The Dark Angel (1989): A Gothic Nightmare Worth Revisiting

Uncle Silas is one of author’s Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s best, and best loved novels. It’s a Gothic nightmare filled with memorable, broadly drawn characters, an immersive sense of atmosphere, and a command of language and pacing that is nothing short of masterly.

Although Le Fanu was best known for his ghost stories, Uncle Silas hasn’t a single element of the supernatural or the uncanny. Instead, Le Fanu weaves a tale of greed, corruption, illusion, and tremendous evil preying on the innocent. The book tells the tale of an adolescent girl named Maud, an heiress living with her reclusive father, in their formidable mansion. After her father's sudden death, she becomes the ward of her uncle Silas, a once infamous gambler, and who now claims to be a devout Christian, living a quiet, secluded life in his mansion, Bartram-Haugh. But soon after moving in with him, Maud begins to sense that something is amiss, with her uncle Silas behaving strangely, even sinisterly, while Bartram-Haugh, with its history of murder, seems to be haunted by an air of menace and evil.

The novel has been adapted to the big and small screens many a time, but one of the most effective, and provocative versions, is The Dark Angel, a mini-series which aired on the BBC in the winter of 1989.

This version is almost forgotten now, but upon release, it was quite a sensation, and later, when it came out on VHS, it turned into a cult classic. And for good reason.

The Dark Angel, takes Le Fanu’s slow-burn novel, and turns it into a hallucinatory, intense Gothic thriller, or as the promotional material calls the series, "the archetypal Gothic thriller."

Veteran TV director Peter Hammond, and writer Don MacPherson, attack the material with manic energy, leaving no opportunity to explore the darkest and seediest aspects of the original novel, sometimes stylishly, sometimes with what borders on bad taste. But throughout the three episodes that make up the series, there is never a dull moment, or an uncaptivating scene.

Maud is played with earnest innocence by Beatie Edney, and like all the other characters from the novel, is more or less an exaggerated version of the original character.

Peter O’Toole, as Uncle Silas, delivers one of his typically uneven performances from the 1980s, oscillating between brooding charisma, and annoying hamminess. But in his quieter moments, O’Toole is a scary, unforgettable Silas, a vicious, calculating scoundrel, masquerading as a tortured Byronic figure.

But the real star of this adaptation is Jane Lapotaire as Madame de la Rougierre, Silas’s emissary and dark accomplice. Lapotaire delivers a performance so sinister, so mesmerizing, that it has to be seen to be believed. A performance that is kinetic, exaggerated, and grotesque, yet never unbelievable or risible. It is a near magnificent acting feat, and showcases the breadth of talent of Lapotaire, one of the most underrated actors to come out of Britain. Lapotaire takes a character that was merely intriguing in the novel, and transforms her into a force of cruel nature, a sadistic villain who nonetheless manages to be entrancing and even sympathetic.

And although director Peter Hammond’s excesses, and the series’ overwrought tone threaten to overwhelm the viewer at any moment, by the end of the three hour tale, one is left with a sense of a dark journey worth taking, through a haunted, grotesque, and occasionally beautiful nightmare.

Text © Ahmed Khalifa.

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Film Review: A PERFECT MURDER (1998) *** and a 1\2 out of *****

Remaking classics is an unenviable task. Be too reverent to the original, and you are accused of being lazy. Deviate too much, and you can be criticized for being disrespectful.

Remaking Hitchcock, on the other hand, is a near impossible task. As Hitchcock is almost universally hailed as one of the greatest, if not the greatest, filmmaker of all time.

Most sane filmmakers avoid that choice, and those who take the plunge, mostly fail miserably. Gus Van Sant's 1998 remake of Psycho being a case in point.

1998's A Perfect Murder, is a surprising exception.

Based on the same Frederick Knott play that Hitchcock's 1954 Dial M For Murder was based on, A Perfect Murder achieves the almost impossible. It is a remake of a Hitchcock film that is superior to the original in every way.

At first glance, that assessment may seem hyperbolic, but a closer and honest look at Hitchcock's original film reveals more.

