The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein
Possibly the only thing shared between Spike Milligan and Peter Ackroyd is that they have both published their own take on the Frankenstein story. I’ve not read the Milligan version, but I think I’m safe in assuming that the only similarities with Ackroyd’s The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein are the bare bones of the story, something familiar to as all via Mary Shelley’s novel or Universal and Hammer film adaptations. I’m confident in this assumption – in no way do I imagine Peter Ackroyd as the missing fifth Goon.
Ackroyd remains faithful to Shelley’s framework in his re imagining, embellishing the story with an exploration of the young Victor Frankenstein’s thirst to study anatomy. There are vivid descriptions of 19th century scientific experimentation; the attempts at reviving cadavers with electricity, the dark London inns where Frankenstein seeks out the services of the Resurrection men, the dangerous underworld types who will bring him fresh corpses to work on. His knowledge and love for London unquestionable, Ackroyd writes about the city with relish. It’s a convincing and very fascinating world to dip into.
The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein also makes Mary Shelley one of its cast, along with Bysshe Shelley, although this is a conceit that sometimes sits at odds with the thrust of the narrative. But all in all the novel is a fine addition to the Frankenstein canon. And it already has its successors; Danny Boyle’s stage version is currently playing. Interestingly, the duality between Victor Frankenstein and his monster is explored in Boyle’s version, where the two lead actors alternate the roles, and Ackroyd does something similar, exploiting the link between creator and creation and offering an unusual, and quite shocking, conclusion.
The actor David Hemmings appeared in his fair share of obscure films. For every iconic movie such as Antonioni’s Blow Up (1966), there are countless lesser known gems such as The System (1964 and co-starring Oliver Reed), Eye of the Devil (1966 with David Niven) and The Long Day’s Dying (1968 with Tom Bell).
Together with his wife Gayle Hunnicutt he appeared in the psychological thriller Fragment of Fear (1970), a film I’m sure I have on VHS although I’m unable to find it. A shame, because it’s now very rare and almost impossible to track down, and it’s worth the price of admission alone for the supporting cast which includes Arthur Lowe and Wilfred Hyde-White. Hemmings and Hunnicutt also made Voices in 1973, a supernatural offering sometimes known as Nightmare. I remember seeing Voices when it was shown as part of the afternoon television schedule in the early 1980s, and it proved an odd choice for daytime tv – especially to an impressionable teenager – as the film is very much in the late night chiller flavour. It’s a very creepy affair that I’ve eventually now caught up with after all those years.
Voices has some similarities with the more famous Don’t Look Now from the same year. And whilst Nicolas Roeg’s film is ultimately superior, Voices (directed by Kevin Billington) is still a minor classic in its own right. The theme of the film, which concerns a couple grieving for their drowned child who make an attempt to revive their troubled marriage, also has echoes in Lars von Trier’s recent Antichrist. More interestingly, however, The Others – the 1999 film starring Nicole Kidman – completely lifts the ghost story element of Voices, going as far as to steal some of the visual flair of the film and even the final denouement. Online reviews I’ve found also liken elements of Voices to The Sixth Sense, proving that’s there’s perhaps nothing original in a successful horror film.
The film begins very effectively, with a mostly silent opening (again a similarity to Don’t Look Now) where tragedy strikes on a boating holiday (and like Antichrist, it’s revealed that a child is put in grave danger due to parental neglect). The parents in question, Hemmings and Hunnicutt as Robert and Claire, are next seen driving through dense fog, attempting to find the remote house that belongs to Claire’s mother. Where they’ll attempt a reconciliation of sorts; flashback scenes reveal that Claire has attempted suicide and spent some time in hospital. Ploughing on blindly through the fog, Robert narrowly avoids a head on collision although they eventually locate the path to the house.
Based on a stage play by Richard Lortz, Voices does at times show its theatrical roots, although this plays to its advantage and creates a very close and claustrophobic atmosphere. It’s a two-hander between Hemmings and Hunnicutt throughout, and the sinister edge to the film is added by Claire’s gradual realisation of the mysterious others present in the house. If the film appears slow at times, it’s certainly worth sticking with for the last half hour where the supernatural element plays out. And even if this film is almost 40 years old, I feel I shouldn’t reveal the shock ending.
