A Name for Evil

Much has been made of this movie's 'plot', or lack of one. The white horse is just not scary! The hippy scenes are dated and unintentionally humorous (I guess hippies love noodles). It could easily qualify for a Mystery Science Theater 3000 feature. But I really enjoyed the first thirty minutes or so of this movie. I liked the intro, and the photography is great. The dilapitated house in what appears to be the middle of nowhere is one of the more interesting settings I've ever seen in a ghost film. I like the fact that the caretakers wanted it to rot away. If they stayed away from the counter-culture movement and focused soley on telling a ghost story it would have been a better film.

Poor Robert Culp looks utterly bewildered in this strange oddity that never decides just what kind of film it wants to be. The production values are surprisingly strong, and the movie does have some striking visuals that will stick in your head. But the story is just about totally incoherent, with scenes seeming to be missing, scenes that don't seem to serve any purpose, and scenes that just don't make any kind of sense. If you do stick around, you will be rewarded with what just might be one of the most unintentionally funny orgy sequences every put onto film... as well as a frontal nude Culp, which must have made him glad that the movie was first shelved for several years, subsequently barely released to theaters, and only given a small video release on a now-defunct video label.

Perhaps it takes a certain kind of film viewer to appreciate the charms of A Name for Evil. As has been bemoaned by other reviewers, A Name for Evil has a disjointed story, a hippie orgy, and a full frontal sex scene with past his prime Robert Culp. Yet, for some viewers these eccentricities can be strengths. I have seen A Name for Evil twice now. I was not bored either time. The film kept me watching because, on the first viewing, I did not know what to expect next, and on the second viewing, I admired the film's mixtures of styles as a Gothic horror film is given early swinging seventies treatment, from Penthouse Films no less.

According to IMDb, A Name for Evil had a troubled production. It appears to this viewer that certain scenes were not shot, either because of time or because the filmmakers thought certain points were clearer than they were. However, the lack of a linear narrative does lend the film a certain disquieting mood, as the viewer is left almost as confused as Robert Culp's character.

There is a certain type of viewer who occasionally tires of professionally told plots and seeks out films not afraid to go off the rails, a viewer who loves when artiness is wedded to exploitation. All my years of watching Euro-horror, where plots did not matter as long as a scene was moody, surprising, or odd, has turned me into such a viewer. A Name for Evil surprises the viewer. From the opening credits over surreal paintings of twisted figures to the abrupt finale, A Name for Evil keeps the viewer off balance. I also think parts of it are well filmed. For instance, unlike one other reviewer, I find the underwater sex scene moody and hypnotic, having some of the off-kilter quality of Let's Scare Jessica to Death (another film I champion). Obviously, I cannot recommend A Name for Evil to most people, yet I will probably watch the film for a third time.

Like so many movies I've seen recently, A NAME FOR EVIL starts off promisingly but it quickly, and I mean QUICKLY, degenerates into a stunning mess. Once Robert Culp rides that horse and accidentally joins a a bunch of partying hippies who all shed their clothes and have an orgy all over the forest, the film self-destructs, literally. BOOM!!! The whole thing becomes stultifyingly, inexplicably bad. What were they thinking? The ending is the weirdest looking one I've ever seen (the whole moment of Samantha Eggar falling towards the ground). And the scene when Culp makes love under water has to be the worst conceived scene ever put on film. It's 100% fake looking. The film is very short (thank god), which only points out how the folks behind the camera had no idea what they were doing and wanted to end the whole thing fast.

But the odd thing about this seldom seen movie is that the cinematography is stunning. I love this kind of photography. As bad as everything else is in this disaster, I have to give credit to the DP. Had the cinematography been average or just bad, then I think I would qualify A NAME FOR EVIL as one of the worst films ever made.

This is one of those moments when you try to warn people about losing, perhaps, a good deal of their lives to this slopfest. I watched this "movie" last night in AMC, having nothing better to do. Alas, doing nothing would have been actually better, but I was NOT warned.

A Name For Evil starts promising enough, about a bores-out-of-his-skull architect (or something like that) that inherits this wreck of a house, supposedly built during the civil war era. This is supposed to be a haunted house movie, but it suddenly degenerates into somebody's acid trip, when Robert Culp goes out for a walk and jumps into this white horse, goes to a hippie party, gets a blonde chick laid, goes back home, confronts his wife (who believes the guy never left), goes OUT again but this time in his car, goes back to pick up the blond chick, frolic in a pond... then the guy gets back home and kills the wife in a pseudosurrealistic scene, and in comes the credits... uh, forget about the shadows the guy saw at his home, or the tunnel in the basement from where air with enough pneumatic pressure knocks his lantern off his hand...

I know some movie makers in the early 70s experimented a lot, but horror movies are pretty much straightforward affairs, so why in the world did the producers of this stinker see the need to change a well known and tried formula? I mean, gosh, the seventies WAS the decade of The Exorcist and The Omen... I do not know, but I guess the producers needed a good platform for the folksy singer that plays the guitar, accompanied by a full orchestra that happens to be invisible... well, lets say I do not think Mr. Culp remembers this stinker with much nostalgia.