MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #24 Beast in the Cellar 1970 & The Shuttered Room 1967

SPOILER ALERT!

BEAST IN THE CELLAR 1970

The Beast in the Cellar (1971) is a British horror film directed by James Kelly, starring two inimitable British actors, Beryl Reid as Ellie Ballantyne and Flora Robson as Joyce Ballantyne. The film follows two proper elderly sisters living near a rural army base in Lancashire, where soldiers are being mysteriously murdered.

In the delightfully dreary The Beast in the Cellar (1971), two spinster sisters, Ellie (Beryl Reid) and Joyce (Flora Robson), are living their best lives in a rural English cottage, complete with a secret ingredient that’s not exactly listed in the local cookbook: their deranged brother Steven (Dafydd Havard), who’s been locked in the cellar for decades.

The story revolves around the Ballantyne sisters’ dark secret: their brother Steven, whom they’ve kept locked in their cellar for nearly 30 years in order to keep him from joining the war effort. After their father returned from World War I traumatized and violent, the sisters decided to protect Steven from being drafted into World War II by drugging and imprisoning him in the cellar until he evolved into a feral animal.

As the murders continue, the sisters realize that Steven has escaped through a tunnel he dug and is responsible for the killings plaguing the village. His years of confinement and abuse have left him with a hatred for uniformed soldiers.

Through the plodding and cloyingly oppressive atmosphere, the film builds tension as the sisters struggle to conceal their secrets and deal with the consequences of what they have done.

While The Beast in the Cellar attempts to blend psychological horror with social commentary on the effects of war, it received mixed reviews. Critics noted its slow pace and lack of traditional horror elements but praised the performances of Reid and Robson, who never disappoint. The film has since gained a cult following for its unique premise and exploration of family secrets and the long-term consequences of misguided protection.

THE SHUTTERED ROOM 1967

The Shuttered Room (1967), directed by David Greene, marked Greene’s feature-film debut after directing episodes of The Twilight Zone and Playhouse 90. Greene would go on to direct notable films such as the very taught psycho-sexual thriller I Start Counting (1969), starring Jenny Agutter, and Godspell (1973). His television work includes acclaimed projects like Roots (1977), for which he won an Emmy.

This is another British psychological horror film steeped in Gothic atmosphere and folk horror elements. Based on the 1959 short story by August Derleth, written as a “posthumous collaboration” with H.P. Lovecraft, the film loosely draws inspiration from Lovecraftian themes while carving out its own identity. The screenplay was penned by D.B. Ledrov and Nathaniel Tanchuck. Carol Lynley delivers a nuanced performance as the haunted Susannah Kelton, balancing vulnerability with quiet resilience as she confronts both external threats and internal demons.

The film also stars Gig Young as the pragmatic Mike Kelton and Oliver Reed as the menacing Ethan. Reed’s portrayal echoes his earlier work in Joseph Losey’s These Are the Damned (1963).

The insular island community evokes themes of the folk horror elements of superstition and isolation common in folk horror, predating films like The Wicker Man (1973).

The Shuttered Room also stars the wonderful Flora Robson (she would later return to the genre in Beast in the Cellar in 1970), who delivers a memorable performance as the mysterious Aunt Agatha. Robson shines as Aunt Agatha, embodying the archetype of the wise but cryptic elder who knows more than she reveals.

The film includes moody cinematography by Ken Hodges and music by Basil Kirchin, which further enhance the film’s unsettling tone.

The story follows Susannah Kelton (Carol Lynley), a young woman raised in foster care who inherits her childhood home—a decrepit mill on a remote New England island—after her parents’ death.

Accompanied by her husband, Mike (Gig Young), Susannah reluctantly returns to confront her past. The island’s insular and hostile locals, led by her lecherous cousin Ethan (Oliver Reed), warn of a family curse tied to the mill, where an unseen terror lurks in the attic’s shuttered room.

As Susannah grapples with repressed childhood memories of trauma, she becomes the target of both Ethan’s (Reed) violent advances and the mill’s dark secret. The film builds toward a shocking revelation: the “monster” in the attic is Susannah’s deranged sister, Sarah, who has hidden away since birth due to her deformities and homicidal tendencies, which leads to a climactic confrontation.

David Greene’s direction imbues The Shuttered Room with a brooding atmosphere that blends Gothic horror with modern psychological tension. Though set in New England, the film was shot entirely in Norfolk, England, lending an eerie, decayed charm to its rural setting. Greene employs innovative techniques for his time, including point-of-view shots from the “monster,” which later became a hallmark of slasher films.

Ken Hodges’s cinematography captures the desolation of the island and the oppressive gloom of the mill with stark contrasts between light and shadow. The titular shuttered room becomes a visual metaphor for repression—both familial and psychological—while recurring imagery like decaying wood and shattered glass underscores themes of fragility and entrapment.

Basil Kirchin’s score alternates between jaunty jazz motifs and ominous basslines, creating an unsettling juxtaposition that mirrors Susannah’s uneasy return to her roots. This departure from traditional gothic orchestration gives the film a modern edge while maintaining its sense of dread.

The Shuttered Room 1967 explores repression and trauma and how buried secrets—both familial and personal—can fester into destructive forces. Susannah’s repressed memories parallel Sarah’s literal imprisonment.

The Shuttered Room occupies an intriguing position within British horror cinema of the 1960s. While often overshadowed by Hammer Films’ Gothic output during this period, it stands out for its fusion of Gothic tropes with modern psychological horror. Its depiction of rural hostility and repressed trauma aligns it with early folk horror works that would later define the subgenre.

With its decaying millhouse hiding both family secrets and unspeakable horrors, The Shuttered Room weaves a tale where Gothic dread meets up with folk horror unease—making the film a chilling exploration of things lurking behind locked doors.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #23 The Bird with the Crystal Plumage 1970 & Deep Red 1975

SPOILER ALERT!

THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE 1970

Bird with the Crystal Plumage 1970 is Dario Argento’s (who also wrote the script) directorial debut. The film is a landmark piece of horror art that revolutionized the Giallo genre and set the stage for Argento’s illustrious career in horror and thriller cinema. The film follows Sam Dalmas (Tony Musante), an American writer living in Rome who witnesses a brutal attack on Monica Ranieri (Eva Renzi) in an art gallery. Trapped between glass doors during the assault, Sam becomes obsessed with solving the case, uncovering clues tied to a macabre painting and a rare bird’s call. His investigation, aided by his girlfriend Julia (Suzy Kendall) and Inspector Morosini (Enrico Maria Salerno), leads to a shocking twist as Bird with the Crystal Plumage delves into themes of trauma, obsession, and the fallibility of perception. Monica, driven by trauma from a past attack, is the true killer, with her husband Alberto (Umberto Raho) as her accomplice.

Heavily influenced by the Maestro of Giallo – Mario Bava, Argento’s film is notable for its opening sequence, which, with its focus on surveillance and photography, sets the tone for the film’s exploration of voyeurism. This theme is further developed through Sam’s obsessive investigation and the killer’s stalking of victims. The film culminates in a climactic confrontation at the gallery, blending psychological intrigue with Argento’s signature suspense-saturated atmosphere.

Vittorio Storaro’s Techniscope cinematography features stark geometric framing, saturated primary colors, and chiaroscuro lighting. The use of amber silhouettes and vivid contrasts heightens the tension and creates a visually striking spectacle. The film established many tropes that would become staples of Giallo, including the amateur sleuth protagonist, the black-gloved killer (seen in Bava’s films), and the blending of mystery and horror.

The Bird with the Crystal Plumage was a commercial and critical success upon release, credited with popularizing the Giallo genre internationally. As far as his legacy, Argento was hailed as “the Italian Hitchcock” and revolutionized horror and thriller cinema through his work, which is characterized by stylized violence, voyeuristic camerawork, and bold color palettes. His work merges operatic set pieces and forges a psychological fault line, where every moment trembles with the promise of seismic collapse.

It launched Argento’s career and influenced filmmakers beyond the Italian horror scene, including Brian De Palma, whose films like Dressed to Kill 1980 and Blow Out 1981 show clear Giallo influences.

Bird with the Crystal Plumage’s success led to Argento’s Animal Trilogy, followed by The Cat o’ Nine Tails (1971) and Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1972). It established Argento’s trademark style of lurid violence, Freudian psychology, and collaborations with renowned artists like composer renowned Italian composer Ennio Morricone.

Morricone is celebrated for his iconic film scores, including those for Sergio Leone’s Westerns. For this film, he infused the score with the Lullaby theme. A hauntingly soft “la-la” vocal melody, performed by Edda Dell’Orso, creates an unsettling sense of innocence and fragility. This theme is used during moments of flirtation or domestic calm, such as scenes between Sam (Tony Musante) and Julia (Suzy Kendall). The lullaby’s ethereal quality contrasts sharply with the film’s violent undertones. Morricone also used atonal improvisation in scenes involving the killer. Morricone employed avant-garde techniques, including dissonant piano notes, free jazz drumming, eerie whispers, and fragmented rhythms, in tracks like “Phrases Without Structure” and used unpredictable sounds—such as muted trumpets, chimes, and distorted guitar swells—to evoke unease and tension.

These semi-improvised pieces mirror the chaotic psychology of the killer and heighten suspense during stalking sequences. The Bird with the Crystal Plumage was pivotal in shaping the soundscape of Giallo cinema. His innovative use of unconventional instrumentation—like vibraphones, harpsichords, and vocal sighs—created an auditory experience that was both unsettling and seductive. The two words that sum up Argento’s films.

DEEP RED (PROFONDO ROSSO) 1975

Dario Argento’s Deep Red (Profondo Rosso) is a masterclass in Giallo filmmaking, which blends the hallmark of the genre with its psychological tension, graphic violence, and stunning visual artistry with the use of vibrant colors and avant-garde camera angles.

The story follows Marcus Daly (David Hemmings), an English jazz pianist living in Rome, who becomes embroiled in a murder investigation after witnessing the brutal killing of psychic medium Helga Ulmann (Macha Méril). Helga had publicly revealed the presence of a murderer during a séance shortly before her death. Obsessed with uncovering the killer’s identity, Marcus teams up with journalist Gianna Brezzi (Daria Nicolodi), and their investigation leads them into a labyrinth of secrets, childhood trauma, and repressed memories. The film is structured around Marcus’s unraveling of the mystery, with each clue bringing him closer to the truth while placing him in increasing danger.

Argento masterfully uses misdirection and visual cues to toy with our perception. A key moment early in the film—when Marcus glimpses something significant in Helga’s apartment but cannot recall what it is—sets up the film’s central theme: once again, much like Bird with the Crystal Plumage – the fallibility of memory.

This idea is reinforced throughout the narrative as Marcus pieces together fragments of evidence, culminating in a shocking twist that reveals the killer to be Carlo’s (Gabriele Lavia) mother, Marta (Clara Calamai), who has been driven to murder by her psychological trauma.

Visually, Deep Red is one of Argento’s most striking films. Collaborating with cinematographer Luigi Kuveiller (Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion), Argento creates a world drenched in vivid colors—most notably red—to heighten tension and evoke unease.

The use of color is not merely aesthetic but thematic; red symbolizes both violence and hidden truths that bleed to the surface as Marcus delves deeper into the mystery.

Argento also employs fluid and dynamic camerawork to immerse viewers in the narrative. Long tracking shots follow characters through eerie locations, such as abandoned mansions and shadowy corridors, while extreme close-ups linger on seemingly innocuous objects that later become significant clues.

Using art as a clue — like many Giallo films, Deep Red uses art as an integral part of its mystery. A macabre painting is vital to identifying the killer, reinforcing Argento’s fascination with how art reflects hidden truths.

