For a limited time, Universal is offering free streaming of the 1980 horror flick "The Awakening" starring Charlton Heston and Susannah York. 

Together with his assistant Jane, the British archaeologist Matthew Corbeck discovers the intact grave of the Egyptian Queen Kara. The pharaoh ruled as a cruel ruler 3,800 years ago. One prophecy says that whoever finds her grave is doomed. And indeed: Queen Kara returns from the realm of the dead.

BY HANK REINEKE

In the early spring of 1961, shortly following the completion of his work on A.I.P.’s Master of the World - and following a series of lectures regarding “The Enjoyment of Great Art” – Renaissance man Vincent Price was to jet off mid-April for two acting assignments in Rome, Italy. The two productions he had signed onto for producer-writer Ottavio Poggi were Gordon, il Pirata Nero (Gordon, the Black Pirate) and Nefertiti, Regina Del Nile (Nefertiti, Queen of the Nile). The former film – arguably the better of the two - was belatedly released in the U.S. in June 1963 under the title Rage of the Buccaneers. The film was distributed regionally in the U.S. with neither fanfare nor critical attention.

Rage of the Buccaneers would first appear on the drive-in circuit as the odd undercard to such films as Broccoli and Saltzman’s Bob Hope/Anita Ekberg comedy Call Me Bwana. Rage was later paired, a bit more sensibly, with The Playgirls and the Vampire, an Italian-horror production mostly recalled by old-school monster movie fans and admirers of voluptuous continental on-screen beauties. The weak-tea newspaper campaign in the U.S. for Rage of the Buccaneers could have hardly been helpful in exciting foot traffic into neighborhood cinemas. Though the posters for the U.S. release promised Furious Action! Passionate Love!, the accompanying newspaper adverts offered the far less sensational promise of Excitement plus… Emotional Turbulence. Emotional Turbulence? Meh.

In truth, Rage of the Buccaneers would be dimly recalled, if at all, by U.S. movie fans due to it popping up on television as 1964 drew to a close. In early November of 1964 it was announced - with some degree of ballyhoo - that the NBC network had acquired no fewer than eight post-1960 “first-run” films for television distribution. But even the network’s big newspaper announcement was late out of the starting block. Rage of the Buccaneers had already been televised by several NBC affiliates as early as September 1964.

Several essays and film books would note that Price’s latter ill-fated Italian film, Nefertiti, Queen of the Nile would not actually see a theatrical release in the U.S. market. This is actually untrue. The film had the briefest of runs – as a second feature in support of the Buddy Ebsen comedy Mail Order Bride - at a drive-in theater outside of Phoenix, AZ in March 1964. The film then seemingly disappeared from movie screens - both big and small - until it was picked up as a late-night television programmer in 1966. Shortly thereafter, Nefertiti too fell pretty much off the face of the planet, at least as far as U.S. audiences were concerned.

Then, in 1985, with the home video boom in the ascendant, Nefertiti, Queen of the Nile was briefly resurrected as a “big box” VHS cassette release in the U.S. on the Force Video label. In the UK, there were at least two video cassette releases of Gordon, il Pirata Nero, first as The Black Pirate (Apex Video) and later as Gordon, The Black Pirate (Midas Video). As far as I’m aware, these are the only three editions of these two obscure Vincent Price films to be officially released on the English-speaking home video market, though there are bootlegs circulating of both films. I only dredge up this old history in the, perhaps, overly optimistic hope that Kino Lorber might make note of these glaring deficiencies in their own burgeoning catalog of Vincent Price home video offerings.

In any case, Price’s second professional visit to Italy would prove to be more successful. In January of 1963, Hollywood scene gossip columnists reported that Price would celebrate the New Year by preparing a return to Italy for a “Halloween release of his next horror movie, The Last Man on Earth.” The film was to be based on the novel I am Legend by Richard Matheson. Matheson’s novel, the author’s first, was published in August of 1954 by Fawcett Gold Medal books. It was a slim paperback of one-hundred and sixty pages, but Matheson was no amateur writer, having previously published a score of science-fiction-based short stories in magazines and anthologies.

