TWO ON A GUILLOTINE: Blu-ray (Warner Bros. 1966) Warner Archive

Cheaply shot in B&W on only slightly redecorated sets previously constructed by art director, Gene Allen for George Cukor’s luminous production of My Fair Lady (1964), director, William Conrad’s Two on a Guillotine (1966) is a B-grade spook story – part Gaslight (1944) and part William Castle. Throwing in behind-the-scenes, A-list talent like composer, Max Steiner and cinematographer, Sam Leavitt, and featuring a mostly solid cast - Dean Jones, Cesar Romero, Parley Baer, Virginia Gregg and John Hoyt – superficially, at least, the picture had a lot going for it: everything, except a plausible screenplay, hacked together, as though with a heavy axe and buzz-saw by John Kneubuhl and Henry Slesar (based on the latter’s story). Chocked full of the sort of gimmicky creaks and boos that William Castle made famous – and profitable – Two on a Guillotine’s grave hurdle is that it is, at once, trying to be like a campy William Castle movie, but also aspires to the pedigree of a high-born thriller with a classy love story factored in for diverting measure. The melding of these disparate elements proves a challenge for director, Conrad; ditto, for his leading lady, Connie Stevens – in the dual role, as cynical and bored magician’s assistant/wife, Melinda Duquesne, and, some twenty years later, their doe-eyed daughter, Cassie, after – presumably – both parents have gone on to the great beyond. The movie’s prologue illustrates the ghoulish obsession of John Harley (the great) ‘Duke’ Duquesne. His current act consists of impaling his beloved with a sword as she dangles from gallows with a vulture overseeing the whole nasty affair. Predictably, audiences are fascinated by the perverse and macabre. Backstage, Duquesne invites his manager, Buzzy Sheridan (Baer) to bear witness to his latest testament in grand guignol; a gaudy guillotine built to his specifications, and in which he intends to publicly ‘behead’ his wife in a good trick gone awry. Sporting a real blade, the guillotine jams. Melinda, who has sincerely tired of the act – and her husband – retires from the show and disappears shortly thereafter.

After the main titles, we pick up our story some twenty years later. Newly arrived from the Midwest, Cassie attends her father’s funeral, only to discover that his last wish, carried out to the letter by Buzzy and Duquesne’s able-bodied ‘mistress’, Dolly Bast (Virginia Gregg) was to be buried in a glass casket, anchored in heavy chains and surrounded by reporters. Duquesne has vowed in a letter to be resurrected from his grave. Cassie finds the queer carnival atmosphere surrounding her father’s funeral quite obscene, admonishes Sheridan for following through with this bizarre last request, before storming off in a very public huff as eager reporter, Val Henderson (Jones) looks on. Certain therein lies a juicy story, Val pursues Cassie as she makes her way to the Hollywood Bowl for an even more curious reading of Duquesne’s Last Will and Testament. It seems the ole master, with an obvious flair for the theatrical, has decided his daughter shall inherit his entire estate; a bequest of $300,000, leaving Sheridan and Dolly penniless. One stipulation is applied by Duquesne’s solicitor, Carl Vickers (Hoyt). Cassie must spend seven nights inside Duquesne’s spooky and secluded Gothic manor, tucked away in the Hollywood hills and overgrown due to neglect. Val tails Cassie to the mansion and attempts to ingratiate himself into her company, lying about his profession – working for an uncle in real estate. Cassie is unimpressed by his dogged pursuit. However, after she enters this rigged booby trap, encountering a skeleton dangling from the ceiling, her screams draw Val to her side, and, rather predictably, a friendship of sorts begins.

Spending the night under the same roof, Cassie and Val discover that the house has been wired for stereo, with hidden tape recorders everywhere; some, triggered to play the weeping wails of an overwrought woman; others, the deep, sustained breathing of a man. Cassie is easily disturbed. A white rabbit, presumably, Duquesne’s favor ‘prop’, keeps reappearing at the most inopportune moments; knocking over a hat box containing a plaster-cast of her late mother’s severed head. Exploring the house by day is a little less frightening, although Val seems to find subtle changes, like a door in the kitchen he is quite certain he locked from the inside, now left ajar. The attic room remains a mystery: locked, and for which the key, so we are informed by Dolly, was buried with Duquesne at his request. Val offers to take Cassie away. Although she refuses to surrender her chances to collect her inheritance, the two do spend a diverting afternoon at a nearby amusement park, favoring the attractions and games, and pleasantly to forget their woes and the old, dark mansion on the hill until, of course, night falls.  Dolly resurfaces, terrorized and claiming she saw Duquesne on the balcony steps.  Val doesn’t believe it for a second. But Cassie has been primed to begin to live in fear. At this juncture, one of Val’s reporter buddies resurfaces to interrogate Cassie about her mother’s death. Inadvertently, he reveals to her Val’s true vocation and Cassie – naturally, assuming Val has only been kind to her for the story, now shuns him completely; determined to finish out the seven-night’s stay alone and collect her $300,000.

