Zone episode “A Nice Place to Visit”.

He was born on this day in 1918.

[johnnymundano]

The House That Dripped Blood (1971)

Directed by Peter Duffell

Screenplay by Robert Bloch

Music by Michael Dress

Country: United Kingdom

Running time: 102 minutes

CAST

"Framework"

John Bennett as Detective Inspector Holloway

John Bryans as A.J. Stoker

John Malcolm as Sergeant Martin

"Method For Murder"

Denholm Elliott as Charles Hillyer

Joanna Dunham as Alice Hillyer

Tom Adams as Richard/Dominic

Robert Lang as Dr. Andrews

"Waxworks"

Peter Cushing as Philip Grayson

Joss Ackland as Neville Rogers

Wolfe Morris as Waxworks Proprietor

"Sweets to the Sweet"

Christopher Lee as John Reid

Nyree Dawn Porter as Ann Norton

Chloe Franks as Jane Reid

Hugh Manning as Mark

Carleton Hobbs as Dr. Bailey

"The Cloak"

Jon Pertwee as Paul Henderson

Ingrid Pitt as Carla Lynde

Geoffrey Bayldon as Theo von Hartmann

Jonathan Lynn as Mr. Petrich

NB: I watched this via the 2019 Second Sight UK Blu-Ray release and the picture is really fantastic (technical term there). So, if you were wondering, now you know; this is the copy to own.

The House That Dripped Blood is a British 1970s anthology horror movie from Amicus, and I make no bones about the fact that I am totally partial to that jam, pal. I grew up watching these movies, from a ridiculously unsuitable age, on Friday and Saturday nights with my mum while dad was down the pub. Their ridiculous delights are fused into my brain by the flame of nostalgia, more thoroughly even than those of ‘70s Jonah Hex comics. (And ‘70s Jonah Hex comics are pretty fused in there too. Tony DeZuniga; he da boy!). You came to the wrong place for impartiality, basically. The House That Dripped Blood is horrortastic.

Putting the lie to the spectacularly enticing title there is no actual blood in The House That Dripped Blood, but there is definitely a house. And it’s around this house that the four fear inducing stories revolve. But every proper portmanteau demands a framing device and so the movie starts with the arrival of uppity Inspector Holloway (John Bennett) who has been dispatched by Scotland Yard to investigate the disappearance of horror movie star Paul Henderson (Jon Pertwee) from The House That Dripped Blood. Obviously the house is never referred to as “The House That Dripped Blood” as that would put prospective tenants off; bit of a real estate tip there for you.

Unlike most police investigations, Bennett’s takes the form of people telling him far-fetched stories about the previous occupants as though this might give him a clue as to Henderson’s fate. It’s an interesting approach to policework. Luckily, Bennett, a copper singularly lacking in ratiocination, at no point even begins to wonder how exactly the people telling him the stories know what happened, since most of the people who could have told them end up dead or insane. The answer would be that these are a bunch of punchy shorts scripted by pulp wonder Robert Bloch and the house is just a big old McGuffin to hang them off. And learning that might be a bit too meta for a common movie plod to handle.

First up is Method for Murder wherein debonair horror author Charles Hillyer (Denholm Elliot) rents the house to get some peace in which to write another of his (apparently terrible) potboilers. Unnervingly Hillyer’s new opus concerning Dominic, a strangler with a bowl haircut and British Teeth©™®, starts to bleed into his reality, and the possibility that he may be losing his mind may not be the worst option on offer. Denholm Elliot (1922 – 1992) was never a star, but he was a fantastic actor all round; his particular forte was a kind of nervy self-assurance constantly on the cusp of crumbling into wild-eyed desperation. The kind of thing it takes a lengthy, poorly constructed sentence to describe in English but in German is probably encompassed by a single word that sounds like someone cheerfully stamping on chicken bones. Elliot’s very good at it, whatever it is, and he gets plenty of chance to demonstrate it here, as Bloch’s plotting turns the screws until he pops. Everyone else is very good, particularly Robert Lang as Dr. Andrews, who is the perfect oily 1970s personification of a psychiatrist. And it would be remiss of me to omit to mention Denholm Elliot’s superb salmon pink shirt. Personally, I find fashion is one of the finest characters in British ‘70s horror movies, and in The House That Dripped Blood fashion is on fine form.