Matheson’s novel was optioned by Britain’s Hammer Films in 1957, that studio even commissioning the author to write a screenplay for a proposed production. The problem was that the British censor board found Matheson’s screenplay unrelentingly grim and violent, warning should any production be mounted, there was little chance that the film would pass code. So a wary Anthony Hinds at Hammer chose to sell the rights of Matheson’s screenplay to American producer and cinema theater chain owner Robert L. Lippert (Curse of the Fly). Lippert subsequently engaged Price to star in the project, traveling to Rome in late summer of 1962 to arrange crew and casting of the film’s Italian supporting players.

Matheson’s I am Legend recounts the final years of Robert Neville, one of the few survivors of a pandemic turned plague that killed off most of the earth’s population. The rub is that while those afflicted remained technically dead, they retained mobility. Neville goes to great lengths to investigate why the “undead” have transformed into bacillus vampires of a sort: they drink blood and avoid the rays of the sun much as did the Gothic and folkloric vampires of yore did. But otherwise they remained mostly human in appearance save for a decided graveyard pallor.

Neville (renamed Robert Morgan in the film) is a reluctant, modern day, post-apocalyptic Van Helsing. He has chosen to actively seek out and confront the vampire hordes. He really has no other choice as, much to his disdain, he’s under near-constant assault by them. Matheson’s book is an undeniably grim one with an equally fatalistic ending, but his slim volume would go on to influence countless filmmakers and aspiring science-fiction writers in years following publication. In manner of tone and presentation, it’s reasonable to say that George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead was highly and undeniably influenced by The Last Man on Earth.

Price wasn’t terribly excited to travel to Italy in the grim winter season of 1963, but the offer to visit Rome would give the actor the opportunity to canvas galleries and antique stores in search of artworks. In June of 1962 it was announced that Price had entered into his semi-famous partnership with the Sears, Roebuck & Co. to search out art that could be consigned and sold as lithographs through the department store chain. This interest in art was a lifelong passion of the actor’s and he had already been collecting artworks for Sears a month prior to the official press release of their collaboration. The actor told columnist Bob Thomas that his searching out the Vincent Price Collection for Sears had already resulted in a “whirl” of activity, and that he’d already “bought 1,700 paintings and etchings: I’ve got to have 2,500 before the sale starts.”

By Mid-January of 1963 Price was already in Europe, first visiting Paris before traveling on to Rome to begin filming. In the space of three days and visits to the galleries and artist studios of the City of Lights, Price offered that he had already purchased one hundred and fifty paintings that he thought Sears could sell for $300 or less back in the U.S. Columnist Doris Sanders noted that Price had already admitted dropping four thousand U.S. dollars on the very first day of his Parisian shopping spree. It was also noted that the artists Price approached were appreciably happy as the actor – funded by his corporate sponsor - always chose to pay cash up-front.

BY HANK REINEKE

There’s a telling moment at the dénouement of Thomas Hamilton’s and Ron MacCloskey’s affectionate documentary Boris Karloff: The Man behind the Monster. Sara Karloff, the now eighty-two year old daughter of the beloved actor, opines that her father’s lasting cinematic legacy is due, in part, to the tenaciousness of his devoted fan base. It’s a demographic that we soon discover consists of a number of amazingly creative people: folks whose loyalty to and enthusiasm for Karloff’s work has not wavered over the decades. Sara’s contention is inarguably true. As this ninety-nine minute Voltage Films/Abramorama documentary (presented by Shout! Studios) unspools – crisply narrated by Paul Ryan and featuring commentary by preeminent Karloff scholar and “Biographical Consultant” Stephen Jacobs - we discover the actor’s admirer’s bridge several generations of fans and filmmakers.

The first generation to discover Karloff in the decades following his big splash as the Frankenstein monster in 1931, include directors Roger Corman and Peter Bogdanovich. Both men would have the opportunity and honor to work with the actor in his twilight years. The second generation of admirers were those introduced to Karloff via neighborhood cinema screenings or through television broadcasts of Shock Theater in the late 1950s/early 1960s.

These filmmakers, profoundly influenced by Karloff’s art, would go on to create a few cinematic gems of their own: John Landis, Joe Dante, and Guillermo Del Toro, to name a few. The latter gentleman is particularly effusive in his praise, describing Karloff’s performance as the vampiric Wurdalak in Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath as a “tremendous” example of the great actor’s “physical presence, his majesty, his demonic power.”