The killer’s perspective is frequently shown through voyeuristic point-of-view shots, creating a sense of dread as the audience becomes complicit in their acts. Also, one of Argento’s most iconic techniques is his use of reflective surfaces—mirrors, glass shards, and water—which distort reality and hint at hidden layers within the story. For instance, Marcus’s inability to recognize what he saw in Helga’s apartment mirrors his struggle to confront repressed truths about the murders.

At its core, Deep Red explores how memory and perception shape our understanding of reality. Marcus’s inability to recall what he saw at Helga’s murder scene reflects both his personal struggle and humanity’s broader difficulty in confronting uncomfortable truths.

Deep Red is an immersion in childhood trauma — The film delves into how past events shape present behavior. The killer’s motive is rooted in a traumatic incident from Carlo’s childhood—a moment when he witnessed his mother murdering his father. This theme is visualized through recurring images of children’s drawings and dolls, which take on sinister connotations.

The score for Deep Red, composed by progressive rock band Goblin (one of my favorite scores was their work, which infused Suspiria 1977 with a dramatically intense soundscape ), marked their first collaboration with Argento and became one of the most iconic elements of the film. The music blends haunting melodies with pulsating rhythms and eerie synthesizers, creating an atmosphere that oscillates between hypnotic beauty and jarring terror. Tracks like “Profondo Rosso” build suspense with their relentless basslines and dissonant keyboards, perfectly complementing Argento’s visual style.

The score actively drives the narrative forward—for example, Goblin’s music crescendos during moments of revelation or violence. Combining avant-garde rock and classical influences gives Deep Red yet another unique soundscape that has been widely imitated but rarely matched.

Daria Nicolodi, who plays Gianna Brezzi, introduces a strong female character who challenges traditional gender roles. Gianna is independent and assertive and often outshines Marcus in her investigative skills—though their playful banter occasionally highlights Marcus’s discomfort with her modernity.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #22 The Brotherhood of Satan 1971

THE BROTHERHOOD OF SATAN 1971

The Brotherhood of Satan (1971) is perhaps one of the most striking installments of the ’70s occult films, not just of that decade but of any film within its iteration of cinematic narratives that delve into the dark allure of devil worship, which often intersect with the timeless quest for eternal youth, creating a fascinating dichotomy between the pursuit of immortality and the surrender to malevolent forces.

It is a supernatural horror film directed by Bernard McEveety, who is known for his work on various television series. Strother Martin, as Dr. Duncan, gives a tour de force as a terrifying High Priest who wages war on old age by using the dark arts to take possession of children’s bodies and use them as the vessels of his coven’s souls. It’s a depraved notion and not without impact on the screen. McEveety does it with a very unpretentious stroke of low-budget/high art that comes across as though, on the surface, surreal; it disturbs at our visceral core. That’s why I love ’70s horror!

L.Q. Jones stars as Sheriff Pete, Charles Bateman plays Ben Holden, Ahna Capri is Nicky, and Charles Robinson plays the ill-fated Father Jack.

The Brotherhood of Satan envelops us in a quietly malignant atmosphere where rural serenity morphs into claustrophobic menace and panic. Set in the American Southwest, the story follows Ben Holden, a widower traveling with his young daughter K.T. and girlfriend Nicky.

They stumble upon a small California community inexplicably plagued by mysterious deaths and gripped by terror and the disappearances of children. Not only are the children missing, but no one, including the newly arrived Ben Holden, his daughter, or his girlfriend, can leave the boundaries of the town, not unlike others who attempted before and wound up as bloody, mangled victims.

Unbeknownst to them, a coven of elderly Satanists, led by Duncan, is orchestrating these events in a bid for immortality by transferring their souls into the bodies of the kidnapped children.

The film blends elements of small-town paranoia, occult horror, and psychological tension. It features inventive death scenes and a surreal atmosphere, particularly in scenes involving the children and their toys. The narrative builds to a climactic ritual where the line between reality and supernatural horror blurs.

L.Q. Jones, who also produced the film alongside Alvy Moore, initially titled it “Come In, Children” ( This is the title of my extended feature coming soon. If I truly had a gun to my head, The Brotherhood of Satan would wind up on my top twenty of all-time classic horror films), preferring this over the eventual title. Jones described the film as different from typical monster pictures, stating, “We’ve got a little blood in it—to appease the popcorn rattlers—but there are no silver bullets or crosses or stakes. The ending is deliberately up in the air. We don’t explain it; we just lay it out.”

The film’s power lies in its methodical unraveling, the onslaught of eerie silences, intrusive rituals, and the chillingly composed senior citizens whose gentle exteriors disguise their unfathomable evil. McEveety masterfully exploits the emptiness of the landscape and the suffocating confines of the town, generating palpable dread from the smallest details: sidelong glances, cryptic meetings, the relentless sound of a music box. As the protagonists are drawn deeper into the web of occult conspiracy, all innocence is subsumed, reason crumbles, and the film’s story unspools not merely as a battle against supernatural horror but as a profound meditation on paranoia, helplessness, and the relentless intrusion of darkness into ordinary life. The Brotherhood of Satan is a grimly poetic, psychologically unsettling, and unshakable in its haunting vision.

While not a blockbuster hit, The Brotherhood of Satan has gained a cult following for its unique approach to Satanic themes and its atmospheric small-town setting. It stands as a notable entry in the 1970s occult horror genre, offering a more cerebral and ambiguous take on devil worship than many of its contemporaries.

And coming very soon, prepare for me to fully descend into the choking silence and ritualistic shadow of The Brotherhood of Satan, where isolation is more than a mood, it’s a suffocating presence, and every invocation carries the weight of a malevolent power driven by a lust for immortality. The unnerving calm of small-town normalcy buckles under the pressure of the occult, as innocence dissolves, and ordinary lives become pawns on a ceremonial altar of fear.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #21 Burnt Offerings 1976

BURNT OFFERINGS 1976

Dan Curtis’s Burnt Offerings (1976) is a sophisticated psychological horror film that subverts traditional haunted house tropes. It stars Karen Black, Oliver Reed, Bette Davis, Lee H. Montgomery, Eileen Heckart, and Burgess Meredith as Roz and Arnold Allardyce, the odd brother and sister who own the mansion.

