Force of Nature

IN THE EARTH (2021)

"It can get a bit funny in the woods sometimes;" from sacrificial sites to otherworldly portals, standing stones have a firm history in British film and television, hinting at the ancient and the macabre.

BEN Wheatley's IN THE EARTH is a slow-burning folk horror freak-out referred to as his "lockdown movie." Conceived and made during the Coronavirus pandemic, it is not just a companion piece to Wheatley's KILL LIST and A FIELD IN ENGLAND, it is a film which is umbilically linked to them. This mirrors the narrative, that in a virus-stricken world fertile soils are sought to increase crop production. A standing stone is discovered to be the epicentre of an underground network; attempting to communicate by sound and light, can humans actually talk to nature? And if so, what would the inherent features have to say to us? Scientist Martin Lowery (Joel Fry) and forest scout Alma (Ellora Torchia) venture into the woods with equipment for Dr Olivia Wendle (Hayley Squires), Martin's former colleague and ex-lover who is researching Mycorrhiza, the symbiotic association between fungus and plant roots. However, this two-day trek is interrupted by Zach (Reece Shearsmith), a man living in the terrain who inducts them into his own world of ritual.

Using a template of John Carpenter's HALLOWEEN for what can be achieved with a microbudget and a fifteen day shoot, IN THE EARTH makes the most of its natural production and 2:39:1 frame, very much an "outdoor" picture to reintroduce normality after the shock of Covid. Visually beautiful but awkwardly flat, there are too many threads to form a nuanced experience: we have the BLAIR WITCH psychology of Parnag Fegg; SAW extreme violence; trippy ALTERED STATES sequences; science against myth; and dull back stories (Zach is also Wendle's ex-husband). Of the performers Shearsmith is unsurprisingly the highlight, providing the stand-out scene of literal toe-curling horror. Torchia is a believable guide, but Fry is lamely introverted, and Squires too wide-eyed from the get-go to be believed or trusted.

"Everything seems to just keep us here;" Reece Shearsmith is Zach, a fusion of Robert Plant and Jack Torrance.

Yet Wheatley is not leading to any rational conclusions, rather a heavy dose of weirdness expertly described by critic Peter Bradshaw as like "the last crashing cord of The Beatles' A Day in the Life." IN THE EARTH not just mimics woodland horror, it illustrates the pastoral gothic of British creatives from Algernon Blackwood to Nigel Kneale and 1970s Hauntology. Although there are overtures to THE STONE TAPE and even CLOSE ENCOUNTERS, allusions to Blackwood are particularly apt. The writer and broadcaster wrote stories not to frighten but to create awe with alternative consciousnesses and creations, imaginative treatments of possibilities outside our normal human range. For example, in The Willows, part of his 1907 collection The Listener and Other Stories, the environment is personified with threatening and powerful characteristics; and The Wendigo, first published in 1910's The Lost Valley and Other Stories, details spiritual possession during a hunting trip.

Altered States

PSYCHEDELIC BRITANNIA (2015)

Pink Floyd’s brittle genius Syd Barrett is symbolic in the British psychedelic story, an illustration of the timeless cautionary tale of art versus fame. In the programme, sculptor Emily Young calls Barrett "a little wild Puck or Ariel figure coming out of the woods. He seemed to me to be borne of the English countryside."

THIS absorbing BBC4 documentary explores the rise and fall of the most visionary period in British culture: five LSD-laced years between 1965 and 1970, when musicians reimagined the boundaries of sound. Narrated by Nigel Planer, this hour long piece sees a generation of homegrown R&B bands discover psychedelic drugs and embrace the avant-garde, starting a movement that would uneasily morph from the bohemian underground to chart success. Substances were initially taken with a wide-eyed innocence, broadening sensory, artistic and emotional possibilities. So began the counter-culture surge against postwar stability and professional pigeonholing, a kaleidoscopic and hallucinatory palette enthused by the 1950s beat generation. It was an important time, when battles for gay rights and women's liberation would also be instigated.

The Sixties had been swinging, but now there was a dizzying but heightened altered state. This lifestyle had a preference for the imagery and fashions of youth; like the concept of Hauntology, this yearned for the security of a safer and less complicated world ("In the mid 60s, a counter-culture swapped the white heat of technology for an older Britain of Edwardian fantasy and bucolic bliss.") It was an idyllically pastoral and untroubled dream, where The Wind and the Willows and Alice's Adventures in Wonderland were an Arcadian blueprint. Singer-songwriter Vashti Bunyan dropped out of city life and moved into rural Britain; other bands travelled further, The Beatles with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in India, and The Rolling Stones and The Incredible String Band departed for Morocco.

