The Spiral Staircase (1946)

Few thrillers have ever wrapped terror in such beauty as Robert Siodmak's The Spiral Staircase (1946). Adapted from Ethel Lina White's novel "Some Must Watch", it is one of the crown jewels of the "old dark house" tradition. 

The story takes place in 1916 in a quiet New England village that is shaken by a killer who is stalking women he deems "imperfect." Inside the great Warren mansion, the latest potential target, Helen Capel (Dorothy McGuire), a young mute servant girl, tends to her bedridden employer Mrs. Warren (Ethel Barrymore), unaware that danger lurks within the corridors of the house she calls home. 

Director Robert Siodmak, fresh from his work at Universal, infused the picture with the eerie elegance of German Expressionism. His camera glides through the Warren house teasing us with glimpses of views through mirrors and banisters, as though we were the unseen watcher. The most iconic frame of the film is undoubtably his close-up of the killer's eye and its reflection of the titular staircase. 

Dorothy McGuire gives a remarkable delicate performance as Helen. One forgets her muteness entirely, instead we sense her vulnerability and every thought of fear through her expressions alone. The grand old dame Barrymore gives a barnstorming turn as the sharp-tongued ailing dowager, a role which earned her an Academy Award nomination. George Brent and Gordon Oliver are each cloaked in just enough mystery to keep the viewer guessing, while Kent Smith lends a touch of romance to the proceedings as the young Dr. Parry who is anxious for Helen to regain her speech. The always appealing Rhonda Fleming costars as Mr. Warren's secretary; Elsa Lanchester brings some tipsy humor to the household gloom, and Sara Allgood and Rhys Williams round out the cast of servants. 

Visually, the film is a feast. Nicholas Musuraca's cinematography - that deep-focus chiaroscuro he perfected in Cat People and The Seventh Victim - breathes life into Albert D'Agostino's rambling and gloomy Victorian sets. 

The mystery itself may not stump many modern viewers, but The Spiral Staircase was never about surprise...it is about suspense - that exquisite tightening of the nerves as Helen's silence grows unbearable. In its refinement and restraint, The Spiral Staircase anticipates the psychological thrillers of decades to come and remains a Gothic masterpiece preserved on celluloid.

G-G-Ghost!! 1960s British Pathe Ghost Clips

This month's featured British Pathe clip is actually three newsreels in one and all suitably spooky for Halloween. Titled "G-G-Ghost!", British Pathe assembled these spirited shorts dating from the 1950s and 1960s into one entertaining video. The first is from 1953's "Ghost Hunters" and features the Sussex ghost hunters examining an old country house and why three caretakers were frightened away it. If this sparks your interest, check out BBC's 1975 documentary "Ghost Hunters" to learn more about these Sussex fellows. 

The second newsreel is "Dig that Ghost" and features the haunted Chequers Inn in Amersham. This 18th-century inn once housed three men who were burned at the stake the following day for being Protestant. Finally, the last is 1957's "Pathe Probes that Ghost" where the ghost of half a man named George appears to the owner of the Pilgrim's Cottage in Wilbarston. He was supposedly disturbed by the digging up of tombstones in a nearby graveyard and is looking for a new resting place. 

Ready to watch "G-G-Ghost!"? Simply click on this link.  

Other similarly themed British Pathe shorts: 

English Witch Cave (1962) - 0:47 sec 

The Ghost Town of Lucknow (1967) - 1:08 sec 

A Halloween Crossword Puzzle

 Since Halloween is fast approaching, here is a special horror/mystery movie themed puzzle for any of you trivia-loving readers. Solve the clues going across and then the grayed squares will reveal the answer to the clue at the bottom of the page. Try not to look up any of these clues online... after all, the fun of a good puzzle is trying to puzzle it out yourself! 

Answers will be revealed on Halloween. 

You can right-click and save on the image here to print it as a jpeg, or click here to view and print the PDF. Enjoy! 