Dial M For Murder is, arguably, one of the master filmmaker's blandest and sloppiest films. Hitchcock, who always liked a challenge, tried to turn the original play the film was based on into what he termed, “pure cinema”. But, alas, Hitchcock failed on almost every front. Dial M For Murder comes off as stagy, stiff, and surprisingly boring, a rare misfire from the master of suspense. The only real high point in the whole film is Ray Milland's wonderful performance, a nasty but never hammy exercise in sheer, dark charisma.

A Perfect Murder, adapted by Patrick Smith Kelly, and directed by veteran action director Andrew Davis, is one of those rare modern Hollywood movies in which the ingredients gel, and everyone involved perform way above their pay grade.

Davis, mainly known for his action pictures in the 1980s, and the 1993 blockbuster The Fugitive starring Harrison Ford, had nothing in his oeuvre to indicate that he was capable of making a film like A Perfect Murder, an elegant, lean, and tremendously assured thriller.

The concept is the same as in the Hitchcock original. An aging man about to lose his fortune hires his wife's lover to kill her so he can inherit her considerable estate. He meticulously plans her murder, thinking nothing would go wrong. But things do go wrong, and a cat and mouse game ensues.

While Dial M For Murder was talky and stagy, A Perfect Murder is visually-driven and kinetic. Dial M For Murder comes off as bland and slow. A Perfect Murder, on the other hand, is stylish and compelling. And while Michael Douglas doesn't come close to Ray Milland's mesmerizing portrayal, he delivers an assured and understated performance, arguably one of the best of his career.

Gwyneth Paltrow as the wife doesn't fare much better than Grace Kelly did in the original, as, in both movies, the character is underwritten and uninteresting, mostly a mcguffin to get things rolling.

Viggo Mortensen as the lover fares better, delivering an enjoyable performance that does much with very little.

But the real star here is director Andrew Davis, who delivers a near classic late in his career, the kind of stylish, lean thriller no one could have expected from the journeyman director. Here, Davis is in complete control of the material, crafting a film that hums along so well, it deceptively hides the scope of his achievement, which is making the kind of film that is mostly a lost art. The elegant, twisty, and far-fetched thriller that could only come out of Hollywood at its best.

And while the script by Patrick Smith Kelly works well enough, it isn't perfect, with a somewhat problematic third act, and the bizarre inclusion of a middle-eastern detective, played with jarring portentousness by David Suchet.

But these are minor quibbles. A Perfect Murder is pure, high-caliber entertainment, and one which should not be missed by fans of classic thrillers.

Text © Ahmed Khalifa. 2024.

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Before They Were Famous: Frank Darabont's Buried Alive

Frank Darabont, the Oscar-nominated writer director of such films as The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile, and the man behind the first season of the ground-breaking TV series The Walking Dead, cut his teeth writing horror films, like The Blob (1988) and A Nightmare On Elm Street 3: The Dream Warriors (1987).

But before he directed such critically-acclaimed films as the two aforementioned Stephen King adaptations, he made his directorial debut with Buried Alive, a TV movie produced for the USA cable network, and released in 1990.

On the surface, the film, about a woman who poisons her do-gooder husband to run away with her sociopathic lover, only to discover that her husband isn’t quite dead and is back for revenge, sounds like just another cheesy 90’s made-for-TV movie. Cue the bad synth score, the has-been TV actors struggling through their middle-ages crises, and the horrible dialogue. But, Buried Alive proves to be much more than that.

Milking the limited budget and the twisty script by Mark Peter Carducci for all their worth, Darabont injects this modest thriller with tons of energy, style, wit, and transforms what could have been a forgettable B-movie into a minor suspense classic.

Good performances by Tim Matheson, Jennifer Jason Leigh, and William Atherton, and the moody score by Michael Colombier, also help. But this is Darabont’s show, and you can see glimpses of his filmmaking prowess showing through the trappings he tries to transcend.

An atmospheric piece of American Gothic, Frank Darabont’s Buried Alive is worth rediscovering.

Text © Ahmed Khalifa. 2024.

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Halloween Treat: Rediscovering HAUNTED HONEYMOON (1986)

© Orion Pictures.