David Hemmings had a dual career as a director, and was behind the odd but interesting The Survivor (1981) with Robert Powell and the ghastly Schöner Gigolo, armer Gigolo (1978) with David Bowie. However he is possibly best known, indirectly, for directing episodes of Magnum P.I. and The A-Team which are these days sadly more likely to grace the daytime schedules than Voices.
1963 was a busy year for Dirk Bogarde and he appeared in four very diverse films. A final outing as a now middle aged Simon Sparrow in Doctor in Distress, I Could Go On Singing with Judy Garland (for which he contributed some of the script) and of course Losey’s masterpiece The Servant.
The last of the bunch was The Mind Benders, a film directed by Basil Dearden that has now unjustly dropped into obscurity. Bogarde stars as Dr Henry Longman, a scientist dabbling in experiments in isolation. Although sometimes billed as science fiction or as an early cold war thriller, and the subject matter hints at 60s hallucinogenic cinema, The Mind Benders doesn’t neatly fit into any genre. However it is an absorbing and literate film that’s worth seeking out.
The film opens with Professor Sharpey (Harold Goldblatt) throwing himself from a moving train on route to Oxford University. A large sum of money is found on him and upright Major Hall (John Clements) assumes that the unfortunate don was a traitor, selling secrets to the Russians. Hall goes on to discover that Sharpey was working on isolation experiments with his colleagues Dr Tate (Michael Bryant) and Longman, with Sharpey and Longman actively taking part in the tests. A man born to snoop around, Hall confronts Longman with the suggestion of Sharpey’s treason and an unconvinced Longman talks himself into allowing Hall to witness an isolation experiment. With Longman as the subject…
This is a film devoid of special effects or sensation. However the black and white photography of The Mind Benders helps to enhance the creepy presence of the isolation chamber, a huge water tank where Longman is suspended without light, sound or feeling. Tate and Hall observe him as he passes through several states of consciousness, including confusion, panic and hallucination, in a marathon seven hour session. The chamber is likened to something from Frankenstein and this is how we perceive Longman as he emerges from it – almost a rebirth as he comprehends reality with wide, frightened eyes. And this is one of the great Bogarde performances; at this point we know that he’s really going to get his teeth into the part.
Hall believes that Sharpey was brainwashed, and that a man fresh from the isolation tank is open to interrogation and suggestion. Here lies the crux of the film. He coerces Tate into a further experiment, where they taunt the vulnerable Longman with improper suggestions about his wife Oonagh (Mary Ure). Hall believes, rather naively, that whatever wrong they do to Longman can be undone (a bent mind can be unbent so to speak). And whilst Longman appears to quickly recover from his ordeal and it seems that the brainwashing aspect of the experiment has failed, we know that something is going to be amiss, and the second act begins with Tate visiting the now visibly odd Longman (Bogarde manages to make use of a pair of glasses alone to appear effectively sinister) and the now pregnant Oonagh. The rest of the film plays out with Tate and Longman wresting with their own uncontrollable Frankenstein’s monster in the shape of Bogarde at his nastiest.
The Mind Benders is a very talky film but saved by excellent performances all round. Ure is as good as Bogarde as the unfortunate Oonagh, and Wendy Craig (who also appeared in The Servant) has a supporting role. The ending, which I won’t give away, drives home the theme of rebirth that’s latent throughout the film and it finishes on an interesting note with Longman and Hall apparent friends, suggesting an alliance with academia and the military that perhaps fuelled several other similarly themed films of the period (The Ipcress File certainly springs to mind).
It is strange how this film has become forgotten, especially as it follows Dearden and Bogarde’s celebrated collaboration Victim from 1961. All in all, and following my recent rediscovery of The Man Who Haunted Himself, I’d like to suggest a reappraisal of Dearden’s work. Or perhaps a select one, and I’ll be missing out Man in the Moon with Kenneth More.
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