Im Banne des Dr. Monserrat

I was really impressed with Michael Reeves' third (and final, he overdosed shortly thereafter, still only in his mid-20s) film 'Witchfinder-General' so I was really curious to see his previous effort 'The Sorcerers'. It was made on a considerable smaller budget, but it has an interesting concept, good acting and is pretty dark in tone. Horror legend Karloff plays an elderly scientist who has invented a technique which enables his wife (Catherine Lacey) and himself to experience the thoughts and emotions of a young man (Reeves regular Ian Ogilvy). Ogilivy doesn't know they are doing this and eventually loses control of his mind and body after there is a battle of wills between the old couple who are vicariously living through him. The three leads all put in strong performances, and there is a cool swinging 60s background which makes this one a real rough diamond. And keep an eye out for an early appearance by 70s sex symbol Susan George ('Straw Dogs', 'Dirty Mary Crazy Larry'). Recommended to all fans of 60s horror.

A decent low-budget horror-thriller given extra class by the presence of Boris Karloff and Catherine Lacey.Future Saint actor Ian Ogilvy is hypnotised and brainwashed by the above elderly couple into committing increasingly violent acts,as Miss Lacey gradually succumbs to megalomania and madness,while a gentle,stable-minded Boris is left helpless in stopping his wife's crazy actions.

Some of the pop music and the labyrinth Night-Club is interesting,as is the appearance of a young Susan George,whose grisly fate was to repeated in subsequent roles through her film career.Notable also for Victor Henry,a young actor whose promising future was tragically cut short several years later by injuries he suffered in a road accident.He spent the rest of his life in a coma before dying in 1985.

The once great hypnotist Prof Marcus Montserrat has fallen on hard times since being ridiculed by the press. He now lives in a tiny flat with his loyal wife, selling his services in the window of newsagents. His master project of mind control sits without a subject until wife Estelle hits on the idea of offering the mind-control device as some sort of wild new trip to a generally disaffected youth looking for the next thrill. With this they manage to recruit one Mike Roscoe and find that they can influence his actions and also experience the sensations that he is feeling, whether it is washing his hands or the flutter of desire for a young woman. The power of the device demonstrated, Marcus has plans for the direction it will go but Estelle finds the ability to experience youthful sensations again in your young body to be a great gift that she is unwilling to part with so easily.

Everything about this film screams that it will be poor. From the very start we learn that it is dated by throwing in so many "hip" aspects in an attempt to appeal to a younger audience while also being a film late in the life of Boris Karloff where it appears he has selected it because it means most of his scenes are done indoors. The gaudy colour/cinematography doesn't help either and within about ten minutes I could feel my brain writing this review already – dismissing it as a trashy piece of 60's trash, trading on "hip" clichés of youth and music while also alluding to better by having Karloff at the head of the cast. To some extent this first impression is correct because it is very much all of these things but yet it manages to have enough about the central plot to prevent it being a cheap and easy horror film but is something better.

It does this by making the scenes with the Monsterrats the most important and engaging scenes in the film and all the 1960's trimmings and young people remain just that – trimmings. The real battle is occurring within this tiny front room and somehow the two cast members manage to make this work despite spending most of their time pretending to feel stuff or concentrating really hard with their eyes closed. Sure Karloff is the star here and does do good work but the film is stolen by a great turn from Catherine Lacey as his wife Estelle. Her fall into madness is well delivered and she becomes the dark heart to the story, even overpowering Karloff himself. Outside of these two the film is generic young people. Ogilvy does reasonably well to convince at being controlled, Ercy and Henry run around and Sheridan looks drop-dead gorgeous. As director Reeves is guilty of some obvious shots and places but when he is in the flat with just Lacey and Karloff, he does manage to produce a genuinely tense atmosphere that is maintained in that room all the way to the memorable final shot.

The Sorcerers is not a perfect film by any means but it is much better than I thought it would be and much better than all the trimmings suggest it deserves to be. It has dated and is deliberately "hip" but it works thanks to Karloff, Lacey and some genuine tension in the confines of a grotty little flat.

Those commenters who have lamented the invisibility of Michael Reeves's second feature will be glad to know it was networked on Britain's biggest channel, BBC1, on 7 January. "The Sorcerers" is one of the movies that makes one feel a fresh evaluation of Tony Tenser's Tigon (and of Amicus, the other little brother of Hammer in the spooky and gory area) is overdue.

No need to exaggerate the merits of this prentice work by the 23-year-old Great White Forlorn Hope. It has the budget and look of a made-for-television movie (Euston Films, maybe?) and falls somewhere between "Peeping Tom" and "Performance" in its conflation of traditional horror/fantasy and Swinging London elements. The first scene of Karloff sparring with a newsagent recalls Miles Malleson poring over dirty postcards in Michael Powell's masterwork. Ian Ogilvy's eternal triangle in and around a nightclub-- interrupted by the increasingly criminal forays on which he is sent by the mind-controlling Montserrats-- has a touch of James Fox's peregrinations as the hoodlum whose brain is warped by contact with Mick Jagger and Anita Pallenberg.

Like Fox, Ogilvy was a public schoolboy (Eton) here convincingly playing rough trade. His junk shop, cheekily named "The Glory Hole", is in Lisson Grove, not far from the infamous Bayswater pad of "Performance". A comparison of Reeves and Donald Cammell as sceptical observers of the Flower Power era might keep a film studies thesis-writer busy.

However, the film belongs to Karloff and Catherine Lacey, the puppetmasters of mesmerism. Boris, aged 80, is doing his last work in his native land. He is clearly tired and spends most of the runtime sitting or sprawling. He is in his mellow, "Targets" phase: bearded, gaunt, hollow-eyed and lined, that beautifully sepulchral voice still able to veer from sinister implication to moral authority within a few syllables. After a career of kindly spinsters, Miss Lacey must have relished her Grand Guignol, orgasmic turn as the wife who has to dominate her hubby before she can possess a younger male psyche and make Ogilvy into a serial killer.

Connoisseurs of Britflix will enjoy spotting Gerald Campion, the former Billy Bunter of BBC TV, as a queer customer of The Glory Hole; Susan George, junior sexpot, just 17 and already acting like a hardened good time girl; Meier Tzelniker, stalwart of the Yiddish theatre and singer of "Nausea" in "Expresso Bongo", as a café owner; Alf Joint, veteran stuntman, as the repair shop foreman; and Ivor Dean as the archetypal CID man with belted mac and pipe.

It is really astonishing to see how movies from the sixties could get to be very exciting in the horror genre, hardly using any special effects and relying exclusively on the acting of the cast. In this goo die, the old lady really scared me with her eager emotions and the well played desire to live a more dangerous life. Though not really exceptional in one way or the other, the movie creates a very realistic and horrid atmosphere, based upon the simple assumption of mind control. When compared to modern horror movies where bad acting seems to be a basic requirement, the attention is constantly drawn to the tits of the leading, utterly stupid actresses, and the only -supposed to be - scary effect is raised by some fast moving camera shots and horrid gore scenes, this film is a real gem. It furthermore charmed me as a documentary of the sixties, as in a no nonsense style the popular youth culture is shown as it must have been...