If the documentary is chock-full of talented filmmakers offering tributes, the film is also supported by the erudite commentaries of film scholars David J. Skal (The Monster Show: a Cultural History of Horror), Gregory W. Mank (Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff: the Expanded Story of a Haunting Collaboration), Donald F. Glut (The Frankenstein Legend: a tribute to Mary Shelley and Boris Karloff), Sir Christopher Frayling (Frankenstein: the first Two Hundred Years), and critic Leonard Maltin.

There are also short tributes and reminisces by several actors – three now gone - who had worked with Karloff at some point in their career: Dick Miller (The Terror), Christopher Plummer (The Lark, Even the Weariest River), Ian Ogilvy (The Sorcerers), and Orson Bean (Arsenic and Old Lace). Karloff’s tells part of his own story through audio recordings made available to the filmmakers courtesy of the British cinema historian/author Kevin Brownlow (The Parades Gone By…) and the Pacifica Radio Archive.

It has long annoyed me that when one searches out the term “Boris Karloff” in the ever-expanding IMDB, the resulting prompt identifies the actor’s signature film as The Grinch that Stole Christmas (1966). My daughters would remind me that my personal agitation of this result is, by definition, a “first world” problem, one hardly worthy of condemnation. But as cinema’s preeminent boogeyman for four decades, seeing Karloff’s storied career reduced to a role featuring only his disembodied voice as the Grinch… Well, let’s just say that I still find it somewhat misleading and inappropriate.

Be that as it may, Hamilton’s film reminds Karloff himself might disagree with my wariness of the Grinch being bandied as the cinematic crown jewel of the actor’s legacy. Sara Karloff recalls receiving a phone call from her father immediately following his recording of the narration for that beloved Dr. Seuss vehicle. The actor we learn was profoundly happy with his work on the now-famous animated holiday classic, telling his daughter proudly, “I’ve done something which I think is pretty good.”

Karloff would pass away a couple of years following the first broadcast of The Grinch that Stole Christmas, but he worked to the very end of his days, appearing in a number of memorable – and a few less-than-memorable – films, several of which would see release in years following his passing. His last films were little more than cameo-length appearances shot on a Hollywood sound stage. It was director Jack Hill’s idea to take the Karloff footage from these shoots and blend the results into a series of Mexican horror films. Karloff, rightly and proudly, would choose to refer to his spell-binding turn as the semi-autobiographical aging horror film actor Byron Orlok in Bogdanovich’s Targets (1968) as his feature film swan song. Technically, it wasn’t. But the brief appearances in that post- Target series of Hollywood-Mexico co-production mash-ups were mostly an excuse for an old pro to continue to ply his trade and keep busy. But working oxygen-tank dependent and wheelchair bound on the Jack Hill-directed sequences, Karloff was prevented from doing much of anything with the already somewhat cut-and-paste material given to him.

Karloff, of course, was not the only “horror film” star of the genre’s celebrated Golden Age of the 1930s and 40s. Karloff, we learn, was actually not happy with the designation “horror movie”, much preferring his films to be termed as “thrillers.” His contemporary competitor as grand ghoul of the horror film - one whose own legacy would burn bright into the next century - was Bela Lugosi. Although Lugosi had too often played second-fiddle to Karloff in matters of employment and billing, the Hungarian’s post-mortem fame may have eclipsed his friend’s over the last several decades.

For starters, Lugosi’s sad and lurid dependency on morphine and alcohol in his final years made him the subject of tabloid fodder, and gossip then – and now – still rules. Lugosi’s slow demise coupled with his appearances in several of Edward J. Wood’s revered cult films brought him a big degree of post-mortem fame. A brand new generation would discover the actor through Martin Landau’s Oscar-winning turn as Lugosi in Tim Burton’s semi-biographical drama Ed Wood.

To be fair, Lugosi’s string of mad performances in Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957), Bride of the Monster (1955), and Glen or Glenda (1953) are, in many ways, were no less better or worse or more undistinguished than Karloff’s walk-ons in the creaky Jack Hill/Mexi-horror films of spring 1968. Though both sets of films are passably entertaining in their own uneven, cult-ish ways, both actor’s cinematic exits were ignoble ends to these two great men who famously made audiences shiver in 1931.

