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1972 - UK Directed By: Pete Walker. Starring: Jenny Hanley, Ray Brooks, Judy Matheson, Luan Peters, Robin Askwith, Patrick Barr, Candace Glendenning, Tristan Rogers, Penny Meredith and David Howey.
Aka
Asylum Of The Insane
Current Availability
Available on an uncut US R1 DVD courtesy of Media Blasters imprint Shriek Show as part of their "Pete Walker Collection". While this disk boasts strong presentation quality and an illuminating 12 minute bonus interview with Walker some may be disappointed to discover that the films much lauded 3D sequence is presented here in flat black and white. I am informed that the original 3D version is included on the DVD as a hidden easter egg, but I have thus far had neither the time nor the inclination to go hunting for it. For those interested the 1997 UK VHS re-release on the short-lived Satanica label also presented this scene in black and white, while the much harder to find Vampix UK pre cert presented it in its original faux 3D form.
Recommended?
Although Walker was still finding his feet for the genre at this point and the film is a rather tame affair, The Flesh And Blood Show is still worth a glance, offering a fairly innovative and sometimes creepily atmospheric spin on a familiar Ten Little Indians inspired premise.
Review
Throughout the course of the late sixties and early seventies Brighton-born filmmaker Pete Walker would fashion out a reputation for himself as a capable, season director of British soft-core sex cinema with credits such as School For Sex (1968), Cool It Carol! (1970) and Four Dimensions Of Greta (1972) to his credit. However, it would be with the horror genre that Walker would find his real calling. Although Walker never achieved any notable popular success his collaborations with writer David McGillivray would produce such subversive and often shocking British genre fan favourites such as The House Of Whipcord (1974), Frightmare (also 1974), the acerbic The House Of Mortal Sin (1976) and the underrated Schizo (also 1976). However, prior to his productive working relationship with McGillivray, our man Walker would familiarize himself with the horror genre via the middling Die Screaming, Marianne (1971) starring a young Susan George and of course the film under discussion here – the early British slasher movie prototype The Flesh And Blood Show.
The Flesh And Blood Show concerns a group of budding young British actors and actresses who are all approached by a mysterious theatrical group known only as Theatre Group 40. The eager young thespians are informed that their assignment will see them locating to the out of season coastal town of Eastcliffe-On-Sea where they will be rehearsing and appearing in a macabre themed improvised production named “The Flesh And Blood Show”.
Once the group congregate at Eastcliffe they take up residence in the creaky, long forsaken pier-end theatre house where they will be temporarily living and rehearsing in preparation for the production. Much confusion arises as to the identity of their employers (who fail to appear) and anxiety sets in when signs point to the fact that they are not alone and somebody or something is residing in the dark recesses of the old building.
After some enquiries in Eastcliffe, the group discovers that the old theatre house was the scene of a much publicized local mystery back in 1944 when following a much acclaimed production of Othello, a prominent Shakespearean actor, his wife and a male extra all disappeared inexplicably and were never seen or heard from ever again. Soon anxiety turns to terror when an unidentified killer begins picking off the young actors and actresses one by one. Could this killing spree be in some way related to the theatre houses dark and secretive past?
Whilst Walker later collaborative efforts with McGillivray would be notable for their atypical “kitchen sink” approach and often wry, acerbic social commentary, The Flesh And Blood Show, on the surface at least, is a far more conventional piece of work. Written by veteran scriptwriter Alfred Shaughnessy – best known for his work on the hit television series Upstairs, Downstairs – The Flesh And Blood Show presents a riff on the much plagiarised structure of Agatha Christie’s famous 1939 novel And Then There Were None in which a group of protagonists are gathered at a specified locale for an unspecified reason then killed off one by one. However, this structure is at least unique within the context that Walker and Shuaghnessy ulilise it here and with its narrative of young photogenic players falling one by one to a prowling murderer The Flesh And Blood Show can be looked upon as inadvertently foreshadowing the slasher craze that would take grip later in the decade. It is indeed fair to classify The Flesh And Blood Show along with Peter Collinson’s Fright (1971) and Jim O’Connolly’s Tower Of Evil (1972) as a trio of early British slasher cinema prototypes, predating (if not necessarily influencing) more revered North American made offerings such as Bob Clark’s seminal Black Christmas (1974), John Carpenter’s classic Halloween (1978) and of course Sean S. Cunningham’s Friday The 13th (1980) by some years.
Taken on its own merits The Flesh And Blood Show, whilst somewhat simplistic, is at least well executed and pleasingly atmospheric. Although his memorable flirtation with screen horror was still in its infancy at this point, Walker was already demonstrating a fine aptitude for the genre and fashions the films admittedly thin premise into a minor but satisfying addition to the seventies cycle of independently produced British horrors. Walker uses both the mist-enshrouded loneliness of the out of season Eastcliffe seafront and the run down dereliction of the old pier-end theatre house to pleasantly eerie effect. The latter is employed particularly well, with regular Walker collaborator Peter Jessop’s prowling cinematography and menacing camera perspectives achieving a constantly unsettling sense of someone unseen and malefic in their intentions stalking the dark passages and crumbling walkways of the old theatre. This is enhanced by Cyril Ornadel’s minimalist but effective soundtrack which intermittently blends imposing organ cues with a subtle creepy ambience right from the opening credits.