Created by Australian artist Martin Sharp, the cover of Cream’s Disraeli Gears album became an iconic image of the era. It was also used for the retrospective compilation Those Were the Days, released in 1997.

All interviewees still talk passionately about their baroque time in the sun. The mainstream lysergic drip fed us two cornerstones in 1967: 'Arnold Layne' became Pink Floyd's debut single in March, and May saw the release of The Beatles' Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Eclectic mixes were not just present in the music, but also in location. Classical was embraced by The Yardbirds (who introduced a vocal chant for 'Still I'm Sad'), The Nice and Procol Harum, and Cream were heavily Jazz-influenced. London may have had The UFO Club, International Times, nostalgic fashion outlet Granny Takes a Trip and the "music-hall psychedelia" of The Small Faces, but the documentary also highlights Robert Wyatt's Canterbury pioneers Soft Machine, and Birmingham-based The Move and The Moody Blues. For this Midlands assault, Roy Wood channeled his "DIY sitar" while Justin Hayward and company changed the scope of the LP with concept album Days of Future Passed.

In PSYCHEDELIC BRITANNIA, Arthur Brown describes taking LSD: "seeing into people's eyes, I saw all the universes, I saw them being born, I saw them die, I would say it was the nearest I came to being able to see God." Yet like all Utopia, it is inevitably undone by reality. Childlike optimism was no match for the harder realms entering Britain in the latter stages of the 1960s. The early growth of The National Front and "The Troubles" in Northern Ireland shifted the United Kingdom to Dystopia, as did Enoch Powell's "Rivers of Blood" speech on mass immigration.  

"New Thrills! New Faces! New Horror!"

HORROR OF FRANKENSTEIN (1970)

In the same year that David Prowse became The Green Cross Code Man, the Bristol native appeared in the second of his three roles as Mary Shelley's most famous creation.

JIMMY Sangster's HORROR OF FRANKENSTEIN is detested by Hammer purists for its comedic tone, and plays out as a parody of the previous respected entries. The film opens with Victor Frankenstein (Ralph Bates) at school, accompanied by friends Elizabeth (Veronica Carlson), Stefan (Stephen Turner) and Henry (Jon Finch). Victor arranges for the death of his father and travels to university in Vienna, where he acquires sidekick Wilhelm (Graham James) and impregnates the daughter of the Dean. Returning to Ingstad, Victor starts a series of experiments, using corpses delivered by a local body snatcher (Dennis Price) - who lets his wife do the digging. After electrocuting Wilhelm for complaining about his work - which includes reanimating a tortoise - Victor poisons Elizabeth's professor father (Bernard Archard) for his brain, but the organ is damaged and the resulting patchwork man is a mute thug (David Prowse).

Initiated as a start-over remake of CURSE OF FRANKENSTEIN, the picture dispenses with Peter Cushing's services and tries to introduce a younger generation (a failed attempt, as Cushing returned four years later in FRANKENSTEIN AND THE MONSTER FROM HELL). Despite the traditional 19th Century setting, HORROR OF FRANKENSTEIN is very much of its time - as illustrated by Bates' hair and puffy shirts - and quite anarchic, mixing additional plot threads (Elizabeth's finances, Stefan's crush on Victor) with comic relief (a severed arm making a V-sign) and grue (Victor's hands smearing his face with blood). Duelling femmes fatale O'Mara and Carlson are always watchable, but only Price can deliver a performance at the correct pitch. Bates, at this point being groomed to become the studio's next big star, is not so much a mad scientist but a psycho scientist, enjoying the thrill of the kill and rejoicing in the fact that he has this powerful monster ready to do his bidding. And when the creature eventually appears - an hour in, and sporting white cycling shorts - Prowse goes through the motions with a checklist of victims and a perfect physique which bestows its fragmented origins.

"You’ve put on weight in a couple of places"; Kate O’Mara is the bed-warming housekeeper of Hammer's relaunch of its Frankenstein franchise.