James Whale’s Frankenstein would ultimately transform Karloff into a full-fledged movie star, but it had been a long road to achieving such fame. The actor had been working on various Hollywood backlots since the silent era. In the course of his earliest silent film efforts – beginning with such titles as The Lightning Raider (1919) and His Majesty, the American (1919) – he worked as little more than an extra. His subsequent fame would cause a score of budding film historians to carefully survey battered old prints of Karloff’s earliest filmography in the often futile hope of catching a glimpse as he passed by the camera.

In truth, his decade-long career as a silent film actor was mostly non consequential. He would appear in approximately sixty or so silent films between 1919 and 1929. He would, on occasion, be gifted a role of some heft, most notably as that of “The Mesmerist” in The Bells (1926) opposite Lionel Barrymore, but he was most often cast in adventure-orientated serials as a heavy, or as a Hindu, Mexican or an Arab, a mystic or a general ne’er-do-well.

It was his casting as the sadistic “Galloway” in Howard Hawk’s sound prison drama The Criminal Code (1930) that brought him to the attention of Universal executives looking to cast a suitably cadaverous-appearing actor as the Frankenstein monster. Following Lugosi’s rejection of the part due to the absence of dialogue afforded, Bela’s pass on the role was fortuitous for Karloff. He was still hungry and looking for that big break. Although the role of the monster would forever typecast him, the actor remained forever grateful for having taking the role in Frankenstein, once describing the career door-opening creature as “the best friend I ever had.”

It’s not hard to see why Karloff’s portrayal of the monster remains the preeminent of the Universal series. He was, after all, the only actor to have been given the opportunity to actually act and emote, to bring a sense of pathos to the role. He was abetted, of course, by Jack Pierce’s iconic make-up which, rather than masking, cannily sculpted and made highlight of Karloff’s facial features and sunken cheeks. This gave the monster, according to one of the participants in the documentary, a “full expression range.” The trio of actors who would subsequently portray the monster in the Universal series simply weren’t given the opportunity to apply any emotive effect of their own. Even by Son of Frankenstein (1939), the third film in the series, the screenwriters had already reduced the monster into little more than a hulking, lumbering menace and henchman.

It is discouraging to learn that when Frankenstein had its gala premiere in the autumn of 1931, Karloff was not even invited to attend. He was already forty-four years of age when he assumed the role, a no-name celebrity and hardly a handsome matinee idol of any recognition. The unexpected phenomenal success of Frankenstein would change all that, and Universal was quick to capitalize on the actor’s sudden notoriety as Hollywood’s most beloved boogeyman. Karloff’s natural proclivity for taking on roles of menacing villainous characters with icy stares would allow his casting into a string of Golden Age horror classics – not only for Universal but for other studios as well, including memorable turn in MGM’s The Mask of Fu Manchu. The latter remains a great, entertaining film… if undeniably one of the most politically-incorrect lavish big studio productions of the 1930s.

When the market for horror films softened in the mid-1940s – thanks, in part, due to the horror genre’s continuing perceived transgressions of the Hays Code - Karloff easily transitioned to character roles, where, according to his daughter, her father’s natural “dark coloring,” permitted him to slip easily into “ethnic roles.” As one of the founders of the Screen Actors Guild, he was able to exercise his freelance status by working for, amongst others, RKO, Columbia, Monogram, and Warner Bros.

Another avenue of opportunity had presented itself around this same time. In 1941 Karloff was lured, against his better judgement according to this film, to take on the Broadway role of the villainous Jonathan Brewster in Joseph L. Kesselring’s stage play Arsenic and Old Lace. It was to his life-long disappointment that a clause in his theatrical stage contract prevented his returning to Hollywood – as did several fellow members of the original Broadway cast – to reprise the role for the much beloved Frank Capra film adaptation of 1944.