Burnt Offerings is a morbidly fascinating tale of a family’s summer vacation gone horribly wrong. Karen Black and Oliver Reed star as Marian and Ben Rolf, a couple who rent a massive Victorian mansion for a suspiciously low price. Marian and Ben, along with their son David (Lee H. Montgomery) and Aunt Elizabeth (Bette Davis)—rent the sprawling house for the summer until things take a dark turn. Though the house is too good to be true, there is one catch: The Rolfs must care for Roz and Arnold’s unseen elderly mother, who resides in the attic.

The family soon discovers that their dream home has quirks, like Mrs. Allardyce, the mysterious old lady who never leaves her room, a garden that resurrects itself, and a house with an appetite for human souls.

The real scene-stealer, and the one that made me jump out of my seat in the theater, is the sinister chauffeur, played by Anthony James, who appears in Ben’s nightmares. James, known for his creepy on-screen presence, really gives you a shock to the system in the coffin scene with Bette Davis.

As the house’s sinister influence grows, the Rolfs find themselves in a race against time to escape before they become the latest addition to the property’s unique renovation plan. Burnt Offerings is the perfect example of 70s horror as many of the horror films from that era relied on psychological terror and a pervasive sense of dread rather than graphic violence or supernatural spectacle, though a soul-sucking evil house does have its moments.

Dan Curtis, adept at atmospheric Gothic horror, which includes character-driven supernatural narratives and thoughtful genre adaptations, masterfully builds tension through subtle atmospheric changes and the gradual transformation of the characters, particularly Marian’s growing obsession with the house. The film’s intelligent script, co-written by Curtis and William F. Nolan, delves into the psychological impact of the house on its inhabitants, blurring the lines between reality and supernatural influence.

Burnt Offerings stands out for its nuanced approach to horror, eschewing cheap scares in favor of a pervasive sense of dread. The film’s exploration of how evil can manifest through seemingly benign objects and the corruption of familial bonds is what truly adds a layer of shivers because family dynamics are complex enough when adding a layer of a malevolent force that seeks to destroy them.

Anthony James, with his uniquely imposing face and his topography of scars, delivers a chilling performance as the sinister chauffeur. This recurring apparition that haunts and tortures Ben’s nightmares serves as a harbinger of the house’s malevolent nature. The specter of James’s character becomes a symbol of the inevitable doom that awaits the family as the film explores themes of familial disintegration and the insidious nature of evil, a haunting meditation on the seductive and destructive power of both.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #20 Blacula 1972 & Scream Blacula Scream 1973

BLACULA 1972

Directed by William Crain, whose work on Blacula stands out because he was one of the first Black filmmakers from a major film school to make a mark in Hollywood, and his decision to reimagine the Dracula legend wasn’t just clever—it was transformative for the genre. By telling this classic horror story through the lens of an African prince wronged by Western power, Crain didn’t just inject new life into the material; he boldly challenged the Eurocentric traditions of horror films and brought themes of racial representation and historical injustice to the screen in ways that were fresh, confrontational, and culturally important. It’s a film that’s both enjoyably campy and socially resonant, underlining why Crain’s contribution still matters as a milestone for Black representation in genre filmmaking

Released by American International Pictures (AIP) in 1972, Blacula follows the tragic tale of Mamuwalde (the towering 6’5” figure of thespian William Marshall, a stage actor with a distinguished career in theater, performing in numerous classical stage works, including several Shakespearean plays. Marshall made his Broadway debut in 1944 in Carmen Jones), an African Prince who visits Count Dracula’s ( Charles Macaulay) castle with his beautiful wife Luva (played by Vonetta McGee) to plead for an end to the slave trade in the 18th century afflicting his people, the Abani.

However, the evening’s uneasy meeting quickly turns sour as Dracula scoffs at Mamuwalde’s proposal, baring his metaphorical teeth with a disdainful and haughty attitude toward him and making lewd insinuations about Luva. This confrontation escalates into a physical clash, culminating in Dracula’s transforming Mamuwalde into a vampire and cursing him with the moniker soulfully reimagined from Dracula to Blacula and mocking the prince, christening him, and cursing him with his name.

He condemns him to an eternal existence of bloodlust. Within the framework that is part of the blaxploitation genre, Blacula, on another level, explores themes of racial oppression, identity, and the lasting impact of historical injustices. (I will be talking about this film more extensively in the future.) Dracula imprisons Mamuwalde inside a coffin and leaves Luva to die after she witnesses Dracula feeding on her beloved husband and then entombing her.

Fast forward to 1972, two hundred years later, with a deliciously campy appeal, Blacula introduces us to Bobby McCoy (Ted Harris) and Billy Schaffer (Ricky Metzler), a flamboyant duo of gay interior decorators who embark on a treasure hunt in Transylvania. Their fabulous antiquing outing? To snag the most fabulous gothic relics from the former Castle Dracula at a steal. As they swoon over the macabre decor, the estate’s salesman regales them with spine-tingling tales of the real Count Dracula, but they dismiss his warnings with a flick of their wrists. Back in L.A., amidst their haul of treasures, including Mamuwalde’s coffin, Bobby’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides to pry it open, unleashing the undead Blacula. He springs to life, famished for blood, and in a wickedly, kitschy, and humorous scene makes them his first victims, turning Bobby and Billy into his first modern bloodthirsty acolytes.

He becomes enamored with Tina, a woman who resembles Luva, leading to a series of murders as he attempts to reconnect with her. Meanwhile, Dr. Gordon Thomas (Thalmus Rasulala), Tina’s sister’s (Denise Nicholas) boyfriend, is a pathologist who works for the Los Angeles Police Department. Gordon investigates the strange deaths and uncovers the truth about Blacula and the vampirism spreading in the city. The film culminates in tragedy as Blacula ultimately loses Tina and chooses to end his own life, succumbing to sunlight after a series of violent confrontations with the police and his kind.

