Flicks of Shame: what's a nice actor like you doing in a movie like this?

The Ghoul (1975)

Through the Fifties and Sixties, horror cinema was dominated by the arch gothic style popularised by Hammer, and perpetuated by studios such as Tigon and Amicus. Even Roger Corman got in on the act, filming his later horror flicks – and in particular his Edgar Allen Poe adaptations - in a lurid flamboyant style that owed much to the Hammer template (see: Jack Nicholson).

But by the Seventies, the public’s appetite had changed as gritty, nihilistic Vietnam-era flicks such as Night of the Living Dead offered terrors far removed from fog-shrouded castles and genteel Edwardian protagonists. The Ghoul marked an interesting halfway point between the two styles – written by Hammer boss Anthony Hinds, directed by Hammer regular Freddie Francis and starring Peter Cushing, it combined the setting and style of classic British horror with the ambiguity and bleak American tone that was creeping into vogue. In fact, in a surprising number of ways, it actually plays like a Hammer version of Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Set in the Roaring Twenties, the story opens with a bunch of boisterous London socialites chugging champagne and jigging about to a gramophone. With their cut-glass accents and braying laughter you’re thankful this is a horror film, as within two minutes you’ll be hoping these people die horribly. Rest assured, they do.

Having drained all the bubbly, and with “drunk driving” still considered a jolly wheeze rather than a lethal social stigma, four of the gang decide on a whim to have a road race to Cornwall. Headstrong party girl Daphne chooses the flashy and callow Billy as her passenger (even though it’s his car), while her other potential suitor, stiff Army man Geoffrey, is forced to take Billy’s whining sister, Angela, along for the ride.

The two cars become separated, and Daphne and Billy shoot into the lead. In the depths of the countryside, fog rolls in and they run out of petrol – just yards before a sheer drop. Sending Billy into the mist to find more fuel, Daphne huffs and puffs for a bit and then wanders off to find some help of her own. And waiting for her in the fog is Rawlings, a greasy and creepy pervert played with unnerving aplomb by the young John Hurt, still four years away from international fame as the crewman from Alien with a nasty stomach bug.

Rawlings is the gardener and groundsman for Doctor Lawrence (Cushing), but he warns her not to go up to the main house. When she refuses to listen to his leering advice – kindly kneeing him in the nutsack to punctuate her point – he knocks her out with a rock. She awakes in the house, where the kindly Lawrence offers her comfort and hospitality – but firmly insists that she shouldn’t leave until the fog has cleared.

Spying the obligatory family portrait on the mantelpiece, Daphne asks about his wife and son. Lawrence explains that his wife died, and that his son was “corrupted” while they were living in India as missionaries. “I don’t see him anymore” he whispers, and right away we know that by “I don’t see him anymore”, the doctor actually means “I do see him, he’s a flesh-eating monster that lives in the attic”.

Sure enough, while this is going on, Rawlings has shoved poor Billy and his car into the ravine and, later that night, Lawrence’s Indian housekeeper Ayah (played by white actress Gwen Watford in shocking brown-face make up) unlocks a spooky door at the top of the stairs. We get glimpses of a shambling, rotten form coming down the stairs and, in a Psycho-style twist, our heroine Daphne is cut to ribbons in her bed by the mysterious ghoul.

The next day, Rawlings watches mesmerised as Ayah butchers the corpse. As she salts the meat in the pantry, the disturbed gardener swipes the dead girl’s knickers and spirits them back to his shack. The mucky pup.

Of course, Geoffrey and Angela are soon on the scene when news of Billy’s “accident” reaches them. While Geoffrey searches the marshland for signs of Daphne, Angela falls prey to the demented but commendably dedicated Rawlings, who fells her with a ferocious kung fu bitchslap that belies his scrawny frame. This time, however, Geoffrey is able to trace the missing woman back to the house, where he realises that the doctor’s congenial manner is masking some seriously screwed up behaviour. Barging into the upstairs room, he emerges almost immediately with a ceremonial knife embedded in his face.

