ceolen@humboldt1.com

I saw this stage show when it was broadcast on PBS in 1983. I was involved in local theatre at the time and had seen some pretty incredible stuff out of the Dell Arte Players, but Bill Irwin floored me.

I was most impressed at how a man of his size (he's quite tall and beefy) could fold himself up into a small box without so much as a pause for adjustment and move across the stage at a dead run without even a whisper of sound from his feet if he chose not to make any noise.

Most amazing for me, though, in this performance, was the way he rose to his feet during the jack-in-the-box / marionette piece. Those who saw this show will recall that when he climbed from the box and collapsed to the floor with his body limp and limbs akimbo, he "pulled" himself up by the top of his head as if by a string, and rose not just to his feet, but to a full ballet point—and did it in one fluid, seemingly effortless motion. Just consider the strength, grace, balance and focus such a series of movements must take in order to accomplish them the way he did! Add to his physical prowess his strong and believable characterization skills, and there lies a consummate actor / performer. My jaw dropped at the movement and my heart broke at the portrayal of a puppet who is determined to be more than just a lifeless thing in a box.

As to the unfortunate (yes—"tragic" would be a better word) unavailability of this piece in home media form, I have noticed that much of PBS' works are not available on tape or DVD. Sometimes, PBS shows will be available for direct purchase from them for a limited time immediately following a broadcast, but they seldom stay on the market for long. There are exceptions, of course, but these are mainly the science and history documentaries; rarely does an arts piece remain in print for long—assuming it ever made it into VHS / DVD to begin with. I don't know why this should be so; certainly, PBS could use the income from home media marketing of their shows, but they don't take advantage of it much. This is a shame. There are many things I've watched on PBS that I wish to own, but pieces such as "The Regard of Flight" are, I'm afraid, a one-shot, once in a lifetime treat, never to be repeated on PBS again and never to be available for home media purchase. That really sucks. I'm lucky to have caught it when I did.

Oh, yeah—our local library did get a copy of "The Regard of Flight." And yes—it was stolen.

I saw this film in the seventies on TV, so I, too probably saw the chopped version. I was so impressed by this film, that I've never forgotten it...at least, not the contents. I couldn't remember the title at all, and have spent years trying to find that out. Thanks to IMDb and the message boards, I have at last found the title! Yay! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

One of the things that most impressed me was its visual moodiness. Even the relatively bright sewing room was oppressive—the light cold, and the room cramped. The various hallway scenes made me jumpy—I expected the killer to leap out of the shadows with every advancing step a character would take. There are incidents of false expectation, a characteristic that any good suspense film should have.

One respondant noted how the film was not gory, how the murder action was low key and much off-camera. This film didn't need graphic displays of violence and gore, and I think it's far more effective for having avoided those too-often-used shock stimulants. Much is left to the imagination, and the hidden threat is, to me, much more frightening than those seen in broad daylight.

Lilli Palmer's performance made quite an impression on me. Her large deep-set eyes gave her a penetrating gaze that seemed to cut like a knife, and yet, at the same time they seemed filled with regret, as if she was sorry for the way had to treat the girls. I actually got the impression that, despite her cold disciplinarian-ism and disdain for these girls, some part of her cared for them.

This film may not be to everyone's taste, but I think it's the one of the best of its type. I have always thought that Europeans had a flair for the horror and suspense thriller genres. Sadly, it seems that their touch is not much appreciated in the US. Perhaps this is because, as a relatively secure and comfortable culture with a brief history, we have not suffered the strife and horror which the Europeans have had to endure at their doorstep for centuries. Perhaps if we had 2000 years of war, plague, starvation and oppression, we'd could, as culture, better appreciate the darkness and heaviness of Euro-horror.

I don't know if the version I saw in the 70s was chopped up or not. I would like to see the full original release, so I certainly look forward to the day when a good DVD becomes available here in the US.

When I first saw this film on a local late-night horror movie show, it was the late 1960s and our family hadn't yet purchased a color TV. Growing up with films and TV shows produced and viewed in B&W made me sensitive to the unique qualities of this medium, particularly the way in which it focuses the viewer's attention on the quality and play of light. It is this element of "Matango" which most impressed me—the cold ethereal light of the fog-shrouded forest covered in great lumps of pallid fungus sent a real shiver down my back. Although I had cut my teeth on such midnight horror movies, this one actually stole away my sleep for a couple nights!

Over time I had lost track of this film. The Saturday Night horror show became a thing of the past and no one seemed interested in rebroadcasting these old films. Then very recently, on a lark, I asked our local (independent) video rental place if they had this film in their data base, and Lo! there it was, available on VHS. They ordered it, held it for me, I rented it and prepared to sit down and be scared by it again after a hiatus of over 25 years.

Imagine my surprise to find that the film is in color! In color, it didn't have the same impact at all as it did when I watched it on our B&W TV back home. Quickly, before it got too deep into the story, I changed all the settings on my TV to a nicely balanced black and white, and WOW! There it was, the scariness, the moodiness, the mystery, and the visual subtleties which make it a very nice piece of art.

Really, folks—you gotta see this film in black and white to really appreciate how well it was photographed, lighted, constructed and dressed. This is quite a gem of a film, but one which should have been in black and white to begin with.