Blacula features a special guest appearance by Elisha Cook Jr. as Sam, the morgue attendant, and Ketty Lester as a very unfortunate and frightening cabbie who plays one hell of a scary member of the undead!

Picture a vampiric version of hide-and-seek gone hilariously wrong, where Ketty Lester’s Juanita jumps out like an overeager bloodsucking jack-in-the-box, turning Sam’s quiet night shift into an unexpectedly terrifying welcome he never saw coming!

SCREAM BLACULA SCREAM 1973

Directed by Bob Kelljan (who also directed Count Yorga, Vampire 1970 and the sequel Return of Count Yorga 1971), this follow-up was produced by American International Pictures (AIP) and released in 1973. Scream, Blacula Scream once again features the resurrection of William Marshall as the elegant Prince of Darkness, Pam Grier as Lisa Fortier, Michael Conrad as Lieutenant Harley Dunlop, Janee Michelle as Gloria, and Barbara Rhoades as Elaine.

The sequel picks up with the death of the voodoo priestess Mama Loa, which ignites a power struggle within her cult. Her arrogant son, Willis Daniels (Richard Lawson), attempts to resurrect Blacula using voodoo to exact revenge on those who overlooked him for leadership in favor of his stepsister, Lisa Fortier, (who, unlike slasher films’ “white Final Girl,” is the empowered Black Enduring Woman, (source: Means Coleman) who goes head to head with the supernatural forces at work. However, upon resurrecting Mamuwalde, Willis becomes a vampire and is enslaved by the very creature he sought to control. As Blacula resumes his killing spree, he becomes infatuated with Lisa, believing she can help lift his curse through voodoo magic.

Lisa is the adopted apprentice of Mama Loa, the dying voodoo queen, whose death triggers the central conflict in the film. She is chosen by Mama Loa as her adopted daughter and the successor to lead the cult, which enrages Willis, Mama Loa’s biological son. Willis seeks revenge by purchasing the bones of Prince Mamuwalde (Marshall returning to his role as the enigmatic Blacula) from a former voodoo shaman and using voodoo rituals to resurrect the regal vampire. However, his plan backfires, and Willis loses control over Blacula, who shares his curse and turns him into a vampire. Lisa, deeply connected to the voodoo cult and its rituals, becomes involved in the supernatural conflict, using her growing voodoo powers to attempt to cure and protect not only the men in her life but also those affected by the vampirism spreading through their community.

She meets Blacula and, after witnessing his nature first-hand, agrees to help rid him of his vampire curse through a voodoo ritual. Lisa’s boyfriend, Justin Carter, an ex-police officer and collector of African antiquities, investigates the string of mysterious deaths linked to Blacula and works with the police to confront the vampire threat. The climax involves Lisa attempting a voodoo exorcism on Blacula while Justin tries to save Lisa from his grasp, while he and the police raid the vampire’s lair. When the ritual is interrupted, Blacula goes on a violent rampage, forcing Lisa to use a voodoo doll to defeat him ultimately. The climax leads to an ambiguous ending filled with horror and tragedy as their fates intertwine.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #19 Beware My Brethren 1972 & When a Stranger Calls 1979

BEWARE MY BRETHREN 1972

Beware My Brethren 1972 (also known as The Fiend) is a ’70s British psychological thriller directed by Robert Hartford-Davis. The film explores themes of religious fanaticism, sexual repression, and murderous obsession.

The story centers around the Wemys family: Birdy Wemys (Ann Todd), A diabetic widow who has become deeply involved with a fundamentalist religious sect called “the Brethren.” Kenny Wemys (Tony Beckley known for his disturbing portrayal of the homicidal psychopath Curt Duncan in When A Stranger Calls 1979), Birdy’s troubled and socially inept son, becomes a serial killer targeting young women he perceives as sinful. Patrick Magee plays the charismatic leader of the Brethren.

Brigitte Lynch (Madeleine Hinde) is a nurse hired to care for Birdy. Paddy Lynch (Suzanna Leigh), who plays Brigitte’s sister, is a journalist who goes undercover to investigate the Brethren.

The film is notable for several unsettling aspects. For one thing, its religious fervor: The Brethren’s intense services, complete with gospel-style music and frenzied baptisms, create an atmosphere of religious hysteria that is almost as disturbing as the killings. The graphic violence exacted by Kenny’s murderous mania and hatred of women is portrayed in brutal detail, with victims being strangled, stripped naked, and disposed of in shocking ways (e.g., dropped from cement mixers, hung on meat hooks, drowning, and crucifixion.

The sexual repression is not only attributed to Kenny’s murderous impulses, which are driven by his disgust at perceived sexual immorality, leading to disturbing scenes of violence against women but by his mother’s own sexual repression and latent lesbian desires. The Minister’s psychological manipulation and control over his followers, particularly Birdy, showcases the dangerous power of cult-like religious groups.

Director Hartford-Davis uses unsettling images, including dream sequences and vivid color contrasts, to create a disorienting and nightmarish atmosphere.

The opening sequence intercuts a religious service with the pursuit and murder of a young woman, set to an incongruously upbeat gospel song that includes lyrics like Wash Me In His Blood. Kenny’s attack on a prostitute, which involves forcing a torch down her throat, is particularly ferocious. Birdy’s lesbian attraction to Paddy leads to her being denied life-saving insulin by the Minister. All these elements, the religious extremism, sexual repression, and violence, make Beware My Brethren a deeply uncomfortable British video nasty.

WHEN A STRANGER CALLS 1979

When a Stranger Calls (1979), directed by Fred Walton, is one of the most chilling psychological thrillers of the late 1970s that has become a cult classic, particularly due to its shocking, nail-biting opening sequence.

Tony Beckley’s performance as Curt Duncan, the psychopathic killer, was notably compelling due to the actor’s low affect and intensity. Beckley portrayed Duncan as a complex character, balancing between a desperate attempt at sanity and terrifying volatility, tearing two young children apart with his bare hands.

