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

Castle of the Living Dead (1964)

If you were invited to a creepy castle by a creepy man in a creepy black cape, and if that castle belonged to Christopher Lee, and his hobby was taxidermy, and he mentioned that he was currently working on “the most fascinating and dangerous animal of all”…you wouldn’t stick around, right? You’d run for your life, proclaiming to anyone who’d listen that the bloke in the creepy castle was a spooky old people-stuffer.

Naturally, that’s not what happens in this incredibly obscure black and white Italian shocker. Set just after the Napoleonic wars, the hapless souls lured to the castle of Count Drago (Lee, of course) are a motley crew of gypsy performers who count among their number such priceless clichés as a sultry yet chaste Romany vixen, a deaf-mute strongman and a superstitious dwarf. Summoned to perform for the Count by his gaunt henchman, Sandro, the group are stopped along the way and warned by a haggard old witch that death awaits all who visit the castle of the living dead.

Quite a common sight in such cheap horror movies – but wait. Look closely at the withered old woman. She’s no lady. In fact, she’s actually a fresh-faced 29-year-old Donald Sutherland, making his movie debut in the first of two roles in this deeply odd little movie.

They ignore Old Lady Sutherland’s warning, of course, and head up to the castle where the erudite Count greets them and shows off his collection of lifelike stuffed animals. Ah! Not stuffed, he informs them in typically stern Christopher Lee fashion. The Count has discovered a natural toxin that, when injected, immediately fixes the body in a rigid immovable state – a state of, oh yes, living death.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Drago now has his sights set on something more challenging than a crow or a fox and as the Count and Sandro work their way through the entertainers, bumping them off and embalming them, Sutherland resurfaces as the old hag and reveals that her grotesque appearance is the result of the Count’s earlier experiments. Sutherland then appears again – this time without make-up as Sergeant Paul, the inept local police chief who is utterly oblivious to the sinister goings on at the castle.

Sergeant Paul finally enters the castle when he hears screaming but, seeing the last of the performers fighting for their life, he gets the wrong end of the stick and assumes the gypsies are the troublemakers. At that moment the old hag bursts into the room and attacks Count Drago. As they battle – with Donald Sutherland as Sergeant Paul looking on in understandable confusion at the sight of Donald Sutherland as an old woman fighting Christopher Lee – a dagger coated in the deadly poison finds a victim, though not the one intended. Yep, Count Drago stabs himself by accident and is frozen to the spot. The process of law in Napoleonic times not being quite as stringent as it is today, Sergeant Paul immediately lets everyone go home, leaving the castle full of creepy frozen people.

Nothing can prepare you for quite how cheap, scratchy and poorly dubbed this curious movie is – all the more surprising as Christopher Lee was already a fairly big star when he filmed it, having headlined Hammer’s first monster smash hits several years earlier. The movie itself isn’t exactly bad – though the acting is almost uniformly appalling – as there are some nice eerie touches, with the stilted dialogue and weird European location giving it a nightmarish quality that the script struggles to maintain. It also features at least one surprisingly grisly death scene, when the deaf-mute strongman takes a poison dart in the eye in a scene which calls to mind the monochrome sadism of Italian horror pioneer Mario Bava. But then it also features a scene in which the dwarf is tossed off the castle roof, and lands in a haystack unharmed, a slapstick interlude which rather contradicts the perilous mood.

As for Sutherland, his dual role seems to be intended more as a cost-cutting exercise than any nod in the direction of Peter Sellers, whose multiple performance tour de force in Dr. Strangelove came out the same year. His deliberately stupid police sergeant is fun, but it’s the unintentional hilarity of seeing him dressed as a wrinkly old witch that makes this an unforgettable movie debut.

Need to know: Castle of the Living Dead was co-directed by Lorenzo Sabatini, who often used the more US-friendly pseudonym of Warren Kiefer. Donald Sutherland clearly liked the name so much that he borrowed the surname when his son was born four years later. Also involved in the movie, as a writer and uncredited co-director, was Michael Reeves, the young British talent who directed the Vincent Price classic, Witchfinder General, before dying of an overdose.

Honourable mention: Sutherland would reteam with Christopher Lee the following year for Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (see: Roy Castle), but in 1967 he was one of the ensemble cast of The Dirty Dozen and from there it was a quick hop, step and jump to Robert Altman’s M*A*S*H, then Kelly’s Heroes, Klute and onward to Hollywood Legend status.

Availability: Castle of the Living Dead received a small video release in the US, but is otherwise unavailable. Bootleg copies are scarce, but can be found.

