The Gorgon (1964)

**I’m afraid there will probably be SPOILERS of some sort in this review.  Sorry about that.**

In the accursed village of Vandorf, dandy artist Bruno (Jeremy Longhurst) sketches his topless paramour Sasha (Toni Gilpin) for a future painting.  After revealing she is pregnant with his child, Bruno, naturally, overreacts and heads off to confront her father who already had a low opinion of the painter in the first place.  Giving chase, Sasha runs into something in the woods which petrifies her.  Bruno is found hanged the next day.  Sasha’s stone body is brought to local Doctor Namaroff (Peter Cushing).  The Gorgon Margera has returned.

There are several interesting things going on in Terence Fisher’s The Gorgon just from the concept on down.  First of all, the Gorgon in question isn’t the infamous Medusa.  It is one of her sisters, Margera.  To my knowledge, though, the three Gorgons were Medusa, Sthenno, and Euryale.  There never was a Margera according to any Greek myths I was able to get a hold of, but I could be wrong in this.  But, by not using Medusa, they keep that portion of Perseus’ myth intact, and they also sort of hint at the idea that the other two had to flee in order to escape destruction (the method of flight also tensing the two siblings’ immortality).  It’s as if they were expanding and extrapolating on the extant fable, and this sort of implied backstory rears up at several points in the film.  Further, it is not an eternal Margera living in Castle Borski, though of the three sisters, Medusa was the only mortal.  It is her spirit which haunts the village.  Further, Margera’s spirit has taken over the body of one of the village people (hopefully not the Cowboy – sorry), so this adds a possession aspect.  To make things even more gonzo, Margera’s spirit is most powerful during a full moon, thus making her a quasi-Were-Gorgon, truly a unique creature.  Why, it’s almost as if the folks at Hammer had a werewolf script with a Dracula plot, but through some insane quirk of fate they just didn’t want to do it, and someone raised their hand at a meeting and said, “How about a Were-Gorgon?”

Of course, this presents us with one of my very favorite themes in film, in case you hadn’t noticed (or haven’t been reading my reviews; for shame), and that is one of duality.  The Gorgon is two people, one evil, one innocent.  Naturally (for anyone who has seen Clash Of The Titans, or, I don’t know, ever read anything), the only safe way to gaze upon Margera is in her reflection, and there is a nice sequence where Paul (Richard Pasco) encounters her and looks at her in a pool of water, a window, and so on.  A brief tangent; Fisher is also careful to not show the monster clearly for the majority of the film, and this is an effective way to hide a rather disappointing makeup.  Fortunately for the filmmaker, though, it also masks her from the audience in such a way as to heighten her menace.  After all, we know what she can do.  It’s right there in the title.  And Fisher and company are protecting us by not showing her directly.  Back to the point; the reflective aspects of the film point out not only Margera’s weakness but also the idea that what is in the mirror is opposite in appearance and nature from what is in front of it.  It’s an interesting way to delineate this Jekyll/Hyde, Leon/Werewolf doublet.  

This also plays on the role of art in the film.  Bruno is a painter, and he is about to create a representation of his ladylove on canvas.  She becomes a literal statue, no longer represented in a medium, but the medium itself.  In the same way that some groups believe that photographs and so on can capture a person’s soul, here art takes your life.  People are transformed into another state of being.  Their corporeal bodies exist, but they are vacant now (presumably).  Thus are they robbed of their identity, a major theme in Horror films for as long as they have existed.  This act of transformation also changes its victims into something hideous, with welts breaking out on their brows, before finally becoming smooth and arguably beautiful, in a very definite final repose.  This mid-stage equates Margera’s victims with her own ugliness.  She gets to “live” with it, though.  