As is soon apparent in Waxworks when Philip Grayson (the always marvellous Peter Cushing) sports a spellbindingly classy cravat and jacket affair. His gobstopper red smoking jacket is also quite special, but it’s the cravat ensemble which carries him through most of the episode and takes the trophy. This eerie creepster is about a retired financier who rents the house to brood while listening to records and looking at a photo of a woman from his past. When he isn’t posing by the weir in a melancholy way Philip walks into town where there are actual shops (this is before the Internet and 10 years of Tory government had reduced the English high street to charity shops, boarded up windows and Gregg’s The Bakers) and finds the world’s most morbid waxworks. Haunted by the display of Salome (who is supposed to look like the lady from his past; you have to take this on trust since the waxwork isn’t exactly life-like) Philip is visited by his old chum Neville (the ever forthright Joss Ackland), who has a penchant for neck scarves that resemble an acid trip made silk. Both men have the woman in common but prefer to elliptically skirt around the troublesome issue and pretend it doesn’t matter anymore; Bloch knows nobody does emotional cowardice quite like the English. Soon Neville meets Salome too and the blokes race each other to the horrific finish. Joss Ackland is great, obviously, but it’s worth noting that, as ever, Cushing puts in a performance far more moving and tragic than the material deserves, and so makes it sting all the more. Fans of ‘70s unconscious misogyny might risk getting all turgid since Waxworks is all about a woman who ruins men’s lives but doesn’t actually feature a real woman. Ultimately though such people will have to go home empty handed as it’s clearly the men doing it to themselves and blaming it on a woman, which is a pretty clever bait and switch by Bloch.

Bloch’s quietly understated intelligence is even better demonstrated by Sweets to the Sweet which looks like it’s about witchcraft but is actually about the damage a lack of love can do to a child. Widower John Reid (Christopher Lee) moves into the house so he can commute to the city and do his business in whatnot and whathaveyou and have his child Jane (Chloe Franks) home-schooled in a controlled environment. Reid is all about control and Christopher Lee is ideally suited to the role, bringing all his not inconsiderable clipped prissiness to bear without totally eliminating Reid’s humanity. Reid loves Jane but he also fears her. But why? (why does he fear her, not why does he love her; c’mon, people, work with me here). It’s a conundrum Jane’s newly appointed teacher Ann Norton (Nyree Dawn Porter) unwisely seeks to solve. Plenty in this one to chew on viz a viz kids, parental responsibility and the need to keep a close eye on candles and razor shavings. Probably enough for a dissertation in fact, but, putting the chalk and elbow patches to one side, it is mostly about witchcraft because that’s spooky fun; no one wants to watch an unvarnished 20 minute segment on the emotional abuse of a child in a horror movie. That’s what Home Alone (1990) is for.

Seeking to send the audience out into the ‘70s night to catch the last bus on a bit of a high, the final terror tale, The Cloak, spoofs about in an enjoyably goofy fashion. Prima-donna horror star Paul Henderson (Jon Pertwee) moves into the house to be near the filming of his new (apparently terrible; probably based on a script by Charles Hillyer) movie. Being a great believer in authenticity and disappointed by the cloak provided by the doddering wardrobe mistress,  Henderson sources a suitably eerie item of attire from Theo von Hartmann (Geoffrey Bayldon), a ridiculously freaky tat shop owner with a suspiciously Teutonic moniker. When wearing the cloak   Henderson’s portrayal of a vampire becomes a little bit too authentic for comfort and he learns a steep lesson in the Hollywood food chain from his comically pneumatic co-star Carla Lynde (Ingrid Pitt). It’s slight stuff but pretty funny with everyone camping it up like a cub scout sleep out will be arriving imminently (camping; tents; scouts; c’mon, folks). I vaguely recall reading that Pertwee claimed the whole movie was supposed to be in this mirthful mode, and that he based his character on co-star Christopher Lee, but didn’t tell Lee (obviously). If I ever get the time to wade through the multitude of extras on the Blu-ray maybe I’ll find confirmation. As it is, watching the movie was pleasure enough for now. But like I said I’m practically marinated in this stuff. Nevertheless I persist in the belief that people who haven’t been knocking about for half a century would still find something to enjoy in The House That Dripped Blood; even if it’s just that cracking picture quality.

[filmjunky-99]

t h e t i m e m a c h i n e, 1960 🎬 dir. george pal