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There's something that suggests world domination in Boris Karloff's first description of his technique to hypnotize young people but this is soon dispelled by a surprising performance in a rather average film. Interestinglyly pieced together, the director tries hard to portray the idea of control which only sometimes works, but nevertheless does get better as the film nears a climax. Predictable in plot but still violent enough to present a challenge to those expect a little more from their Karloff movies. Great just to see Karloff in an argument in a newsagents at the very beginning - not a usual scene from your run-of-the-mill fantasy thrillers!

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...

There will be inevitable comparisons to The Sorcerers and Witchfinder General(from the same director), from personal opinion Witchfinder General is the better film, technically and dramatically but The Sorcerers is the more entertaining one, Witchfinder is very shocking even now(easy to see why it was banned at the time) and while both have great atmosphere The Sorcerers a little more so. The Sorcerers is not the perfect film, but you don't really expect that, the first 10 minutes did come across as gaudy and trashy which will put put anybody off, while Estelle's descent into madness could have taken longer to develop and been less abrupt and the script-while mostly solid- can have a tendency to be turgid and overly silly. The Sorcerers is decently shot and the evocation of the 60s hippie era is effective and accurate. There is a great soundtrack, and the atmosphere is both fun and creepy. The story can have some dull spots but has a good sense of terror, suspense and thrills. Michael Reeves, who died tragically far too early, directs assuredly, while the acting is good by all. Ian Ogilvy, Victor Henry and Susan George hardly disgrace themselves in support, but they are outshone by both Boris Karloff and especially Catherine Lacey. Karloff is very dignified, menacing and adroit, even when not as active and towards the end of his career he still has what made him a good actor in the first place. Lacey overdoes it a tad at times but that doesn't matter at all when she is such fun to watch and is as scary as she is. In conclusion, atmospheric and entertaining, the first 10 minutes are a turn-off but if you stay with it you'll find a film, even with its imperfections, that is much better than it's given credit for. 7/10 Bethany Cox

Anyone even vaguely interested in British horror cinema will be well acquainted with the resume of Michael Reeves. Retrospectively crowned the great white hope who-never-was by genre commentators like Kim Newman and Allan 'Dark Side' Bryce, Reeves' work showed the promise of an English Spielberg. Or possibly just another Peter Sasdy. Unfortunately we'll never know, as his life was truncated by an overdose of sleeping pills. But on the evidence of this film and it's successor,'Witchfinder General', it's clear that he possessed a genuinely cinematic imagination to rival young Steven's. A quality all too rare in British film.

'Witchfinder' is good. Very good. But on balance I prefer this piece. Perhaps that's partly a personal reaction to the rather inflated claims made for Reeves' last film by certain critics, who seek to present it as the work of a suicidal soul-in-torment auteur. C'mon fellas. 'The Sorcerers' is quirky and takes itself slightly too seriously, resulting in a strange, enjoyably naive atmosphere. I particularly enjoy the unique screen presence of Victor Henry, who plays Ian Ogilvy's ginger haired friend Alan. I was saddened to learn (via the ever-educational IMDb) that he was involved in a road traffic accident not too long after making this film, and spent the last 17 years of his short life in a vegetative state. Another potential talent lost.

Ignore the wits who claim that this is a work which dissects and critiques the function and form of cinema itself, etc, etc. These people create subtexts for Pete Walker films in their spare time. Enjoy it simply as a movie where Ian Ogilvy listens to Cliff Richard's 'Out in the country' on his dansette, and then slashes up Susan George with a pair of scissors.

Hey. 'Wired for sound' gets me the same way.

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.