Archive for Theatre of Blood

Spread the Love

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 14, 2012 by dcairns

A Valentine’s Day Miscellany for you –

Over at Limerwrecks, THEATRE OF BLOOD proves to be the gift that keeps on giving — here’s my latest, co-authored with host Surly Hack. At the same site, you can read more rhymes about Robert Morley being force-fed his poodles than you would think possible.

My great good friend B. Kite delves into MULHOLLAND DRIVE in his first piece for Sight and Sound. I was kind of around for the birth of this article, though my duties stopped far short of actual midwifery, were more along the lines of muttering wan encouragement from a safe distance, like a rubbish dad. The resulting piece bears no disfiguring forceps marks and is in fact vigorous, alert and a healthy size. It also offers an alternative way of looking at a Lynch film that’s almost become a closed, fully-resolved narrative (all those clues!) — this piece reclaims the mystery, or at least opens a side-door into it.

In case you’ve been trapped under something heavy for the past month or so, you ought to know about the upcoming For the Love of Film blogathon, hosted here and here. I plan on writing something on that renowned English filmmaker, that master of suspense… Graham Cutts.

The Seven Rages of Man

Posted in FILM, Theatre with tags , , on January 28, 2012 by dcairns

A Limerepic for you today, courtesy of Limerwrecks, where, with an assist from Sir Surly Hack, I offer for your delectation and moral dereliction, a seven-stage poem on the assorted assassinations of THEATRE OF BLOOD.

Well, someone had to do it!

Link.

(And you can watch the whole movie on YouTube)

Hooray for the horror perennial!

As we celebrate this Vincentennial!

Ten decades of Price

A Ham Paradise

As surreal as an etching by Tenniel.

The Ten Plagues of Christmas

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , on December 29, 2011 by dcairns

At this magical time of the year

I feel a small frisson of fear

I was scared as a child

By the voice, soft and mild

Of a gentleman ever so queer.

It’s true — a Hogmanay screening of THEATRE OF BLOOD so terrified me as a kid, I couldn’t walk into a room for months afterwards without imaging the severed head of Arthur Lowe waiting for me. I think it was the fact that he’s murdered in bed, the place of childhood safety, and in a slow, methodical, surgical manner…

I once had a flat mate similarly traumatised, but by Robert Morley’s demise in the same film, choked to death on a cream-of-poodle pie rammed down his throat through a funnel. She couldn’t eat chicken pie ever again.

So this time of year often makes me think of Vincent Price. And since it’s near the climax of the Vincentennial, the blogospheric celebration of his hundredth blood-curdling year, it seemed mete to sing his praises.

I limbered up with this little rhyme, then decided to indulge in a ten-lim marathon celebrating each of Phibes’ phiendish phorays.

Thus: The Wreckalogue.

A further entry in the Vincentennial, dealing with the gripping WITCHFINDER GENERAL, is here. And make sure you check out everyone else’s rhymes! A big thankyou to Hil for having me.

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