Furthermore, the transformations in the film represent a sort of sexual repression and punishment for defiance of sexual mores (as a great many Hammer films seem to discuss).  People are either lured to their doom by a kind of siren song or run into Margera as a consequence of following their hearts (and consequently their loins).  Even though women can be victims too, predominantly they are men, and that they turn to stone is an interesting metaphor for male turgidity.  The Gorgon in its human form has been in a form of remission (read: repression) for some time, and when the human side begins to fall in love, Margera gains power and begins killing more.  This plays into the horrible past/conspiracy of fear angle of much of the story.  The history of the Gorgon’s human side can be seen as a sexually liberated one (this is tacit, not overtly stated), and it was this promiscuity which brought about the curse of the Gorgon in the first place.  Repression is forced, and the human side’s personality is quashed in order to save lives.  

Fisher’s direction is as solid as it has ever been, and the production design is up to Hammer’s normal high standards.  Naturally, seeing Cushing and Christopher Lee (the DeNiro and Pacino of British cinema) onscreen together is an absolute delight, and Lee’s Meister is a wonderful curmudgeon in opposition to Namaroff’s icy dispassion.  However, the film focuses largely on the romantic Melodrama aspects of its story to the detriment of its Horror aspects.  This also causes the majority of the mid-section of the film to falter in pacing, essentially forming a cinematic spare tire around its gut.  This is despite some of its more outré facets, and this is startling since these outlandish elements are so left-of-field, one would almost think that they could carry a movie on their own.  Disappointingly, they can’t.  The film is still worth seeing, it’s just not top tier Hammer for me in the same way that their more oddball films like The Abominable Snowman or Quatermass and the Pit are.  Perhaps if Nigel Kneale had a hand in this one too, I might feel different.  

MVT:  Cushing takes the honors.  I mean, you really can’t elaborate more on that.  He’s Peter Cushing.  You’re not.

Make Or Break:  After a mildly interesting opening scene, the Make is when Sasha’s body shows up at the hospital.  When her gorgon-ized hand appears from under the white sheet, we know we’re off to the races.  It’s just more like Shetland ponies rather than Thoroughbreds.  

Score: 6.25/10

The Abominable Snowman (1957)

Cryptozoology ("the study of and search for animals and especially legendary animals [as Sasquatch] usually in order to evaluate the possibility of their existence," as defined by the Merriam-Webster online dictionary) is something which has fascinated me since I was a child. To be sure, it has fascinated legions of people over time. And yet, it is rarely the actual proving or disproving of a creature's existence which captivates our interest. No, it is the mystique of the unknown which rouses us and keeps us watching. The actual animals, once illuminated by the sterilizing light of day, become mundane, banal, taken for granted. But as long as they continue to elude us in the remotest parts of the world and the deepest, sodden depths and the farthest reaches of outer space (okay, extraterrestrials are not really considered cryptozoological, but work with me here), our minds will continue to dance with a million possibilities, and we will continue to be sated. Until new "evidence" rears its inevitable head, that is. 

Dr. John Rollason (Peter Cushing) is studying the mysterious medicinal plants harvested by the monks of a Tibetan monastery in the Himalayas. However, what John hasn't told anyone is he is waiting for Tom Friend (Forrest Tucker) and his party to arrive so they can head up the mountain. To everyone's disappointment, John and Friend are fixated on finding the legendary abominable snowman. As the expedition encroaches farther into the beasts' territory, the men begin to realize that the Yeti may be more than just an unthinking brute.

Of all the cryptozoologically-based films (Loch Ness Horror, Curse Of Bigfoot, Night Of The Demon, etcetera), Val Guest's The Abominable Snowman is without a doubt the best. It is distinguished from its brethren primarily by not being borne of exploitation. Certainly, it has elements of exploitation. The premise alone is testament to that fact. Yet, there's very little blood, no nudity, and a point to the film rather than just getting it up on theater screens. Interestingly, the same film studio that produced this film (Hammer) would, the very same year, add bright red blood and gobs of cleavage to their gothic horror films (beginning with Curse Of Frankenstein) and make themselves a household name (at least to fans of horror).