In the late 1970s and early 1980s, Gene Wilder was one of the highest paid and most successful actors in Hollywood. With hits like Silver Streak in 1976, and Stir Crazy in 1980 under his belt, and Oscar nominations for his work on Mel Brooks’ The Producers, in 1967, and Young Frankenstein, in 1974, which Wilder also co-wrote, it was expected that Wilder would make the transition from actor to writer director, and he did so, with 1975's The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’ Smarter Brother, which proved to be a hit.

He then directed The World’s Greatest Lover, in 1977, which was a commercial and critical disappointment.

After taking a long break from directing, Wilder bounced back with his next effort, 1984's The Woman in Red, which was one of the surprise sleeper hits of that year, and which garnered an Oscar nomination for best song as well.

The success of The Woman in Red, led to Orion Pictures offering Wilder another project of his choice to write and direct.

The result was Haunted Honeymoon, released in 1986.

The film was instantly dismissed by critics as an unfunny disaster, and, after proving to be a commercial failure, quickly disappeared from theaters.

At first glance, it is easy to see why Haunted Honeymoon failed so miserably upon release.

Wilder, who, up to that point, was mostly known for his quirky brand of bombastic comedy, produced something quite different with Haunted Honeymoon, a mishmash of genres, including horror, mystery, freudian thriller, and slapstick comedy. An uneasy mixture that would have been challenging to pull off for any filmmaker, let alone a relatively unseasoned director like Wilder.

But, apparent flaws aside, Haunted Honeymoon has a lot to offer.

The film takes place in the 1930s, and tells the story of Larry Abbot, a man who has everything going for him. He is starring in the most successful show on the radio and he’s about to get married to Vickie, the love of his life. But underneath all the fame and success, something is troubling him, leading him to freeze while performing on the air. So he decides to go on a trip with Vickie to the eerie castle where he grew up, and where his family still resides. But upon arrival, Larry is entangled in a web of murder and dark family secrets, and discovers that one of the residents of the castle might be a werewolf.

Like all of the films Wilder has written or directed, Haunted Honeymoon is more of an ensemble piece than a starring vehicle for Wilder, with Wilder providing his terrific cast with plenty of opportunities to shine.

From Bryan Pringle as Pfister, the imposing but lovable alcoholic butler, to Jonathan Pryce as Charles, the sleazy ne’er do well, to the delightful Eve Ferret as the bubbly Sylvia.

Surprisingly enough, two of the film’s biggest stars don’t fare so well. Gilda Radner is woefully miscast as Vickie, Wilder character’s love interest, and Wilder himself admitted in his autobiography, Kiss Me Like A Stranger, that he only cast Radner under pressure from her and to spare her feelings. And although Radner shines in a moment or two, she’s too good a comedienne not to, her performance is awkward and distracting.

And Dom Deluise, performing in drag as Katherine, Larry’s aunt and the family’s imposing matriarch, almost has nothing to do, with Wilder and Deluise seemingly depending on the mere sight of Deluise in woman’s dress to do the work.

And like all the films Wilder directed, Haunted Honeymoon comes off as incoherent, occasionally overwrought, and too self-indulgent, jumping from one scene to the next with little rhyme or reason, and feeling more like a series of episodes than a cohesive story.

So it’s easy to see why Haunted Honeymoon doesn’t work on many levels.

But despite all the film’s problems, it still has its charms.

The film has a brilliantly stylish Gothic atmosphere, with dazzling production design by co-writer Terence Marsh, who, in spite of a modest budget, manages to enrich the film’s sets with plenty of lush period detail. This provides one of the film’s highlights, as Haunted Honeymoon is obviously Wilder’s loving tribute to the horror comedies of the 1930s and 40s, with thundering skies, secret passages, evil villains with glowing eyes, and even a werewolf or two.

And the film’s second half is a fast-paced delight, featuring one scary gag after another, with Wilder arguably doing some of his best work as director, as the film is undeniably Wilder’s most visually accomplished effort.

Even if the climax is a bit abrupt, and there’s one revelation too many, Haunted Honeymoon is an enjoyable misfire, a visually stylish, unique, and absorbing horror comedy from a one of a kind comedic artist.

Text © Ahmed Khalifa. 2023.

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