Alfred Hitchcock Presents: The Perfect Crime (1957)

On October 20, 1957, television audiences were treated to a rare pairing of two masters of suspense: Alfred Hitchcock and Vincent Price in, what is hard to believe, their only work together. In The Perfect Crime, the third episode of Season 3 of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Price dons the role of Charles Courtney, a smug prosecutor with a penchant for collecting case mementos—each one neatly labeled and shelved like trophies in a macabre curio cabinet. But there’s one conspicuous gap on the shelf, reserved for what he calls “The Perfect Crime.” You can guess where this is going.

Enter James Gregory as John Gregory (yes, the names are confusing), a defense attorney with a bone to pick. He believes Courtney sent an innocent man to the gallows, and he’s got the evidence to prove it. What follows is a tense tête-à-tête that spirals into murder and a chilling twist that only Hitchcock could deliver with such dry wit.

Price is in his element here—oozing charm, arrogance, and just the right amount of menace. However, much of the episode unfolds through Gregory’s riveting narration, as he reconstructs the tragic events that lead to the innocent man's unjust prosecution. 

Hitchcock, ever the showman, introduces the episode wearing a deerstalker and puffing bubbles from a calabash pipe—a cheeky nod to Sherlock Holmes and a wink to the audience that this mystery is anything but elementary.

The episode is one of only seventeen directed by Hitchcock himself, and it shows. The pacing is taut, the dialogue crisp, and the conclusion deliciously absurd. It’s a compact gem that reminds us why Alfred Hitchcock Presents remains a gold standard in televised suspense.

So if you’re in the mood for a little murder, a lot of ego, and a kiln that doubles as a crime scene, The Perfect Crime is a must-watch. Just don’t ask what’s in the vase.

Tales of Witches, Ghosts and Goblins Told by Vincent Price

In the 1970s, Vincent Price was not only busy continuing his film work in Hollywood but he also returned to his old haunting ground - the radio studio. His best radio work was done on The Price of Fear, a BBC horror anthology serial, that aired late nights in 1973. 

However, one year prior to that he recorded an album of eerie tales for the Caedmon label (TC-1393) of literary LPs. "Tales of Witches, Ghosts and Goblins" gathers a compelling selection of short stories: Iroquois legends, Sioux folktales, Scottish witch-reels, and even an essay snippet on becoming a werewolf, all narrated by the inimitable silky voice of Price. There’s a delightful almost conversational intimacy in Price’s tone in this album, as though he’s leaning in close, whispering one more ghost story before turning off the light.

The album sold enough copies to justify a follow-up and, in 1973, Price returned to record "A Coven of Witches' Tales" (TC-1338) which featured stories even more intriguing than the first album....but the third recording (or should I say "thrice"?) was the best - "A Graveyard of Ghost Tales" (TC-1429) released in 1974. Werewolves are eerie, witches are scary, but ghosts are terrifying, so be warned that this is not a bedtime album to listen to! 

All of the albums featured fabulous and imaginative illustrations by book illustrators Leo and Diane Dillon. 

Enjoy these LPs online because they are popular among collectors and can fetch anywhere from $100-$400 each. 

Ready to be enchanted by old legends and eerie ghost stories? Click here to listen to "Tales of Witches, Ghosts and Goblins Told by Vincent Price" and here to listen to "A Coven of Witches Tales" and here to be spooked with a "A Graveyard of Ghost Tales".

Film Albums: Half a Sixpence (1967)

Every October, around Columbus Day, I get the urge to watch two films: Doctor Dolittle and Half a Sixpence, both of which were released in 1967. Some people consider the 1960s a musical revival decade and others consider it the worst decade in musical history.... personally, I think the 1960s had some good productions and this is definitely one of them. You can read our full review of the film here, for this post we will just be sharing what stands out with this score. 

For one thing, you cannot go wrong with any production conducted by Irwin Kostal. This brilliant arranger/conductor is most famous for his work on Mary Poppins (1964) but he also did a splendid job adapting the Sherman Brothers music in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968), Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971) and Charlotte's Web (1971). 

For Half a Sixpence, Kostal had some fantastic music by David Heneker to work with and Tommy Steele, with his unmistakable Cockney accent, performed all of the numbers with his usual lovable zeal. The tunes are all befitting an English turn-of-the-century setting and definitely lean towards the music hall sound. 