Hammer films always had an air of class to them, even in their later, more explicit fare. There was a high degree of production value onscreen, and the filmmakers were unafraid to take their time in telling their stories. It lent a traditional feel to films that had a more modern sensibility in terms of permissiveness. You almost felt like you were going to school when you watched a Hammer picture, only the instructor had rather large fangs. This film is no different. The widescreen frame is used in its entirety, and Guest moves the camera smoothly through the detailed sets, taking in everything it can. The cinematography by Arthur Grant is exquisite, with deep pools of black and three-dimensional lighting that distinguishes what could very easily have looked like a flat expanse of white. I would also like to mention here that there are a few lens flares in the film that instantly put me in mind of Dean Cundey's work with John Carpenter. Never a bad thing.

The film is concerned with an intellectual, rather than a visceral sense of horror. Screenwriter Nigel Kneale deserves the credit for this, I suspect. Known for the "Quatermass" series of films and television productions, Kneale's work has always looked beyond the surface of things and come up with new ways of seeing the world around us (yes, I own a copy of the Kneale biography, Into The Unknown, and no, I haven't had a chance to read it yet). Here, he posits the notion that the Yetis are not only a third branch of man's evolution (the "Missing Link" they've always been thought to be) but possibly a more advanced one which is hiding out in the hinterlands for a very specific reason. They also act as mythological sirens and banshees, calling out to lure men to their deaths and presaging their demise, though there's also a less paranormal explanation for this effect in the film. Nonetheless, according to John, the creatures' faces contain sadness, wisdom, and gentleness. Kneale's writing credits the viewer with a modicum of intelligence, and that's something I think viewers appreciate (usually).

The characters are fleshed out nicely, too. Friend is the ostensible villain, but he's not one-dimensional. He has goals and reasons for doing what he does. Taking the "ugly American" role, Tucker does an admirable job portraying a man driven by hard experience into making bad choices. John, by contrast, is not a lily-white hero figure, though he is more empathic (and empathetic) than the others. In the struggle of brain versus brawn, the survivors of the ordeal will be determined not by physical strength but by strength of character. And even then, there are no guarantees.

The filmmakers wisely keep the snowmen in shadows, only showing us an arm or eyes, just enough so we get the basic idea. To display the costumes in full would rob them of their enigmatic presence. They would be just guys in hairy costumes. Like Val Lewton very successfully proved earlier in films like The Cat People and The Leopard Man, the power of suggestion is worth more than any hundred effects shots, no matter how well-done. Allowing the viewer to complete the image in their own mind is, ironically, more potent than simply giving the audience what it thinks it wants. This is why the best performers and comedians live by the motto "always leave them wanting more." 

The Abominable Snowman also wisely uses three of Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch's seven basic conflicts: Man Against Man, Man Against Nature, and Man Against Himself. This, in and of itself is not particularly noteworthy, but in this film the conflicts are all taking place at the same time to the same people. It's not just John trying to stop Friend from attacking what he shouldn't. But he has to do this while surviving blizzard conditions and unknown creatures and also struggling with his own reasons for being there. It provides a richer, more satisfying story than any one conflict or crosscutting between conflicts could. 

When all is said and done, the filmmakers may not have crafted the single greatest or scariest movie ever. But they did create (in my opinion, anyway) the greatest Bigfoot movie ever. And you should do yourself the favor of tracking this one down.

MVT: It really is a toss-up between Cushing and Kneale (though, honestly, both Guest and Grant could just as easily be included in this melee). However, since the likelihood of me covering another Cushing film is higher than another Kneale film (but one never knows), I'll go with Mr. Kneale on this one. If you've never seen anything written by this man, you're in for a treat.

Make Or Break: The first night shot on the mountain is absolutely stunning. There's a heavy fog that blankets the set in strata, the characters are nothing more than silhouettes, and it is damn near a perfect cinematographic composition, to my eyes. 

Score: 7.5/10

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