Der Todesschrei

And I really do mean 9/10. This film is a superbly made, wonderfully acted, deliberately under-stated fantasy masterpiece. The sense of conviction, of the truth being portrayed even when the paranormal erupts into the world, is unnerving. Yes, the film as a whole is unapologetically high-brow, full of cultural allusions that many will miss (The dry psychoanalytic cracks, the Francis Bacon-inspired compositions, the inversion of Orpheus), but all that can happily be missed without in any way detracting from the film. For those who love metaphysics, the incredible thrill of the possibility of magic, this should not be missed. (The current DVD release, MOST Regrettably, has been sub-optimally re-mixed. However, for those new to the film, it shouldn't matter too much. For those who have, turn that shout up loud!!!)

An inmate (Bates) at a lunatic asylum relates a bizarre tale to a visiting doctor (Curry) during a surreal cricket match between the patients and staff. The story details in flashback, how Bates came between a man (Hurt) who happens to be playing in the match, as a doctor I believe, and his wife (York) who is seen at the beginning and end of the film as a nurse at the asylum.

Man, where's this movie been all my life? Brilliant, absolutely brilliant but mysteriously forgotten British psycho horror flick of the late 70s, that features among everything else, an A-1 cast. It reminds me once again how dumb the Hannibal movies are. Ever get the feeling Anthony Hopkins realizes this too? Watch him sometimes when he thinks the camera isn't on him, he's laughing his butt off. Sorry, if you like disturbing well made horror films, that delve into the subject of madness and perspective vs. reality? You will like this. The old gimmick of Dr. Caligari has been used and abused, but this film plays honest because you know from the outset, that a madman is narrating the story. The film is effective enough, not to have to resort to springing that on you as surprise ending. You know that Bates is in a nuthouse going in, and are reminded of it throughout, but somehow you still forget it, or get confused about it as you get absorbed into the action. And what's even more upsetting is the footage at the asylum doesn't ring true either, if you know what I mean. Again, what is real? You're asking the wrong bloke, I'm sure I don't get it at all, but I love it, and I recommend it unreservedly. Taken from a story by the immortal Robert Graves. A must see!

During a cricket game in the grounds of an asylum, patient Charles Crossley is telling a story to his opposite scorekeeper Robert. He tells of how he came across musician Anthony Fielding outside church one day, and he invited back home for dinner. Over dinner he tells Anthony and his wife Rachael that of his last two decades of living in the Australian outback, where he learned many spells from the aboriginal witch doctors and one being the shout. It can cause instant death when heard. Soon Charles settles into the homestead, where he has Anthony and Rachael under his thumb, as he fears him and she's infatuated by him.

Weird, baffling and truly novel passes through my mind whenever I watch this sedately complex, courageous and alienating late 70's British experimental thriller. The way it has layer upon layer, goes on to ambitiously build a minor and gripping structure, which its inspired psychological strangle hold and mystical air takes shape as to how genuine the pieces are and if they do come together. Does it make sense? Well, it's hard to say what the bigger picture means, but it is indeed curiously haunting, daunting and truly unpredictable. The non-linear story and compact script chips away with plenty of cryptic messages inter-cutting the soft, dream-like touch brought on by director Jerzy Skolimowski. He gives the film such an hypnotic appeal amongst its arty brushes, where its swirling electronic score peaks in the right places and Mick Molloy's sublime framing emits elegant photography work. Those scenes involving the 'shout' are lethal, and only increase to the lurking eeriness created by top-notch sound FX. Visually the film has a powerful, isolated and lush setting that works with the story's spiritual and supernatural journey. The three lead performances are sensational, but it's Alan Bates who dominates the show with his startling and obscure turn as the tramp/patient. John Hurt as the downtrodden turned bewitched composer gives in a stellar performance and Susanna York, as his wife is also great. The talented Tim Curry shows up in a small, but effective role.

Quite an unusual puzzle, which is strangely compelling, unique and very well made.

... interesting one, this. Possibly one of the best films made. Sumptuous music, courtesy of Messrs Banks & Rutherford. Idyllic Devon locations. Hot, liquid afternoons; a game of cricket watched by 'mad' trees, the air punctuated by the cries of peacocks and a terrifying story of a man from the outback, who exercised the right to kill his children and who can kill anyone with the Terror Shout. A man (Alan Bates) who infiltrates the lives of a couple who live in a remote cottage by a rocky coast. A man who takes the wife (Susannah York) as his own property leaving the husband (John Hurt) utterly powerless, until he finds the man's soul trapped in a pebble. The shout itself is extremely well done and it sends shivers down the spine as a maelstrom of noise hits the senses. The ending brings both the story and the the cricket game together in spectacular fashion. At the close of play, you realize you've witnessed a straight horror story that is grounded in mundane reality. Mmmm...

Previous commentators have remarked upon the similarity of the framing story of this film (that reunites the author and star of 'I Claudius') to 'The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari'; but no one yet seems to have noticed the resemblance to Pasolini's 'Teorema', in which Terence Stamp rocks the boat of a bourgeois household with a similar mystical droit du seigneur to that exercised by Alan Bates over a youthful John Hurt's luscious wife Susannah York (who at one point has a remarkably feral nude scene on all fours), despite his unkempt appearance and army greatcoat that recall Davies from 'The Caretaker' more than Bates' earlier saturnine romantic leads.

Most reviewers seem also to be taking this tall tale of bucolic rumpy pumpy with more of a straight face than it's actual makers may have been. But it clearly needs to be seen (and listened to) more than once.