Reusing the Karnstein Castle set from THE VAMPIRE LOVERS, and even shooting most of its forest scenes on Elstree stages, there is a distinctly cheap and recycled feel. Furthermore, HORROR OF FRANKENSTEIN was not helped by a misleading marketing campaign, where it went out on a double bill with the sombre and gristly SCARS OF DRACULA (as Sangster states in Wayne Kinsey's Hammer Films: The Elstree Studio Years, "if people had gone to see it knowing it was shot light hearted they would have enjoyed it more [instead of] thinking it was a Gothic horror.") However, this twin feature did hold the distinction of the first Hammer movies to be totally financed by British companies, thanks to a deal between Sir James Carreras and ABPC/EMI. But Hammer's new partner would only distribute to England and the Commonwealth, leaving Carreras able to acquire just a small American distributor - Continental - to impossibly cover the whole of the United States market. 

The notion of deriving humour from such pseudo-scientific source material is an interesting one. Since Frankenstein was published in 1818, and Boris Karloff's seminal interpretation hit screens in 1931, Mary Shelley's serious text - and similar works - generate mythical themes and uncomfortable laughter. As the initial power of the book recedes in a collected consciousness, the tome gathers extraordinarily wide responses, snowballing a range of spoofs and humorous asides now over 200 years on. The level of comedic takes is mind-boggling, even to the point of delicious meta-levels: Mel Brooks' celebrated YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN, for example, used many pieces from James Whale's original laboratory set, and even in The Beatles film YELLOW SUBMARINE we had the Monster drinking a potion and becoming John Lennon.

Bowels of Hell

THE BORDERLANDS (2013)

An Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman go to a church... Graham Humphreys' poster art for THE BORDERLANDS ("Where faith goes to die.") For the film, unfriendly locals, a burning sheep and mysterious footage open up a bottomless pit of horror.

WHEN claims of a supernatural event are made at a remote church in the west of England, a Vatican-sanctioned team are sent to access the situation. Working under an organisation called The Congregation, Brother Deacon (Gordon Kennedy), Father Mark (Aidan McArdle) and technology expert Gray (Rob Hill) investigate the claims of Father Crellick (Luke Neal) that during a filmed baptism various religious artefacts are seen vibrating on an altar. Gray fits CCTV equipment to the church and the cottage where the trio are staying, with each of the members also wearing a headcam. As events take a darker turn with Crellick's suicide, the team start to question their own judgements when they - quite literally - start to travel into the labyrinthine bowels of hell. 

The found footage sub-genre can be conceptually and technically limiting, but with the right dynamics the format can be greatly enhanced. Such is the case with first time writer/director Elliot Goldner's THE BORDERLANDS, which excels both as a character study and an exploration of Olde England. Kennedy and Hill make for an unlikely dynamic duo - Deacon is a gruff hard-drinking Scotsman answering to the Vatican, Gray a talkative agnostic Englishman only in it for the money - but the actors gel on screen (McArdle is a stilted Irish head of operations, and this viewer yearned to see Reece Shearsmith in the role). The use of headcams make for a smoother and more sensible ride than the obligatory handhelds, which seem to remain relatively intact whatever the situation in similar pictures. The surveillance cameras maintain an eerie perspective within the church - capturing a vibe which melds THE STONE TAPE with EXORCIST: THE BEGINNING - but there is also a fertile depth into a Pagan time of more tangible beliefs, against the modern era where we need to believe.

Like all memorable horror, THE BORDERLANDS' locations, 
characters and themes form a successful whole.

What can be best termed British rural horror is defined by two main characteristics: quietly sinister country locals (when asking for directions and ignored, Gray snipes back "give my regards to Edward Woodward") and foreboding ancient terrors - often subterranean. Even though the countryside and the elements portray a deft mythology, counterculture has added another layer since The Beatles included Aleister Crowley on the cover of Sgt Pepper in 1967. As Vic Pratt states in his Sight & Sound article 'Long Arm of the Lore' (October 2013), "folk custom, witchcraft and the occult were no longer absurdities; they might almost be an option."

Making exemplary use of locations in Denbury, South Devon, THE BORDERLANDS climax is filmed extensively at Chislehurst Caves, Kent. The caves themselves are enveloped with a rich history of uses; originally a 22-mile stretch of man-made chalk and flint mines, this popular tourist attraction acted as an ammunition depot in the First World War and mushroom cultivation in the 1930s. Built by Druids, Romans and Saxons, this colourful past led it to be a music venue used by the likes of the Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd, and Led Zeppelin's Swan Song label had a launch party there in October 1974. Additionally, they have been used in the DOCTOR WHO adventure THE MUTANTS, and substituted for an underground space headquarters in INSEMINOID.