Beckley did a masterful job of making his fiend both sympathetic and frightening. Tragically, this was Beckley’s final film role, as he passed away shortly after the movie’s release.

The film’s reception was mixed upon its initial release: Critics praised the opening 20-23 minutes, consistently regarding it as one of the scariest openings in film history. If memory serves me, it made me jump out of my seat in the theater. Despite mixed reviews, the film was commercially successful, grossing between $21.4 to $25 million against a $1.5 million budget.

Director Fred Walton, along with co-writer Steve Feke, based the story on the urban legend of “the babysitter and the man upstairs.” They claimed to have drawn inspiration from a real newspaper article about a babysitter in Santa Monica who received threatening calls from an attacker inside the house. The cast includes Carol Kane as Jill Johnson, the babysitter, Charles Durning as John Clifford, the undaunted detective on Duncan’s trail, and Colleen Dewhurst as Tracy, the barfly to whom Duncan takes an odd shine to.

The film’s narrative structure is unique, essentially combining two short stories with a police procedural middle section. The opening sequence, featuring Kane as the terrorized babysitter, is particularly noteworthy for its escalation of the tension and use of the telephone as a source of horror. Reminiscing of Bob Clark’s Black Christmas 1974, which used the telephone ingeniously. Black Christmas weaponizes it as an instrument of psychological terror, serving as a seminal example of this technique. The film’s masterful use of menacing phone calls transforms a mundane household object into a conduit for fear, creating an atmosphere of inescapable dread.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #18 The Black Cat 1934 & The Raven 1935

THE BLACK CAT 1934

EDGAR G.ULMER’S: THE BLACK CAT (1934) “ARE WE BOTH NOT" THE LIVING DEAD?”

Edgar G. Ulmer’s The Black Cat (1934) is a psychological horror film that marked the first on-screen pairing of Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi. Despite its title, the film bears little resemblance to Edgar Allan Poe’s story, instead focusing on the aftermath of World War I and its psychological impact on survivors.

The plot revolves around American newlyweds Peter and Joan Alison (David Manners and Julie Bishop ), who become entangled in a sinister feud between Dr. Vitus Werdegast (Lugosi) and Hjalmar Poelzig (Karloff) while honeymooning in Hungary. Werdegast, a psychiatrist recently freed from a Siberian prison camp, seeks revenge against Poelzig, an Austrian architect who betrayed their fort during the war, leading to thousands of deaths.

The film’s atmosphere is heavy with themes of revenge, psychological trauma, and the lingering effects of war within an ultra-modernist interior set that lends to the psychologically constrictive and repressive interior landscape.

Poelzig’s modernist house, built on the ruins of the betrayed fort, serves as a metaphor for the attempt to cover past atrocities with a veneer of progress, yet it feels like an avant-garde prison.

Ulmer employs expressionistic techniques, including stark sets and unconventional camera angles, to create a pervasive sense of unease. The titular black cat, while not central to the plot, symbolizes death and evil to Karloff (misconceptions that have led to the persecution of cats, particularly black cats), which menacingly affects the ailurophobic Werdegast. The film culminates in a tense game of chess between the two antagonists, deciding the fate of the American couple, and a climactic confrontation involving Satanic rituals and gruesome revenge. The Black Cat stands out among Universal’s horror offerings of the time for its psychological depth and its unflinching look at the dark aftermath of war. Edgar G. Ulmer’s film pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable in cinema at the time, featuring several controversial and disturbing elements that are shocking even by today’s standards.

This pre-code horror film strongly hints at necrophilic themes through Poelzig’s collection of preserved dead women. These bodies are displayed behind glass, lovingly maintained, and dressed in sheer, clingy material. Poelzig’s apparent fascination with these corpses, particularly his wife Karen’s preserved body, suggests a disturbing obsession with the sexualization of the dead.

John J. Mescall’s (Bride of Frankenstein 1935) cinematography in The Black Cat (1934) is an exploration of atmosphere and innovation, helping to define the film’s uniquely modern Gothic style. Working alongside director Edgar G. Ulmer, Mescall employed long, sweeping camera movements and sharp, angular compositions that draw us into the film’s unsettling world. His use of stark contrasts between light and shadow, inspired by German Expressionism, intensifies the sense of menace and claustrophobia, while the cold, futuristic sets are rendered with a haunting elegance. Mescall’s camera never lets us settle, often gliding through the labyrinthine fortress and muting focus to heighten the film’s erotic and psychological tension. The result is a visual landscape that feels otherworldly and deeply oppressive, making The Black Cat one of its era’s most visually arresting horror films.

The climax of the film features an incredibly gruesome scene where Werdegast binds Poelzig to an embalming rack and proceeds to flay him alive. While the actual skinning is not shown directly, Ulmer uses shadow play to depict the horrific act, accompanied by Poelzig’s agonized screams. This scene was so shocking and remarkable that it made it to the screen.

The film culminates in a Black Mass ceremony, where Poelzig prepares to sacrifice Joan to Satan. This depiction of devil worship was highly controversial for its time and added to the film’s overall sense of moral decay and corruption. The Black Cat also touches on other taboo subjects, such as Incest: Poelzig marries his stepdaughter, who shares the same name as his deceased wife.

There’s also the psychological trauma: exploring the lasting effects of war on the human psyche. The film’s ability to pack so many disturbing elements into its brief 65-minute runtime while mostly relying on suggestion rather than explicit depiction is a testament to Ulmer’s skill as a filmmaker. The Black Cat remains a landmark in horror cinema, pushing the boundaries of what could be explored on screen in the pre-code horror of the 1930s.

THE RAVEN 1935

The Raven (1935) is a psychological horror film directed by Lew Landers, one of the few rich collaborations starring Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi in their second on-screen pairing. Despite its title, the film is only loosely inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s works, focusing instead on a brilliant but unhinged surgeon’s obsession with torture and a young woman who is the object of his desire.