Though initially frightened to work in theatre before a live audience, the success of Arsenic emboldened Karloff to accept several other roles in such Broadway productions as The Lark (with Julie Harris), The Linden Tree, The Shop at Sly Corner, and even in a memorable turn as Captain Hook in a 1950 production of Peter Pan. Fortunately, we of a certain age who missed out still can get a small taste of what we missed since kinescopes survive from early Hallmark Hall of Fame broadcasts of the original production of The Lark and a 1961 re-staging of Arsenic and Old Lace.

Though Karloff’s work in radio is mostly ignored in this documentary, the film does take pains to point out that he was among the first movie stars of his generation to fully embrace television. Though he would often appear in serious television dramas for such programs as Texaco Star Theater or Playhouse 90, he was not above spoofing his own curious fame as Hollywood’s grandest ghoul on any number of variety programs hosted by the likes of Red Skelton or Dinah Shore.

In the 1960s, he would famously host (and occasionally act) in episodes of the television program Thriller, or appear in drag as “Mother Muffin” in an episode of The Girl from U.N.C.L.E – or with former U.N.C.L.E. agent Robert Vaughn in the spy-film The Venetian Affair (1966). Joe Dante also references the series of wonderful long-playing albums Karloff would record over the years, his unmistakable, lisping voice introducing children to a wonderful selection of folk tales, ghost stories, Washington Irving classics, and time-worn fables.

Karloff's late career guest star appearance in "The Girl from U.N.C.L.E." as Mother Muffin, opposite Stefanie Powers and Robert Vaughn.

Boris Karloff: the Man behind the Monster reminds us that the actor (1887-1969) accomplished a lot in his eighty-one-years, a large percentage of which would encompass appearances on screen, on stage, on air, on record, and on television. To their credit, the filmmakers share what they can in the constraint of the film’ ninety-nine minute running time, and the film certainly succeeds as an excellent primer. Karloff wonks like myself might hold out hope that a multi-part, Ken Burns-style series might someday be put into the works, but I imagine that’s unlikely. One hundred and thirty four years have passed since Karloff’s birth. The fact that contemporary audiences remain completely entranced by his filmography in 2021 is testament enough to the worthiness of this loving tribute painting him as one of Hollywood’s greatest.

For details about how to view the film, click here.

CELEBRATE NINE DECADES OF YOUR FAVORITE MONSTERS ON 4K FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME IN COLLECTIBLE PACKAGING

AVAILABLE ON 4K, BLU-RAYâ„¢ AND DIGITAL ON OCTOBER 5, 2021

FROM UNIVERSAL PICTURES HOME ENTERTAINMENT

SYNOPSIS: From the era of silent movies through present day, Universal Pictures has been regarded as the home of the monsters. Universal Classic Monsters Icons of Horror Collection showcases four of the most iconic monsters in motion picture history including Dracula, Frankenstein, The Invisible Man and The Wolf Man. Starring Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Lon Chaney Jr. and Claude Rains in the roles that they made famous, these original films set the standard for a new horror genre with revolutionary makeup, mood-altering cinematography and groundbreaking special effects.

CLASSIC MONSTER FILMS INCLUDED:

• Dracula (90th Anniversary)

• Frankenstein (90th Anniversary)

• The Invisible Man

• The Wolf Man (80th Anniversary)

HOURS OF BONUS CONTENT, INCLUDING:

• The Road to Dracula

• The Frankenstein Files: How Hollywood Made a Monster

• Karloff: The Gentle Monster
  

• Monster by Moonlight

• The Wolf Man: From Ancient Curse to Modern Myth
• Now Your See Him: The Invisible Man Revealed

Universal Classic Monsters Icons of Horror Collection will be available on 4K, Blu-rayâ„¢ and Digital.

• 4K Ultra HD is the ultimate movie watching experience. 4K Ultra HD features the combination of 4K resolution for four times sharper picture than HD, the color brilliance of High Dynamic Range (HDR) with immersive audio delivering a multidimensional sound experience.
• Blu-ray^â„¢ unleashes the power of your HDTV and is the best way to watch movies at home, featuring 6X the picture resolution of DVD, exclusive extras and theater-quality surround sound.
• Digital lets fans watch movies anywhere on their favorite devices. Users can instantly stream or download.
• The Movies Anywhere Digital App simplifies and enhances the digital movie collection and viewing experience by allowing consumers to access their favorite digital movies in one place when purchased or redeemed through participating digital retailers. Consumers can also redeem digital copy codes found in eligible Blu-ray^TM and DVD disc packages from participating studios and stream or download them through Movies Anywhere.  Movies Anywhere is available only in the United States.