Highlights of this album include the titular "Half a Sixpence" with its beautiful instrumental interlude, "She's Too Far Above Me," the lilting "If the Rain's Gotta Fall" performed by Steele (as Artie) and the chorus, and "This is My World." Artie's gal Ann was played by Julia Foster but her singing voice was dubbed by Marti Webb who had played the role in the original 1963 London production. Marti's lovely soprano voice can be heard best in the reprise of "Half a Sixpence" at the end of the album. 

Click here to listen to the full album on Youtube. 

Track Listing


Side One:

"Overture"

"All in the Cause of Economy"

"Half a Sixpence"

"Money to Burn"

"I Don't Believe a Word"

"I'm Not Talking to You"

"A Proper Gentleman"

Side Two:

"If the Rain's Gotta Fall"

"Lady Botting's Boating Regatta Cup Racing Song (The Race)"

"Roses of Success"

"Entr'Acte, Flash, Bang Wallop"

"I Know What I Am"

"This is My World"

"Half a Sixpence - Reprise"

Top Music Picks: Half a Sixpence, She's Too Far Above Me, If the Rain's Gonna Fall, This is My World

Codename Icarus (1981)

Just when you think you have discovered all the miniseries there are to discover, you find a new one. That was the case with Codename Icarus. We thought we had exhausted the field of British children's television programs and then Paul, a wonderful film collector, shared this hard-to-find title. 

Codename Icarus (1981), a quietly unsettling conspiracy thriller, was the brainchild of screenwriter Richard Cooper. It poses the query, "what if an organization used gifted children to develop scientific breakthroughs for their own diabolical means?" If an organization could separate the children with advanced minds from their regular schools and then train them to work on problems for their own use, what could stop them? Well, in the series, one man could stop them. At least, he will try. 

Martin Smith (Barry Angel) is one of the eccentric gifted children who was most recently brought to Falconleigh, a private school in the country run by the shadowy Icarus Foundation. He was told that he could pursue his own studies and that teachers - who act more like servants - will be able to provide him with "challenges" which he can work on to engage his mind. These homework assignments are actually pieces of research projects that other scientists are having difficulty solving. 

At Falconleigh, pupils are addressed with strict formality, social bonds are discouraged, and “The Game” — conducted in a deserted squash court — subjects them to interrogation, hypnosis, and mental conditioning. Martin, who was at first delighted to be going to a school that recognized his talent, soon discovers the real "game" that Falconleigh is playing on the students. He wants to escape but is unable to. 

Parallel to the child-strand is an adult storyline, led by intelligence officer Andy Rutherford (Jack Galloway), investigating why British missiles keep failing in testing — and gradually tracing the threads of sabotage back to Falconleigh and Icarus. 

It’s this structural balance — the youthful and the grown-up plots proceeding in tandem — that makes Icarus feel less like “children’s TV with spies” and more like a compact, morally serious drama. British screenwriters always seem to be pushing the boundaries of what defines children's television and normally a program such as Codename Icarus would have been a treat to watch. However, Richard Cooper's script pushed the boundaries a bit too far. Why would children be anxious to tune into next week's program to watch other children undergo drug treatment or be interrogated? Even this extreme possibility may have happened if Barry Angel made his Martin Smith character a likable chap. 

Codename Icarus could have been a series about two or three highly intelligent children banding together to escape the school and expose its founder to the British secret service. Adults would have enjoyed the trials of Andy Rutherford while children could have related to Martin and his compatriots. Instead, Martin is an uneasy, brittle centre: he’s prickly, defensive, and full of resentment at being misunderstood....in short, a thoroughly unentertaining character to watch. The adult cast, especially Galloway’s Rutherford, offers counterweight, but not enough to save the series from just being a dark and unsettling bit of sci-fi television. 

If you cherish the BBC’s tradition of intelligent children’s serials, then you are better off exploring Timeslip (1970), Escape into Night (1972), Children of the Stones (1977), The Bells of Astercote (1980), or The Witches and the Grinnygog (1983). Not only are these more entertaining, but they spark the imagination far more vividly.