Dr. Richard Vollin (Lugosi) is a gifted neurosurgeon with a morbid fascination for Poe and torture devices. After saving the life of Jean Thatcher (Irene Ware), a young socialite, he becomes dangerously obsessed with her.

When Jean’s father, Judge Thatcher, forbids Vollin from seeing her, the doctor plots revenge. He recruits Edmond Bateman (Karloff), an escaped convict seeking facial reconstruction, by promising to fix his appearance. Instead, Vollin disfigures half of Bateman’s face to ensure his cooperation.

The facial disfiguration inflicted upon Edmond Bateman (Boris Karloff) by Dr. Vollin (Bela Lugosi) in The Raven (1935) is a gruesome and shocking act of cruelty. Vollin deliberately mutilates one side of Bateman’s face during what was supposed to be reconstructive surgery. The disfiguration is described as severely damaging the seventh cranial nerve, resulting in a grotesque asymmetry. The right side of Bateman’s face is left hideously scarred, with one eye rendered useless and the surrounding tissue distorted. The damage is so severe that when Bateman sees his reflection, he reacts with horror, desperately asking, “Do I look… different?” The audience is treated to a disturbing close-up of Karloff’s face, revealing the extent of the disfiguration – a mass of twisted flesh, a sightless eye, and nerve damage that likely causes partial facial paralysis.

This alarmingly graphic disfiguration serves as a visual representation of Vollin’s sadistic nature and becomes a central element in manipulating Bateman into becoming an unwilling accomplice in his twisted schemes.

Vollin’s basement houses recreations of Poe’s torture devices, including the pendulum from The Pit and the Pendulum. Vollin’s cruel manipulation of Bateman’s appearance is a central plot point.

The Raven culminates in a tense sequence where Vollin attempts to torture and kill Jean, her fiancé Jerry, and Judge Thatcher using his Poe-inspired devices, which consist of putting them in a small space with the walls closing in that will eventually crush them. Bateman, having developed sympathy for Jean, turns against Vollin. In the ensuing struggle, both Bateman and Vollin meet gruesome ends.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #16 Black Sabbath 1963 & Black Sunday 1960

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror!

BLACK SABBATH 1963

Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath (1963), originally titled I tre volti della paura (The Three Faces of Fear), is a seminal horror anthology that showcases Bava’s mastery of the genre. Bava’s experience in striking visual realization is evident in cinematographer Ubaldo Terzano’s work on the film.

The film consists of three chilling and distinct tales, each segment introduced by the legendary Boris Karloff. The stories include “The Telephone,” which follows a woman receiving menacing calls from a stalker; “The Wurdulak,” featuring Karloff as a man returning home after killing a vampire-like creature; and “The Drop of Water,” where a nurse is haunted by the corpse of a medium after stealing her ring. Notably, Black Sabbath blends gothic horror with psychological tension, establishing itself as a precursor to the Giallo genre and influencing future filmmakers with its innovative narrative structure and visual style.

The international cast includes Boris Karloff, Michèle Mercier, and Mark Damon. Karloff’s involvement lent significant prestige to the project, and his chilling and moody performance in “The Wurdulak” is particularly mesmerizing.

Bava’s Gothic operatic horror film is a seminal anthology that showcases the director’s virtuosity. It demonstrates his masterful use of color and affinity for painting the interplay between illumination and shadow, shaping a compelling visual chiaroscuro and striking palette. Bava understands how to craft a sense of unease and foreboding through atmospheric tableaux, establishing a trend that would consistently pay homage to his expertise. His ability to construct haunting scenes through the strategic use of light and darkness kicked off a movement in horror cinema, with filmmakers continually bowing to his sophisticated command of the genre’s visual language. In the original Italian version, the order of the segments is as follows: The Telephone, The Wurdulak, and The Drop of Water. AIP rearranged segments for the American release, altering Mario Bava’s original intended sequence. Below is the American order of segments.

The Drop of Water:

This eerie tale follows Nurse Helen Corey (Jacqueline Pierreux), who steals a ring from a deceased medium’s corpse. The segment is notable for its haunting atmosphere, created through Bava’s use of vivid colors and unsettling sound design. The dripping water and the grotesque makeup of the medium’s corpse, particularly of her twisted face, is a standout element crafted by Mario Bava’s father, Eugenio Bava. This makeup that breaks through the surreal color scheme creates a terrifying effect, with the witch’s grotesque appearance being a highlight of the segment.

Bava’s background as a cinematographer is evident throughout the film. He employs a rich color palette, particularly in “The Drop of Water,” using bold blues and greens to create a surreal, nightmarish quality. The film’s visual style is characterized by its use of lighting to create shadows and depth, enhancing the eerie atmosphere.

The Telephone:

In the original Italian version, this segment features Michèle Mercier as Rosy, a woman terrorized by threatening phone calls from a menacing phantom voice. The story involves themes of lesbianism and prostitution, which were removed in the American release. The American version added a supernatural element, significantly altering the plot.

The Wurdulak:

The Wurdulak segment in Bava’s Black Sabbath is based on the novella “The Family of the Vourdalak” by Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy. Tolstoy wrote this gothic story in 1839 in French, with the original title La Famille du Vourdalak.

The longest segment stars Boris Karloff as Gorca, a man who returns to his family after hunting a Wurdulak, an undead creature that feeds on the blood of loved ones. Mark Damon plays Vladimir, a young man who becomes entangled with the family’s fate.

Les Baxter was the composer for the American version, and Roberto Nicolosi scored the original Italian version.

The film was shot over an eight-week period in early 1963. American International Pictures was involved in the production, leading to changes in the film to make it more palatable for American audiences

BLACK SUNDAY 1960

BRIDES OF HORROR – Scream Queens of the 1960s! – Part 4: The Dark Goddess-This Dark Mirror

Mario Bava’s Black Sunday (1960), originally titled La maschera del demonio (The Mask of the Demon), is a landmark Italian gothic horror film that marked Bava’s official directorial debut. He was also responsible for the dramatic cinematography. The film, loosely based on Nikolai Gogol’s short story “Viy,” tells the tale of a witch who is executed in 17th-century Moldavia, only to return two centuries later seeking revenge on her brother’s descendants.