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Twitter: @UniAllAccess

Tiktok: @universalallaccess

DRACULA FILMMAKERS:

Actors: Bela Lugosi (Count Dracula), David Manners (John Harker), Edward an Sloan (Prof. Abraham Van Helsing), Helen Chandler (Mina Harker), Dwight Frye (Renfield), Frances Dade (Lucy Weston)

Director: Tod Browning

Producer: Carl Laemmle, Jr., Tod Browning

Screenplay: Garrett Fort

Based on the Work(s) of: Bram Stoker, Hamilton Deane, John L. Balderston

FRANKENSTEIN FILMMAKERS:

Actors: Boris Karloff (The Monster), Colin Clive (Dr. Henry Frankenstein), John Boles (Victor Moritz), Mae Clarke (Elizabeth), Edward Van Sloan (Dr. Waldman), Dwight Frye (Fritz), Frederic Kerr (Baron Frankenstein)

Director: James Whale

Producer: Carl Laemmle, Jr.

Screenplay: Garrett Fort, Francis Edwards Faragoh

Based on the Work(s) of: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Peggy Webling, John L. Balderston

THE INVISIBLE MAN FILMMAKERS:

Actors: Claude Rains (Jack Griffin / The Invisible Man), Gloria Stuart (Flora Cranley), William Harrigan (Dr. Arthur Kemp), Dudley Digges (Chief Detective), Una O’Connor (Jenny Hall), Henry Travers (Dr. Cranley), Forrester Harvey (Herbert Hall)

Director: James Whale

Producer: Carl Laemmle, Jr.

Screenplay: R.C. Sherriff

Based on the Work(s) of: H.G. Wells

THE WOLF MAN FILMMAKERS:

Actors: Lon Chaney, Jr. (The Wolf Man / Larry Talbot), Bela Lugosi (Bela), Claude Rains (Sir John Talbot), Warren William (Dr. Lloyd), Ralph Bellamy (Col. Montford), Patric Knowles (Frank Andrews), Maria Ouspenskaya (Maleva), Evelyn Ankers (Gwen Conliffe)

Director: George Waggner

Producer: George Waggner

Screenplay: Curt Siodmak

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Catlow is a fun MGM Western from 1971 with broad comedic overtones in addition to some fairly brutal violence. The film was directed by Sam Wanamaker and produced by Euan Lloyd, an old hand at bringing good action movies to the big screen (i.e. Shalako, The Wild Geese). The film is based on the novel by Louis L'Amour. Yul Brynner plays the titular hero, a charismatic, free spirit who travels with an entourage of vagabond cowboys and sex-crazed hot number, Rosita, played by Daliah Lavi, who is cast against type as a wild, unsophisticated character. The somewhat meandering plot has Catlow accused, perhaps erroneously, of stealing cattle. He is pursued half-heartedly by Marshall Cowan (Richard Crenna), an old army buddy who spends more time socializing with Catlow than making any real attempt to bring him back to a kangaroo trial. The scenes of the two men engaging in endless attempts to outwit each other are quite amusing. Leonard Nimoy's bounty hunter Miller poses a more realistic threat, relentlessly hunting Catlow and his men down to the wilds of Mexico where everyone ends up facing both the army and Apaches.

There are some solid, suspenseful action sequences such as when Cowan finds himself wounded and surrounded by Indians. There is also a neat double cross that results in Catlow and his men having their guns stolen just as they are about to face off with the Apaches. The inspired supporting cast includes Jeff Corey as the requisite sidekick that was played by Walter Brennan and Gabby Hayes in earlier Westerns. Jo Ann Pflug provides some glamour as a sexy upper class seniorita. The chemistry between Brynner and Crenna is the main pleasure of the film but Nimoy scores well in his limited role as a ruthless villain- and the site of him bare-assed fighting with Brynner beside a bathtub is one for the books.