Stairway to Sex Magick

The Strange Case of Aleister Crowley and Jimmy Page

English Occultist Aleister Crowley, aka "The Great Beast 666," "The Wickedest Man In The World," and a number of other equally outlandish monikers.

BORN in the Victorian age into a family of Plymouth Brethren - who regarded sex as horribly sinful - Aleister Crowley spent his life violently reacting against this view. Legendary for an unabashed use of hashish, opium, cocaine and heroin, Crowley achieved further notoriety with sex magick, or sexual intercourse continued indefinitely - without orgasm - to produce long, drawn-out states of ecstasy and intoxication. Traditional magicians had built a system of ritual and drama; but Crowley felt that real magick was hidden in a man's will, and could be summoned by an unconscious process. Conventional morality was worthless; Crowley's credo became "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law." Suffering from bronchial infection and addicted to heroin, he passed away quietly in an unassuming Hastings boarding house during 1947, and was almost forgotten until the rock musicians - who alone had the money and inclination to live as Crowley did - started reading about him years after his death. With his libertarian agenda, insatiable appetite for sex and drugs, and a wardrobe of spectacular costumes, it’s as if Crowley had already predicted the heady counterculture of the 1960s and transformed into an icon of rebellion - a metamorphosis crowned by his appearance on the cover of The Beatles’ ‘Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’ (1967).

Boleskine House - a sprawling U-shaped farmhouse on the shores of Loch Ness - is the most physical ramification in the link between Crowley and Led Zeppelin’s virtuoso guitarist Jimmy Page. Bought by Crowley acolyte Page in 1970, it was purchased in 1900 by The Great Beast for almost twice its value, because it met certain requirements of Abra-Melin the Mage. These included windows and a door that opened to the north toward a secluded structure that was to serve as an oratory (those who practice Thelma - the religious philosophy Crowley founded - are still instructed to "face north to Boleskine" when conducting ceremonies). Crowley subsequently styled himself The Laird of Boleskine, adopted the kilt, and began trying to summon Thoth and Horus. Stories of unexplained – and unconfirmed - occurrences in the area during his residency are numerous; one tells of a local butcher accidentally cutting off his own hand with a cleaver after reading a note left by Crowley.

Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page. Zeppelin’s phallic guitar worship and uninhibited sexuality made them the rock phenomenon of their era. Asked of any connection to the Black Arts, the groups publicist B. P. Fallon once said, “Jimmy certainly wasn’t sacrificing virgins at midnight. He couldn’t find any.”

Page was quoted in Roadrunner magazine discussing further mayhem, including the story that Boleskine was once the site of a church that burned to the ground with its congregation. This historical background gives insight into the lyrics of Zeppelin’s landmark track Stairway to Heaven. When we consider its nature - a woman searching for the path to a Celtic higher plane - it is a yearning for spiritual transformation; it also appears to be partially a song of hope for all those who once suffered at Boleskine. Controversy for the tune began in 1982, when a prominent Baptist used his radio pulpit to preach that Stairway to Heaven carried subliminal messages. Then the California State Assembly played a backward tape in a public session, with members of the committee claiming they heard the words, "I live for Satan." Zeppelin were duly denounced as agents of The Devil, who were luring millions of teenagers into damnation as unwitting disciples of the Antichrist.

Rumours of devilry dogged Zeppelin throughout their career, fuelled by Page’s interest in Crowley and their deliberately mysterious album sleeves and personal tragedies - singer Robert Plant’s son Karac died of a respiratory infection in 1977, and drummer John Bonham succumbed after a drinking binge in 1980. Shortly after Bonham’s demise, rumours resurfaced about Zeppelin’s so-called 'Black Album', a record of death chants that a German writer claimed he had translated from Old Swabian. Plant himself dismissed any pacts with the Devil, remembering that the only deal the band made was with some of the girls’ High Schools in San Fernando Valley. But Page’s interest in Crowley is profound; the magus took Lucifer as an agent of intellect and freedom, the liberation of the individual. Without any restrictions, there would be no frustration to lead to violence, crime or mental breakdown. Feeling Crowley a misunderstood genius, the musician believed this doctrine of common sense.