Starring Barbara Steele in a dual role, Black Sunday features striking black-and-white cinematography and innovative visual techniques that establish Bava as a master of the horror genre. The film’s plot revolves around Princess Asa Vajda, who is condemned to death for witchcraft but vows vengeance before her execution by being burned at the stake. Two hundred years later, she rises from the grave to possess her lookalike descendant and exact her revenge.

Asa Vajda’s body is discovered in a crypt by Dr. Choma Kruvajan (Andrea Checchiand) and his assistant, Dr. Andrej Gorobec (John Richardson- Tumak in One Million Years B.C. 1966). While examining her corpse, Kruvajan accidentally breaks the glass panel covering her face and cuts his hand. His blood drips onto Asa’s body, which initiates her reanimation. The process of reanimation is gradual and a stunning moment in classic horror. Asa uses her supernatural powers to contact her lover Javutich (Arturo Dominici) telepathically, who then rises from his grave. Javutich, wearing the spiked death mask, emerges as a terrifying figure clawing his way up from the ground. He serves as Asa’s accomplice in her quest for revenge against her brother’s descendants.

Black Sunday is renowned for its atmospheric visuals, including chiaroscuro lighting, expressionistic set design, and grotesque makeup effects. The film’s most iconic scene involves the gruesome execution method where a spiked “Mask of Satan” is hammered onto Asa Vajdas’s face.

Upon its release, Black Sunday achieved significant success, particularly in the United States, where it became American International Pictures’ highest-grossing film in its first five years. The film’s popularity helped launch Barbara Steele’s career as a horror icon and influenced the Italian horror genre for years to come.

Today, Black Sunday is considered a classic of gothic horror, praised for its visual style, creepy atmosphere, and role in pioneering the approach that would define Italian horror cinema. It is also considered to be one of the greatest horror films ever made.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #15 Black Christmas 1974

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror!

BLACK CHRISTMAS 1974

The Dark Side of Christmas: Exploring Bob Clark’s Pioneering Slasher Black Christmas 1974

Bob Clark’s Black Christmas (1974) is a seminal proto-slasher film that laid the groundwork for the genre. It stars Olivia Hussey, Keir Dullea, Margot Kidder, and John Saxon. The film follows a group of sorority sisters who are terrorized by an unknown obscene caller/killer during the Christmas season. It has a ring of urban legend that gives a nod to ‘the killer’s inside the house’ trope. Clark’s direction creates a chilling atmosphere through the innovative use of POV shots and claustrophobic settings within the sorority house as ‘dirty Billy’ stalks his prey.

The film’s most unsettling scenes include the disturbing phone calls from the unseen maniac, whose unhinged rants are masterfully performed by Nick Mancuso and Clark himself (uncredited). Hussey’s portrayal of Jess, a strong-willed protagonist dealing with a personal crisis, adds depth to the typical “final girl” trope. Black Christmas can absolutely be seen through a feminist lens as the empowered Jess (Olivia Hussey) takes command of her own body without the influence of her manipulative and controlling boyfriend, Keir Dullea.

Kidder’s performance as the sharp-tongued Barb provides comic relief that contrasts sharply with the mounting tension. The film’s climax, set in the house’s shadowy basement, is a masterclass in suspense, with Jess confronting both the killer and her boyfriend Peter (Dullea), leaving the audience guessing until the end. Clark’s decision to leave the killer’s identity and motives ambiguous adds to the film’s enduring mystery and psychological impact.

Before John Carpenter’s Halloween in 1978, Black Christmas distinguishes itself with its nuanced approach to horror, merging realistic characters with an unsettling, almost surreal, claustrophobic atmosphere of dread. Clark’s masterpiece has had a profound influence on the genre and the countless slasher films that followed.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #14 The Bell from Hell 1973

THE BELL FROM HELL 1973

The Bell from Hell (1973) is a surreal Spanish-French psychological horror film directed by Claudio Guerin Hill, with post-production supervised by Juan Antonio Bardem after Hill’s tragic death on the final day of shooting. The film stars Renaud Verley as Juan, Viveca Lindfors as Aunt Marta, and Maribel Martín as cousin Esther. Swedish-born actress Lindfors is well known for roles including Queen Margaret opposite Errol Flynn in The Adventures of Duan Juan 1948, starring in Night Unto Night in 1949 directed by third husband director Don Siegel, in Dark City 1950, and for her role in the segment Father’s Day of 1982’s Creepshow.

Set in a small Spanish town, the story follows Juan, a young man recently released from a psychiatric facility, as he seeks revenge against his aunt and cousins who had him committed in order to steal his inheritance. The film explores themes of madness, revenge, and family corruption, blending dark comedy with shocking violence.

Hill’s direction emphasizes a Gothic atmosphere through Chiaroscuro lighting in abandoned houses and eerie village settings, surreal juxtapositions of beauty and horror, and unsettling close-ups of Verley’s enigmatic expressions. There are also graphic depictions of slaughterhouse brutality.

Uniquely disturbing, it stands out for its bizarre and unsettling scenes: Juan’s elaborate, cruel pranks on townspeople; A disturbing sequence in a real slaughterhouse; the use of bees as a weapon against his aunt; and a climactic scene involving cousins tied up in a makeshift torture chamber.

As a cult classic of European horror, the film is notable for blending arthouse sensibilities with exploitation elements. The production of The Bell from Hell is marked by the director’s death on the last day of filming, either from a fall or a jump from the bell tower featured in the film. This tragic event adds an eerie layer to the film’s already unsettling atmosphere. It remains a unique and disturbing entry in 1970s Euro-exploitation, combining psychological depth with shocking imagery and a darkly sardonic sensibility.

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