Review by Ben Bussey
The end of an era tends not to be the prettiest sight, especially not for those with particularly fond memories of the way things used to be. Not all devotees of the Universal monster movies were best pleased when that cycle reached its lampoonish conclusion in Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein; and many of those who recall being awestruck by Hammer’s first forays into lavish technicolor horror were left utterly bewildered by Roy Ward Baker’s madcap Kung Fu crossover Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires. However, while that was the late, great Baker’s last work for Hammer, the director was destined to hammer* one more nail into the coffin of the good ol’ days of horror in the form of The Monster Club, which proved to be his final film (he’d spend the following decade working in TV before retiring).
I’d managed to miss this film until now, and had long heard tell of it being a pretty miserable swansong for the Hammer era (I mean this term as a loose description of British horror from the 1950s onwards – The Monster Club is from Sword and Sorcery Productions, Milton Subotsky’s somewhat less successful follow-up to Amicus). Is it is great a disappointment as I’d been led to believe…? Well, in common with the era-ending films I mentioned earlier, it’s certainly an oddball, often farcical affair. That said, I have a tremendous affection for Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein and Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires alike; I often revisit both films, and suspect I always will.
However, I’m struggling to see myself having the same drive to revisit The Monster Club. It’s not that the film tries and fails to update the time honoured British anthology horror format with new wave music and self-referential humour. It’s not that the stars look so old and tired, and ill at ease with the aforementioned attempts at modernisation. Nor is it the sheer silliness of it all. All these aspects would be perfectly acceptable – indeed, possibly even a strength – were it not for how astonishingly dull The Monster Club is.
An aged John Carradine, looking as though someone tricked him into walking on the set by telling him there was coffee and cake, has a chance encounter with Vincent Price, also aged but considerably more animated – and, for once, a vampire. After a very feeble biting scene (in which he doesn’t take quite enough blood to turn his prey, apparently), Price invites Carradine to his favourite haunt, the club of the title, populated by monsters of all shapes and sizes; or rather a slew of badly dressed extras, all of whom look at least three decades younger than our leading men. They arrive, witness a rather incongruous display of new wave music, then Price remembers this is a portmanteau and tells a story. And so it goes three times over: story, incongruous new wave, Carradine looking like he’s about to nod off.
I suppose the central recurring theme – sympathy with the monsters – is agreeable enough. The first chapter, which sees a would-be thief enter the employment of a wealthy recluse with a monstrous secret, is a fairly standard EC-esque tale of punishment visited upon the wicked, but with a particular emphasis on making the viewer feel pity for the monster; might have been a tad bit more effective if James Laurenson didn’t just look like a slightly pasty dude with excessive black eye make-up on. The second is by far the most comedic, as Richard Johnson (who, I must admit, I didn’t recognise at first without his signature moustache) gives an extremely over-the-top turn as a happy family man – married to Britt Ekland, no less – who just happens to be an Eastern European Count. When he faces off against vampire hunter Donald Pleasance, the results are less Cushing and Lee, more Little and Large. Attempts are made to go in a creepier direction with the final chapter, in which Stuart Whitman’s movie director ventures into a remote country village in the hopes of finding a location for his new movie, but winds up prisoner of the local ghouls. There seems to be a hint of Italian zombie movie about this section, particularly with its electronic score – but it still winds up a rather predictable and forgettable venture through well-trod territory.
The presence of Pleasance (hey, there’s a biography title if ever I heard one) only serves to underline how out of time The Monster Club is. After all, 1981 was also the year of Halloween II; the new generation of horror had taken over, and Pleasance had been fortunate enough to be carried along with them. The sensibilities of Milton Subotsky and Roy Ward Baker simply didn’t fit anymore, and the attempts to refashion their old style to suit the kids of the 80s: it’s the cinematic equivalent of watching a grandparent trying to dance to modern pop music at wedding. The musical numbers, though inoffensive enough, just stick out like a sore thumb and, astonishingly, manage to date this film far worse than anything that Hammer, Amicus or Tigon had done in the previous decade (yes, that includes Dracula AD 1972). The only particularly memorable moment comes in the painfully screechy song about a stripper (performed by Night – nope, me neither), during which a stripper takes to the stage and naturally goes all the way down to her skeleton.
I suppose it’s nice to see The Monster Club making its way onto Blu-ray; for better or worse, it does represent a turning point in horror history, and for that reason alone it deserves to be remembered. It just would have been nice if – despite Price being as great a joy as ever – the film had wound up a little more fun to watch.
The Monster Club is out now on Blu-Ray from Network.
* No pun intended, honestly.