“I’m all you’ve got now” drools Rawlings to the terrified Angela, though his glee is shortlived. She clobbers him with an ornament, knocking him onto the bed just as the ghoul shuffles in, knife gleaming and ready. Through sheer force of habit, the diseased monster hacks Rawlings to death and then raises its blade to finish off Angela. Just before the ghoul can deliver the fatal blow, a shot rings out and it drops down dead. It’s Doctor Lawrence to the rescue, finally wising up to the notion that keeping your cannibal son in the attic and letting him feast on stray women isn’t sporting or gentlemanly conduct. He puts another slug into his moaning offspring’s body, and then turns his gun on himself.

Angela, much like Sally in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (released the year before) flees screaming into the night. The reason for the ghoul’s terrible affliction is never explained, and we’re left with the sight of Lawrence, blood dripping from his head wound, slumped next to the picture of his wife, a memorably bleak ending in a genre best known for its neat resolutions.

Need to know: The Ghoul of the title was played by Don Henderson, the popular British TV actor. He was reunited with Peter Cushing two years later, of course, when he played one of Grand Moff Tarkin’s Imperial officers in Star Wars. Cushing’s wife of 32 years died in 1971, and his haunted performance as the bereaved doctor is due in large part to the legendary actor’s inconsolable grief over the loss. “Since Helen passed on I can't find anything; the heart, quite simply, has gone out of everything”, he told the Radio Times in 1972, making the suicidal conclusion to The Ghoul all the more poignant. “Time is interminable, the loneliness is almost unbearable and the only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that my dear Helen and I will be united again some day.”

Honourable mentions: Other cheesy genre offerings in the Hurt filmography include the 1993 alien invasion flick, Monolith, and Roger Corman’s Frankenstein Unbound (see: Jason Patric).

Availability: Night of the Ghoul can be very hard to find, though it is available as part of a cheap US DVD compilation called Horror Rises From The Grave.

