Cinema
Gothic ('18', selected cinemas)
Naked horror
Zenga Longmore
In the eerie recesses of the Villa Diodati, Mary Shelley, Shelley himself and Byron sit by a crackling log fire. Whilst a demonic thunderstorm rages, they each decide to write a ghost story . . . . Now, wouldn't that seem the perfect recipe for a gripping horror film? The sorry answer, I'm afraid, is no. Not, that is, when Ken Russell gets to work on it. With his self-indulgent, turgid style, the result of Gothic is Hammer House of Horror blended, rather badly, with one of those pretentious half-hour things you always switch off when they appear on Channel 4. With Gothic, Mr Russell has attempted to explore the subconscious terrors of the film's characters, and in so doing to probe into the souls of us, the audience, and awaken within us our deepest fears. At least I think that's what he was trying to do; you can never be too sure with Ken Russell, can you?
I must confess, when the film began, I thought I was on to a good thing. A burst of thunder, and a naked Shelley hot-foots it onto the roof, and begins to cavort in the rain, with Byron club-footing it in his wake. Mary Shelley indulges in a fireside orgy, Dr Polidari swigs down a glass of leeches, and a good time is had by all. Then, somehow, the over-enthusiastic director loses his way. In trying to really scare us, he makes his characters (who, fortunately are too dead to sue him) sink to the grisliest of depths. Displaying a marked lack of taste, Dr Polidari does rude things with religious artefacts whilst partaking in a spot of self-flagellation. Byron, presum- ably feeling a bit left out, performs an oral abortion (?) on his girlfriend who proceeds to grow eyes in her breasts. It was at this point I fell asleep.
I awoke with a jerk to howls of laughter from the audience, and gazed with dreamy eyes at Shelley, who had just delivered a line. Because of his wooden acting, poor Shelley raised a laugh every time he opened his mouth, although the corny script certainly helped to contribute to the occasional bouts of jocularity.
Mary Shelley whiled away her idle mom- ents running half-naked through the icy- cold castle, alternately crying and scream- ing, whilst the gentlemen of the house doped themselves up on laudanum. Besides being very cold, the poor woman couldn't even get a decent night's sleep because she kept waking in the night surrounded by goblins, ghouls and dead foetuses. Instead of getting any sympathy, it is she who comforts hubby as he messes around with bloody skulls and goes into trances at inconvenient moments. I couldn't understand why she didn't spend her time skiing, as most people do when they holiday in Switzerland. It may even have improved the somewhat mediocre quality of her writing. A thunderstorm boomed relentlessly throughout the film, which was very annoying. There was enough racket going on inside, without mighty bangs and noisy rainfall going on without. What's more I was most disappointed not to see Chris- topher Lee and Peter Cushing lurking around in the shadows. Not only can they be guaranteed to be permanently fu11Y clothed, but their agents would have in- sisted on some of the less pleasant scenes being cut. To see Gothic, it is advisable to bring along a pillow and a good book, and not, as your hapless reviewer did, have a Chinese meal beforehand.
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