The Warner Archive region-free DVD includes the original trailer.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM THE CINEMA RETRO MOVIE STORE

BY HANK REINEKE

As a promotional vehicle, the trailer for director Roger Corman’s The Raven was clearly deceptive in its construction. Cinemagoers were promised that AIP’s newest Poe film would offer three of the “Screen’s Titans of Terror,” the trailer flashing short, moody scenes of torch-lit chambers, menacing stares, and the odd clutching hand. Intertitle cards and a voice-over narration promised “A tempest of thrilling horror,” The Raven to allow brave moviegoers to go “Careening through the darkest of dangers into the ominous mystery of a master magician’s evil castle… witnessing the mysterious powers of black magic.”

On the eve of the film’s release, the newspaper promotionals – entirely gleaned from the studio’s own duplicitous pressbook - promised much of the same, “a thrilling mixture of the most powerful terror ingredients ever assembled.” There was a reason for the filmmakers to cautiously hold the actual cards they were playing close to their chests. Producers James H. Nicholson and Samuel Z. Arkoff were aware that through their series of Edgar Allan Poe pictures they were holding a true tiger by the tail. It was certainly helpful to the notoriously frugal producers that Poe’s work had long fallen into public domain status and was therefore royalty-free in use. The box office returns on the first of their four Poe films were pleasing, and expectations were high that The Raven would do as well if not better.

So it was only mildly surprising when, in March 1963, the producers announced that no fewer than ten more Poe pictures would be slated for production by AIP. The next one planned, The Masque of the Red Death, was announced to begin shooting in April of ’63… although a springtime shooting wouldn’t actually commence as proclaimed. Other titles announced were to include, The Haunted Palace, Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Gold Bug, A Descent into the Maelstrom, Ligeia, The Thousand and Second Tale of Scheherazade, The Angel of the Odd, The Four Beast in One, and The City by the Sea. It was an ambitious plan, but with the exception of Masque (with a delayed November ’63 start) only four of the other projected titles would actually see production.

Such breakneck speed mining of Poe’s Gothic horror materials might be considered market over-saturation by contemporary standards, but upon its release in January of 1963, The Raven was the fifth Poe film released by AIP in a span of two years. In September of 1962, Samuel Z. Arkoff sat down for an interesting chinwag with Stanley Eichelbaum, the theater and film critic of the San Francisco Examiner. That interview touched briefly on AIP’s shoe-string beginnings: the days when such efforts as The Day the World Ended, The Phantom from 10,000 Leagues, and I Was a Teenage Age Werewolf – not to mention the sixty or so films featuring Hot Rods and monsters in “Indian-rubber” masks - were knocked out quickly and cheaply by the indie.

It was true that AIP had certainly come a long way since its incorporation in 1955. And while the producers continued to hold tight to the company’s purse strings, Arkoff acknowledged that they were presently allowing for budgets as high as $500,000 a picture on many of their recent color Panavision releases. This was a notable mention since such budgets were five times the amount AIP had put up to fund their teen-market pictures of the late 1950s.

The Poe films were bringing in more than a teenager audience into the cinemas, and the producers recognized the trend. Since monster and horror films had played such an important role in the AIP’s success, it was surprising to hear Arkoff sum up part of the audience who loved macabre cinematic fare in less than charitable terms. “The horror crowd falls into three groups,” he told Eichelbaum, “the young people; the adult morons; and the intelligent adults. It’s pretty difficult to cater to all of them in one movie. But that’s what we try to do.”

The company had certainly achieved an enviable level of success since incorporation. As their production budgets grew more generous, Arkoff and Nicholson were able to bring into the fold some horror picture veterans who still held sway with fans of the genre. Since the first Poe film House of Usher (1960), the producers managed to secure the talents of such luminaries as Boris Karloff, Basil Rathbone, Peter Lorre, Barbara Steele, Vincent Price, Ray Milland and Hazel Court, with Lon Chaney Jr. waiting in the wings for his second act.