Alas, in the evening, the house begins to ominously creak as it has never before. Cassie is awakened by a terrible nightmare. An ominous glow from under the attic door is extinguished, the door later left slightly ajar, allowing Cassie to venture upstairs to satisfy her curiosity; though not before she telephones Val to come to her aid. His arrival will take time. In the interim, Cassie barricades herself in the library and is terrorized when – seemingly – the ghost of her late father suddenly materializes before her very eyes. Discovering Duquesne is, in fact, flesh and blood – and thus, having faked his own death to stage this elaborate affair, Cassie tries to escape, but is thrown to the ground and knocked unconscious. Dolly appears, pleading with Duquesne to reconsider his plan. But it’s no use. The old master has gone completely mad, believing Cassie is Melinda and carrying her upstairs to the attic to perform the guillotine trick that failed him so long ago. Dolly tries to remind Duquesne that the last time he and Melinda attempted the act, the guillotine decapitated her, forcing Dolly to bury the bloody remains in the gardens out back. Very predictably, Val arrives in the nick of time, storms the attic and gallantly attacks Duquesne. The men grapple for guillotine’s release hook while Cassie remains unconscious and lying on its slab. After several failed tries, Duquesne pulls the lever and Cassie’s head is, assumedly cleaved from her body. A distraught Val suddenly realizes the trick has actually worked as it should. The real Cassie remains hidden from view beneath the chopping block. Having gone completely mad, Duquesne laments he has killed Melinda for a second time. The police arrive to take him away as Val rescues Cassie are reunited.   

Two on a Guillotine is an absurd parody of what then passed for the hags-ploitation thrillers from its vintage. Connie Stevens spends the bulk of the picture’s run time repeatedly screaming her head off in the part of the dulcet, though never intoxicating and virgin-esque ingenue/damsel in chronic distress. Dean Jones is a flattering and protective suitor. But the rest of the players act their parts as though from a Disneyland audio-animatronic tableau or Madame Tussaud’s waxworks, miraculously come to life. Thanks to Arthur Loel’s art director and William Wallace’s set decoration, the picture sports a lot of atmosphere. Even the exteriors of the real estate are given a creepy glamour. This manages to generate some unsettling moments of minor tension that have absolutely nothing to do with the clumsily strung together scenes set before them.  Benedict Castle in Riverside, California served as the exterior of Duquesne’s grand old decaying manor. Begun in 1922, the opulent estate – which still stands today – was completed in 1930 by Charles Benedict, who occupied it until his death eight short years later. Sold by his widow to the Catholic church as a seminary, Benedict Castle changed hands again in 1971; bought by the Southern California Teen Challenge, a charity that remains its current owners. Over the years the house and grounds have played host to several high-profile Hollywood movies, including 1935’s The Bride of Frankenstein, 1939’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, and 1948's Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein.

Atmosphere is one thing. Solid story-telling, quite another. Indeed, perusing the script, Connie Stevens first inclination was to turn the movie down. Were that she had had the good sense to stick to her guns. Instead, Stevens coos and screams, and screams – a lot – and coos some more. The middle act of this thriller is utterly mired in a sort of rom/com fantasy respite, set against these ancient ruins and a mystery that refuses to die, despite Cassie’s best efforts to get on with inheriting a small fortune. The love scenes, shot amid all the garish amusements and hoopla of Pacific Ocean Park, play as though from an entirely different – and better – movie we never get to see in its entirety. Cinematographer, Sam Leavitt, whose memorable work in B&W includes Otto Preminger’s 1959 courtroom classic, Anatomy of a Murder, and 1962’s sublime political drama, Advise and Consent, shoots Two on a Guillotine with as much invested panache. His work is superb. But it is the script that fails us time and again, and almost, at every turn. The chronic reappearance of the white rabbit – whom nobody seems to be feeding, and is left loose to wander the estate, getting into mischief, and even more miraculously, to turn up at the least opportune moments, tipping things over and creating unease in our heroine, is but a red herring. Ditto for the skeleton that sails downward on wires from its secluded perch whenever the jerry-rigged light switch is thrown. The plot repeatedly references a dark, dank basement we never get to see; the door from the kitchen leading downstairs, shot from various angles to suggest something awful is about to occur down there – but never does. In the end, Two on a Guillotine is a fairly pedestrian tale in which the phantoms of a young girl’s past are not as dead as she at first believes. Alas, minus any genuine scares to keep the enterprise afloat with dread, we gag on the gore.  Nothing cringe worthy here – except, maybe, the screenplay.

Warner Archive’s Blu-ray release is, predictably, stellar. The B&W image is gorgeous, richly layered and revealing the subtleties in Leavitt’s striking cinematography. The image is textured, with a modicum of grain looking very indigenous to its source. Tonality throughout is excellent. The image is smooth, clean and free of age-related artifacts. The DTS 1.0 audio is wonderful, sporting clear dialogue and showing off Max Steiner’s main titles to their best advantage. This is a bare bones hi-def release, with only a truly careworn theatrical trailer as an extra. With all due respect, the movie does not warrant much more of a re-visitation. Bottom line: Two on a Guillotine is campy, ghoulish and implausible to a fault. That said, I really didn’t mind it all that much. Any picture with Dean Jones ain’t all bad! The Blu-ray is perfect.  Judge and buy accordingly.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

2

VIDEO/AUDIO

5

EXTRAS

0