		Castle of the Living Dead (1964) If you were invited to a creepy castle by a creepy man in a creepy black cape, and if that castle belonged to Christopher Lee, and his hobby was taxidermy, and he mentioned that he was currently working on “the most fascinating and dangerous animal of all”…you wouldn’t stick around, right? You’d run for your life, proclaiming to anyone who’d listen that the bloke in the creepy castle was a spooky old people-stuffer. Naturally, that’s not what happens in this incredibly obscure black and white Italian shocker. Set just after the Napoleonic wars, the hapless souls lured to the castle of Count Drago (Lee, of course) are a motley crew of gypsy performers who count among their number such priceless clichés as a sultry yet chaste Romany vixen, a deaf-mute strongman and a superstitious dwarf. Summoned to perform for the Count by his gaunt henchman, Sandro, the group are stopped along the way and warned by a haggard old witch that death awaits all who visit the castle of the living dead. Quite a common sight in such cheap horror movies – but wait. Look closely at the withered old woman. She’s no lady. In fact, she’s actually a fresh-faced 29-year-old Donald Sutherland, making his movie debut in the first of two roles in this deeply odd little movie. They ignore Old Lady Sutherland’s warning, of course, and head up to the castle where the erudite Count greets them and shows off his collection of lifelike stuffed animals. Ah! Not stuffed, he informs them in typically stern Christopher Lee fashion. The Count has discovered a natural toxin that, when injected, immediately fixes the body in a rigid immovable state – a state of, oh yes, living death. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Drago now has his sights set on something more challenging than a crow or a fox and as the Count and Sandro work their way through the entertainers, bumping them off and embalming them, Sutherland resurfaces as the old hag and reveals that her grotesque appearance is the result of the Count’s earlier experiments. Sutherland then appears again – this time without make-up as Sergeant Paul, the inept local police chief who is utterly oblivious to the sinister goings on at the castle. Sergeant Paul finally enters the castle when he hears screaming but, seeing the last of the performers fighting for their life, he gets the wrong end of the stick and assumes the gypsies are the troublemakers. At that moment the old hag bursts into the room and attacks Count Drago. As they battle – with Donald Sutherland as Sergeant Paul looking on in understandable confusion at the sight of Donald Sutherland as an old woman fighting Christopher Lee – a dagger coated in the deadly poison finds a victim, though not the one intended. Yep, Count Drago stabs himself by accident and is frozen to the spot. The process of law in Napoleonic times not being quite as stringent as it is today, Sergeant Paul immediately lets everyone go home, leaving the castle full of creepy frozen people. Nothing can prepare you for quite how cheap, scratchy and poorly dubbed this curious movie is – all the more surprising as Christopher Lee was already a fairly big star when he filmed it, having headlined Hammer’s first monster smash hits several years earlier. The movie itself isn’t exactly bad – though the acting is almost uniformly appalling – as there are some nice eerie touches, with the stilted dialogue and weird European location giving it a nightmarish quality that the script struggles to maintain. It also features at least one surprisingly grisly death scene, when the deaf-mute strongman takes a poison dart in the eye in a scene which calls to mind the monochrome sadism of Italian horror pioneer Mario Bava. But then it also features a scene in which the dwarf is tossed off the castle roof, and lands in a haystack unharmed, a slapstick interlude which rather contradicts the perilous mood. As for Sutherland, his dual role seems to be intended more as a cost-cutting exercise than any nod in the direction of Peter Sellers, whose multiple performance tour de force in Dr. Strangelove came out the same year. His deliberately stupid police sergeant is fun, but it’s the unintentional hilarity of seeing him dressed as a wrinkly old witch that makes this an unforgettable movie debut. Need to know: Castle of the Living Dead was co-directed by Lorenzo Sabatini, who often used the more US-friendly pseudonym of Warren Kiefer. Donald Sutherland clearly liked the name so much that he borrowed the surname when his son was born four years later. Also involved in the movie, as a writer and uncredited co-director, was Michael Reeves, the young British talent who directed the Vincent Price classic, Witchfinder General, before dying of an overdose. Honourable mention: Sutherland would reteam with Christopher Lee the following year for Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (see: Roy Castle), but in 1967 he was one of the ensemble cast of The Dirty Dozen and from there it was a quick hop, step and jump to Robert Altman’s MASH, then Kelly’s Heroes, Klute and onward to Hollywood Legend status. Availability:* Castle of the Living Dead received a small video release in the US, but is otherwise unavailable. Bootleg copies are scarce, but can be found.
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.