Perhaps Walker’s most impressive coup with The Flesh And Blood Show comes in the form of a lengthy flashback sequence detailing the events behind the theaters infamous 1944 triple disappearance, which in turn neatly ties up many of the loose ends concerning the current spate of killings. Originally this sequence, as with a portion of Walker’s earlier soft-core romp Four Dimensions Of Greta, was shot in 3-D. However, in an amusing twist the budget for both films was too low to run to employing any 3D technical support on set, which means the 3-D sequences don’t actually work. Although the “3D” sequence in The Flesh And Blood Show was shown as such on the films theatrical run it was later presented in flat black and white on both the films 1997 UK video re-release on the Satanica label and also on its 2006 DVD debut on the Shriek Show imprint. Either way it is still the films most individually stylish segment.
Following the final revelation of the killer one could be forgiven for expecting the film to conclude with a violent crescendo, but instead The Flesh And Blood Show simply peters out and concludes on a completely anticlimactic flat note. Bearing in mind Walker’s love for bedeviling the established “rules” of the genre and confounding the expectations of its followers I can only imagine that this was a deliberate ploy on his and Shaughnessy’s part. If this is the case then it backfires as the flat, tepid ending proves to be an insubstantial payoff with Robin Askwith’s exclamation that “If it wasn't all so bloody tragic and horrible, it could almost be a movie script” coming off as a forced, awkward and unintentionally laughable attempt at irony. It must also be said that the “whodunit” element of the film is also somewhat half-baked an lazy with Shaughnessy’s script offering up one obvious candidate for the murderer who to the surprise of no one turns out to be the guilty party.
Indeed when one considers the brutal naked flagellation of The House Of Whipcord , the grim hot poker and power drill assaults, not to mention the cannibalism of Frightmare and the savage knifings found in Schizo, all of which fell foul of the BBFC and attracted varying degrees of criticism from the moral minority, The Flesh And Blood Show is remarkably tame by Walker’s standards. The onscreen violence content is next to non-existent with nothing more graphic than a bloodied knife blade on display. On the exploitation front Walker seems to have been more preoccupied with filling the film up with lots of salacious nudity, which is offered in ample amounts. Curiously the many topless and nude scenes seem to have been shot with the same wry “get em out for a quick ogle” mentality that characterised most of Walker’s early soft-core comedy features. Perhaps however, this is to be expected when one considers that Walker was still making the transition to the horror genre at this point in his career.
Whatever its faults may be The Flesh And Blood Show is elevated to an extent by the presence of a capable British horror/exploitation cast. Ray Brooks lends a pleasing sardonic wit to his role as Mike, who attempts to maintain some sort of organisation as panic sets in over the group. Meanwhile veteran Patrick Barr performs some entertaining scenery chewing and British sex comedy king Robin Askwith is every bit as grating as always. Those who like their horror starlets will also no doubt jump for joy over the aesthetically pleasing presence of British horror belles Jenny Hanley, Judy Matheson, Luan Peters and a young Candace Glendenning, who also featured in Tower Of Evil the same year and later starred alongside the great Michael Gough in Norman J. Warren’s latter-day British horror favourite Satan’s Slave (1976). For the most part the predominantly young cast give enthusiastic performances and Shaughnessy’s characterisation is filtered through an endearing sense of Britishness. The girls all have a pleasant bounce (both literally and figuratively), the young men are appropriately dopey and the interplay between protagonists is characterised by a pleasing wryness. I for one however, could have done without some of the awkward attempts at faux upper-crust accents.
Overall The Flesh And Blood Show is something of a flawed affair, which while certainly blessed with a subtly unnerving atmosphere ultimately suffers from creative misjudgment and the decision to downplay its onscreen violence to the point f non-existence whilst in stark contrast emphasising its hefty sexploitation quota. Nonetheless The Flesh And Blood Show is still watchable enough, with Walker and his colleagues readily apparent enthusiasm proving enough to inject some lige and originality into a potentially hackneyed and overly familiar Ten Little Indians style scenario. Placed in its correct context The Flesh And Blood Show at least offers a welcome deviation from the increasingly tired Hammer typified stately gothic horrors of the same period and as such is worthy of a glance for aficionados curious to see Walker take his first steps into the British horror genre for which he would become arguably the foremost innovator of his time as the seventies rolled on.
Also Try… Tower Of Evil / Fright (1971, Peter Collinson) / House Of Whipcord / Frightmare / Schizo / The Comeback / Die Screaming, Marianne /Black Christmas (1974, Bob Clark)
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