In his usual blunt manner, Arkoff partly attributed the actors’ willingness to work with AIP on the series due to the fact, “Actors like Poe. He has snob appeal.” That may have been a consideration of the talent conscripted, but it’s also true that it was a welcome payday for these (mostly) aging and typecast thespians. Many gathered had heydays dating back to Hollywood of the 1930s and 40s. It’s also true that due to the “Monster Boom” of the late 1950s and early 1960s, these actors were thought highly and fondly of by a generation who knew them primarily through Shock package TV screenings and such horror-film fan magazines as Famous Monsters of Filmland, Shock Monsters, and Fantastic Monsters of the Films.

Of course, should anyone have misgivings that Arkoff was more interested in the bottom line than in art, such suspicion would soon be confirmed. The producer was, of course, certainly correct in his assessment that “picture-making has to be a business.” He insisted that the business of filmmaking was simply “not a cheap individual art, like painting or sculpting.” Fair enough. But Arkoff, then a forty-three year old former lawyer, went further, suggesting he didn’t care whether a film was good or bad following release. He was only interested if it clicked at the box office. He also wasn’t concerned if the films produced by AIP would stand the test of time or be held in high regard in the distant future. “We can’t let a movie sit on a vine for thirty years waiting for recognition. If we can’t get a return, where will we get the money for the next one?”

Co-producer James H. Nicholson was somewhat more prosaic in assessing the popularity of the horror pictures that AIP churned out with regularity over the past seven years. He offered the move-going public’s dimming fascination with horror films was curiously reignited following World War II. Choosing to take the historical long-view, Nicholson offered there had always been a market for scary stories, noting “Greek myths were horror subjects” in style and content. When questioned by a UPI correspondent if the 1960s horror film craze was just that – a passing fad – the producer insisted mythological stories were as popular in 1964 as they had been during ancient times. “There are only three emotions,” Nicholson opined. “Deep sorrow, laughter and just plain thrills, and our movies are filled with the last.”

RETRO-ACTIVE: THE BEST FROM THE CINEMA RETRO ARCHIVES

BY LEE PFEIFFER

One of the few remaining Steve McQueen films not available on home video finally comes to DVD with Warner Archive's release of the 1961 military comedy The Honeymoon Machine. Sadly, the film can only be recommended to McQueen fans who feel obliged to buy the DVD in order to keep their collections complete. The movie is an embarrassing fiasco that might have been excusable had it been produced by a low-rent film studio. However, MGM backed this turkey and it must have seemed pretty stale even during its release back in the JFK administration. It's worth contemplating that America's obsession at the time with showing respect for any aspect of the military extended to many films that was neutered for fear of offending Pentagon brass. Sure, screenwriters could denote some highschool-like upstarts in the Army or Navy, and the top brass might be seen as  humorless stiffs, but studios rarely wanted to tweak the  powers-that-be, lest they not get cooperation from the military for their war movies. In fact, it wasn't until The Americanization of Emily in 1964 that the glass ceiling was truly broken and the U.S. military could be the object of outright satire and cynicism. From there, the floodgate opened and by the late 1960s and early 1970s, films like Kelly's Heroes and M*A*S*H went to the opposite extreme and portrayed the American military as primarily comprised of dolts.

The Honeymoon Machine was made during the era when servicemen were portrayed as overgrown  kids whose most dangerous exploits were acting like the kind of towel-snapping wiseguys you encounter in locker rooms. In this ill-advised opus, McQueen- in one of his first starring roles- is a Navy lieutenant who teams with civilian scientist Jim Hutton to come up with a scientific method of predicting how roulette wheels can be manipulated. When the fleet pulls into Venice, the theory is tested at the local casino, where McQueen and Hutton break the bank. Unfortunately, through a convoluted sub-plot, their shenanighans are mistaken for espionage activities and a Cold War crisis ensues.

Beatles fans have been frustrated for decades that their final feature film, the 1969 production of "Let It Be", has never received an official home video release since the days of VHS and laser disc. The film chronicled the Fab Four's creation of their classic album and contained their legendary last concert, performed on a recording studio rooftop in London. Director Peter Jackson has been working diligently with the blessings of Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr and Yoko Ono, to assemble a new, definitive version of the film constructed from countless hours of outtake footage. Jackson's film, title "Get Back",  is said to address certain myths, such as the inaccurate perception that the group was barely on speaking terms during these sessions. The three-part documentary will premiere on the Disney+ streaming network November 25-27. For the full story behind the production, click here.