August 10, 2010

I haven't reviewed a DVD release before by starting with its extras, but with Dan Curtis' Dead of Night from Dark Sky I will because they are wonderful additions to this anthology first aired on television in 1977.

The standard photo gallery and unimportant clipped footage are here, but more pleasant surprises await fans of Dan Curtis' atmospheric approach to daytime television terror: the many Rober Cobert highlight music tracks and the pilot for the proposed Dead of Night series, A Darkness at Blaisedon.

Robert Cobert's orchestral compositions for Dark Shadows are identified more with Dan Curtis than him, but this association shows how integral Cobert's music is to Curtis' eerie, American Gothic atmosphere and its inhabitants. Cobert's string, wind, and percussive instrumentals amplify Curtis' romance-charged supernatural world of dark forces and dark beings,  demanding an emotional response from us. You don't listen to a Cobert score, you dread its alarming tones, experience its mortifying portents, and anticipate its inevitable chilling denoument. The tracks included provide a good sampling of the tonal qualities and scales he used to produce his music's dread and terror tones.

A Darkness at Blaisedon, stars Kerwin Mathews as paranormal investigator Jonathan Fletcher. Along with his assistant, Sajeed Rau (Cal Bellini), both investigate the newly inherited–and very haunted–mansion now owned by Angela Martin (Marj Dusay). The American Gothic sets are elaborate, the pace 1969-slow (this would have been for daytime television, in the vein of Dark Shadows), and the premise would have provided for varied story ideas spread across the paranormal spectrum. Thayer David as the stone-faced caretaker provides the usual melodramatics as he struggles to keep the secret of Blaisedon from being discovered. If you've seen The Uninvited (1944), this will all seem familiar.

A Darkness at Blaisedon shows its age. In the opening, Fletcher and Sajeed examine a sarcophagus with a conveniently hinged lid, and throughout the production closeups are often executed abruptly. Still, Mathews in his cozy sweater and Bellini as the youthful and more daring assistant give it a charming dynamic that draws you into the mystery as they unravel it.

Of the three stories directed by Dan Curtis in Dead of Night,  the first is from a short story by Jack Finney (screenplay by Richard Matheson) and the last two from Matheson directly, with his Bobby being the scary gem of the three. Finney's Second Chance shows his penchant for nostalgic time travel, mixing in a bittersweet twist at the end.

Ed Begley Jr. is the perfect choice to play Frank: both his look and demeanor say old-fashioned before he even speaks, and when he does speak, his voice makes you imagine he's wearing a straw boater while serenading with his ukulele.

Frank restores old cars and one day discovers a 1926 Jordan Playboy rusting in a barn. The owner tells him the tragic history, how it was involved in a fatal wreck back in 1926, when a couple of carefree young lovers tried to outrun a train.

Frank works his magic. In short time he restores the Jordan Playboy to its pre-wreck condition, including its green body paint and original license plate. He takes it for a spin on a quiet back road instead of the faster highway–he explains–because it was not designed for modern highways, but for leisurely rides through winding country roads. His  late afternoon ride takes him all the way back to 1926, on the night those young lovers died. Second Chance is an unusually quiet and evocative story for Curtis to direct and he does it well. It relies on our fondly imagined yesterdays and picnic basket summers to weave its mystery. It isn't horror: it is a fantasy like the kind you would see on an Amazing Stories episode.

In the second story, Matheson brings us closer to familiar Dan Curtis territory with a period piece. Suspected vampire attacks on the wife of Dr. Gheria (Patrick Macnee), have alarmed the village and his butler (Elisha Cook Jr.). Dozens of garlic bulbs hung across doors and windows, wafting their eye-stinging odor throughout the rooms of the estate, have proven ineffective in stopping the blood loss. Dr. Gheria seeks help from one of his acquaintances, Michael (Horst Buchholz). They put up the coffee pot and stay awake in hope of stopping the vampire.

Or so it seems. There is a twist ending here, one reminiscent of an EC Comics' story, although not as lurid or shocking, and it unfolds like a Tales From the Darkside episode. Of the  three stories, this is the weakest because it doesn't capitalize on the hystrionics of Elisha Cook Jr., ignores Patrick Macnee's natural gentlemanly charm, and Curtis' tepid direction adds little to spice it up. Without more stylized camerawork and pacing, and better use of his actors' talents, there is no suspense and little surprise when the truth is revealed at the end.

Dan Curtis territory (traveled by Matheson's dark road) is reached in the last story, Bobby, with suitably terrifying results. Joan Hackett plays a distraught mother whose son dies by drowning. She blames herself and will do anything to get him back, even drawing a magic circle on the floor of her beachside home on the cliff, lighting black candles, and commanding her son be returned to her with lots of "I command thees" directed at anyone listening in the netherworld.

It works. He returns. She lets him in, and like what happens in The Monkey's Paw, there is an awful price to pay for interfering with fate (not to mention the phone charges when dialing the netherworld).

That terrifying price starts with Bobby acting strangely and asking "Was I a good boy, mommy?" and increases when a sudden game of hide and seek and avoid the sharp objects ensues and she runs for her life. Handheld camerawork, dutch shots of Joan Hackett frantically seeking to understand what's happening, and  Bobby's distant, giggling voice, effectively build tension until the revelation on the staircase. The stormy night and electricity going out are standard touches but help ramp up the scary atmosphere, and Cobert's score hits all the right notes for terror, hysteria, and the payout for that netherworld phone bill. Bobby is quintessential Curtis and Matheson, and it still retains its power to bring the terror to you.