		The Ghoul (1975) Through the Fifties and Sixties, horror cinema was dominated by the arch gothic style popularised by Hammer, and perpetuated by studios such as Tigon and Amicus. Even Roger Corman got in on the act, filming his later horror flicks – and in particular his Edgar Allen Poe adaptations - in a lurid flamboyant style that owed much to the Hammer template (see: Jack Nicholson). But by the Seventies, the public’s appetite had changed as gritty, nihilistic Vietnam-era flicks such as Night of the Living Dead offered terrors far removed from fog-shrouded castles and genteel Edwardian protagonists. The Ghoul marked an interesting halfway point between the two styles – written by Hammer boss Anthony Hinds, directed by Hammer regular Freddie Francis and starring Peter Cushing, it combined the setting and style of classic British horror with the ambiguity and bleak American tone that was creeping into vogue. In fact, in a surprising number of ways, it actually plays like a Hammer version of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Set in the Roaring Twenties, the story opens with a bunch of boisterous London socialites chugging champagne and jigging about to a gramophone. With their cut-glass accents and braying laughter you’re thankful this is a horror film, as within two minutes you’ll be hoping these people die horribly. Rest assured, they do. Having drained all the bubbly, and with “drunk driving” still considered a jolly wheeze rather than a lethal social stigma, four of the gang decide on a whim to have a road race to Cornwall. Headstrong party girl Daphne chooses the flashy and callow Billy as her passenger (even though it’s his car), while her other potential suitor, stiff Army man Geoffrey, is forced to take Billy’s whining sister, Angela, along for the ride. The two cars become separated, and Daphne and Billy shoot into the lead. In the depths of the countryside, fog rolls in and they run out of petrol – just yards before a sheer drop. Sending Billy into the mist to find more fuel, Daphne huffs and puffs for a bit and then wanders off to find some help of her own. And waiting for her in the fog is Rawlings, a greasy and creepy pervert played with unnerving aplomb by the young John Hurt, still four years away from international fame as the crewman from Alien with a nasty stomach bug. Rawlings is the gardener and groundsman for Doctor Lawrence (Cushing), but he warns her not to go up to the main house. When she refuses to listen to his leering advice – kindly kneeing him in the nutsack to punctuate her point – he knocks her out with a rock. She awakes in the house, where the kindly Lawrence offers her comfort and hospitality – but firmly insists that she shouldn’t leave until the fog has cleared. Spying the obligatory family portrait on the mantelpiece, Daphne asks about his wife and son. Lawrence explains that his wife died, and that his son was “corrupted” while they were living in India as missionaries. “I don’t see him anymore” he whispers, and right away we know that by “I don’t see him anymore”, the doctor actually means “I do see him, he’s a flesh-eating monster that lives in the attic”. Sure enough, while this is going on, Rawlings has shoved poor Billy and his car into the ravine and, later that night, Lawrence’s Indian housekeeper Ayah (played by white actress Gwen Watford in shocking brown-face make up) unlocks a spooky door at the top of the stairs. We get glimpses of a shambling, rotten form coming down the stairs and, in a Psycho-style twist, our heroine Daphne is cut to ribbons in her bed by the mysterious ghoul. The next day, Rawlings watches mesmerised as Ayah butchers the corpse. As she salts the meat in the pantry, the disturbed gardener swipes the dead girl’s knickers and spirits them back to his shack. The mucky pup. Of course, Geoffrey and Angela are soon on the scene when news of Billy’s “accident” reaches them. While Geoffrey searches the marshland for signs of Daphne, Angela falls prey to the demented but commendably dedicated Rawlings, who fells her with a ferocious kung fu bitchslap that belies his scrawny frame. This time, however, Geoffrey is able to trace the missing woman back to the house, where he realises that the doctor’s congenial manner is masking some seriously screwed up behaviour. Barging into the upstairs room, he emerges almost immediately with a ceremonial knife embedded in his face. “I’m all you’ve got now” drools Rawlings to the terrified Angela, though his glee is shortlived. She clobbers him with an ornament, knocking him onto the bed just as the ghoul shuffles in, knife gleaming and ready. Through sheer force of habit, the diseased monster hacks Rawlings to death and then raises its blade to finish off Angela. Just before the ghoul can deliver the fatal blow, a shot rings out and it drops down dead. It’s Doctor Lawrence to the rescue, finally wising up to the notion that keeping your cannibal son in the attic and letting him feast on stray women isn’t sporting or gentlemanly conduct. He puts another slug into his moaning offspring’s body, and then turns his gun on himself. Angela, much like Sally in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (released the year before) flees screaming into the night. The reason for the ghoul’s terrible affliction is never explained, and we’re left with the sight of Lawrence, blood dripping from his head wound, slumped next to the picture of his wife, a memorably bleak ending in a genre best known for its neat resolutions. Need to know: The Ghoul of the title was played by Don Henderson, the popular British TV actor. He was reunited with Peter Cushing two years later, of course, when he played one of Grand Moff Tarkin’s Imperial officers in Star Wars. Cushing’s wife of 32 years died in 1971, and his haunted performance as the bereaved doctor is due in large part to the legendary actor’s inconsolable grief over the loss. “Since Helen passed on I can't find anything; the heart, quite simply, has gone out of everything”, he told the Radio Times in 1972, making the suicidal conclusion to The Ghoul all the more poignant. “Time is interminable, the loneliness is almost unbearable and the only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that my dear Helen and I will be united again some day.” Honourable mentions: Other cheesy genre offerings in the Hurt filmography include the 1993 alien invasion flick, Monolith, and Roger Corman’s Frankenstein Unbound (see: Jason Patric). Availability: Night of the Ghoul can be very hard to find, though it is available as part of a cheap US DVD compilation called Horror Rises From The Grave.
Text © 2008 Dan Whitehead. No cut and paste, y'hear? All images remain the property of the offending studios and their reproduction is covered by Fair Use law.