THE MUMMY. Universal, 1932. Boris Karloff, Zita Johann, David Manners, Arthur Byron, Edward Van Sloan, Bramwell Fletcher. Director: Karl Freund.

   I don’t suppose you’ve been waiting for me to review this movie before you decide to see it or not. It’s one the classics, that’s for sure, and yes, I saw this back when I was a young lad, around 10 or so, and it scared me something awful back then, but not as much as the kid from school sitting next to me — no, wait. That was Frankenstein, which I think was even scarier. I know the other kid from school thought so! I don’t remember ever seeing Dracula, though, even now.

   Today — returning as I should to The Mummy — I don’t think kids of 10 will be scared by this movie at all, having grown up on video games and movies rated R that they’ve managed to get in to see, or even PG-13, with all of the special effects and blood and gore.

   No blood and gore in this one, if I remember it correctly, and I just finished watching it not more than 10 minutes ago. It’s all in the mind. Special effects? Well, the bandaging job on the mummy was spot on. First, in the present day — when his tomb is opened, the inscription that awakens him is unwittingly read, and the mummy strolls out leaving shreds of unraveled cloth behind. (I must have only imagined the musty smell.)

   But even more vivid, to me, was the flashback scene taking place in the far distant past, when Im-ho-tep was first wrapped up in them from head to toe — and buried alive. Br-R-r-r-r. I think that this, the burial scene, gave me more chills than anything else in the movie. Some people seem to remember the the reawakening as what scared them the most, and while I don’t agree, I certainly don’t blame them.

    All in all, I don’t think The Mummy is as much of a horror movie than one based on the occult or reincarnation: the spirit of Princess Anck-es-en-Amon now resides in the physical body of Helen Grosvenor, played by the very bewitching Zita Johann in her own right.

   A movie based on either of these ideas would have been spooky enough in the 1930s without needing much in the way of extra trappings, or to a ten-year-old boy on a re-release some 20 years later.

WITCHCRAFT. Lippert Films / 20th Century Fox, 1964. Lon Chaney Jr, Jack Hedley, Jill Dixon, David Weston, Diane Clare, Yvette Rees, Victor Brooks. Director: Don Sharp.

   The year, 1964, is the same as the previous movie reviewed here on the blog, Devils of Darkness, with which it was recently paired in a recent DVD release, and both were filmed in England, but nonetheless there’s an ocean of difference between them.

   I don’t mean geographically. Devils was filmed in glorious color; Witchcraft was filmed in even more glorious black-and-white. The story in Devils appeared to have been put together at the spur of the moment; Witchcraft has a single focus — that of a witch being resurrected from the dead — and seeking revenge. The latter in particular makes a good deal of sense to me, if I’d been buried alive as a witch some 300 years or so ago.

   Beginning with the first scene, we (the viewer) are caught up in the story, as a bulldozer makes its way through an ancient cemetery, uprooting underbrush, dirt and (of course) gravestones, making way for a new development. Then we see the outraged Morgan Whitlock, (played by Lon Chaney, Jr., and the only American actor in the film) shaking his cane in the air and saying that there will be the equivalent of hell to pay.

   He’s right. Later the same evening a gravestone is pushed aside and Vanessa Whitlock climbs her way out of the ground. She’s played by a skeletal-looking Yvette Rees, who manages to be authentically shivery scary without being actively icky repulsive, a fact you can perhaps agree on by seeing the photo located to the right.

   It turns out that Vanessa’s wrath is not only directed toward the partner in the construction firm that desecrated the graveyard, but toward the family of the other partner, Bill Lanier (Jack Hadley). There has been a feud between the Whitlocks and the Laniers ever since Vanessa’s non-death, mostly fueled by resentment by the Whitlocks for being ousted from their family home.

   There’s also a Romeo and Juliet forbidden romance to keep the plot going — a return from the grave not being quite enough — so even without a whole lot of gore, there’s enough story to entertain us (the viewer) for the full 79 minutes of running time.

   I included Victor Brooks in the list of credits, even though he doesn’t have much time on the screen. He plays essentially the same role as he did in the later Devils of Darkness, that of the local police inspector who’s called in when the deaths begin to pile up. This time he’s totally puzzled; by the time he appeared in Devils, he was a whole lot quicker in picking up on the fact that the supernatural was involved.

   Too bad the same can’t be said about the characters in Witchcraft, if fault be found anywhere in this film. As usual, they do the most stupid things, such as leaving themselves (or their wives, grandmothers and girl friends) totally alone and vulnerable while all of these strange events are going on. It’s par for the course, of course, but I mention it because perhaps seeing characters doing stupid things bothers you more than it did me, this time.

   One last thing. The director of Witchcraft was Don Sharp. I didn’t mention him in my review of The Devil-Ship Pirates, but he was also at the helm of that film, and as it happens, it was the very same year, 1964. A few years later (1968) he also directed a few TV episodes of The Avengers, of which in terms of all-around watchability, this movie reminded me of a lot.

DEVILS OF DARKNESS. Planet Films/20th Century Fox, 1964. William Sylvester, Hubert Noël, Carole Gray, Tracy Reed, Diana Decker, Eddie Byrne, Victor Brooks. Director: Lance Comfort.

   As a direct competitor to the horror films being made in England by Hammer Films and others at and around the same time, the early to mid-1960s, this mishmosh combination of devil worship, vampirism, witchcraft and necromancy — whatever’s convenient for the plot line at the time — simply has no legs to stand on.

   Webster: mishmosh: a confused jumble, a hodgepodge.

   American actor William Sylvester plays Paul Baxter, a stalwart British, almost professorial type whose vacation in Brittany is interrupted by three strange deaths of three fellow Englishmen (two male, one female) in conjunction with an isolated village’s unusual rites in a local cemetery.

   His suspicions aroused, when he returns England planning to investigate further, but when the three coffins making the journey back with him mysteriously disappear, it makes his task all the harder.

   Unknown to him, by the way, is the talisman that he found and now has in his possession. Belonging to Count Sinistre (Hubert Noel), the leader of the cult of devil-worshipers, the latter wants it back in the worst way.

   And in vampire films, we know what that means.

   From what I’ve learned about this film, it may be the first British vampire film to take place in modern times. And if this means including a scene of with many assorted mod people doing the Twist or Watusi in a garishly decorated apartment filled with smoke of many sorts, then so be it.

   It makes them easy converts to cult activities of a more sinister sort, one supposes, including the wearing of red hooded robes and uttering various chants of servitude, standing in a circle in some grand manor’s basement.

   Carole Gray and Tracy Reed play rivals for the Count’s hand, the former in a fine gypsy rage, the latter (a redheaded cousin of Oliver Reed) largely in a trance, although strictly as demanded by the script mind you. (She was high in the running to replace Diana Rigg in The Avengers. I’d have rather she had.)

   It’s a talky affair, unfortunately, and surprisingly enough, even the inspector from Scotland Yard (Victor Brooks), seems all too willing to accept the supernatural at work, once he’s gained Baxter’s confidence and the latter reveals what he knows.

   A couple of scary moments are to be found in this not very scary movie, no more. A rating of PG could easily be appropriate.

   In summing up: pretty cheesy stuff, indeed, one designed perhaps for beginners in the genre, not long-time fanatics. The actors are fine. It’s the indecisiveness — and incoherence — of the story line that lets them down.