VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED: Blu-ray (MGM, 1960) Warner Archive
Wolf Rilla’s Village of the Damned (1960) begins
with an ominous preamble depicting a small English hamlet under siege from an
invisible threat that has effectively put the entire town and its surrounding
farmlands into a coma. We witness men and women lying unconscious, caught in a
paralytic time warp while performing menial household tasks; an iron, burning
into a freshly pressed shirt, the tap left running to overflow water in the
kitchen sink, a mail man, lying face down on the pavement with his sack of as
yet to be delivered letters strewn about, and an anesthetized farmer, endlessly
riding astride his tractor. Eschewing the urge to punctuate this sequence with
any sort of music only serves to underscore its fear-mongering potency. And
that’s just for starters. From start to finish Village of the Damned is a superb thriller, never quite to release
the audience from its hypnotic spell and undercurrent of dread as we quickly
deduce, post main titles, something is decidedly rotten in the town of
Midwich. Based on John Wyndham’s 1957
novel, The Midwich Cuckoos, Village of the Damned’s only genuine
artistic sacrifice is its change of title; Wyndham’s ingenious original drawing
an uncanny parallel between the unseen alien beings, who have just impregnated
the town’s women with their otherworldly demon seeds, and, the cuckoo bird, who
makes its home by invading another’s nest. Very clever, indeed.
The picture was
to have found its home the same year as Wyndham’s publication (a runaway best
seller) as a minor programmer made at MGM’s Culver City studios with Brit-born,
Ronald Colman as its star. Alas, the studio became embroiled in a call of
outrage from the Catholic League of Decency that objected strongly to its
depiction of ‘virgin’ birth; a delay
of some months that saw the death of Colman from emphysema in 1958. Ironically,
Colman’s widow, Benita Hume, shortly thereafter, wed actor George Sanders,
assigned as the lead in the newly rechristened Village of the Damned. Still fearful of the Puritanical backlash,
Metro parceled the property off to its British Studios; England, presumably,
more tolerant of its aberrant subject matter – the shooting schedule divided
between studio-bound interiors, and some thoroughly effective location work in
Letchmore Heath near Watford, taking full advantage of the local color at The
Three Horseshoes Pub and Aldenham School. Village
of the Damned is an effective B-budgeted horror movie because it preys upon
our fear of the unknown with minimally evasive special effects.
Less is always
more – especially in the horror genre; an edict I sincerely wish could be
imparted on today’s ilk of schlock-meisters, endeavoring to scare us witless
with mere gore. A little light padding inserted beneath the blonde wigs sported
by all of the newly born moppets of Midwich (to suggest the superiority of
their slightly out-sized brains), and the occasionally, glowing eye effect – meritoriously,
to simulate some form of powerful mind control (created from animated overlays
in freeze frame) – is about all the special effects conjured up for this
outing. The bulk of our alarm thus derives instead from pint-sized Martin
Stephens as David Zellaby – the cruel and calculating leader of these
alien/human hybrids, whose telescopically focused mental acuity cannot be
resisted. At age 11, Stephens would achieve international fame in this role,
similarly to typecast him as the willfully destructive, and quite possibly
possessed heir apparent in The Innocents
(1961). A scant five years later, his movie career was at an end; the actor
becoming disenchanted with acting, but a successful architect besides and who
today, resides in Portugal – a very far cry from Midwich, indeed. The other note
worthies in the cast are undeniably, George Sanders as physicist, Professor
Gordon Zellaby, and Michael Gwynn, as his brother-in-law; military intelligence
officer, Alan Bernard. Together, these men begin to piece together the curious
events that have created this unearthly brood.
From the outset,
Wolf Rilla establishes the story’s overriding trepidation as we witness, Gordon,
presumably in good spirits and health, suddenly collapse while speaking on the
phone with Alan, presently stationed at London’s War Office. Unable to reach
his brother-in-law, Alan suspects a crisis afoot. But even he cannot fathom the
curious plague of unconsciousness currently afflicting the town of Midwich
where everyone, even the pets and livestock, have all succumbed to an invisible
threat. With grave concern, Alan speeds toward Midwich, startled when a
constable just ahead of him, suddenly crumples near a bus-load of passengers,
as insentient, having earlier swerved into the ditch. Suspecting nerve gas – or
worse – Alan alerts the home office of his discovery. In response, the military
descend on Midwich; infantry with gas masks and an airplane division. Alas,
both the first soldier (Arnold Schulkes), tethered and sent
in to investigate the bus, and the pilot of this reconnaissance flight lose
consciousness – resulting in a hellish crash nearby. Curiously, however, the
soldier, dragged back to safety, quickly regains his equilibrium, though he is
quite unable to quantify the reason for his momentary black out. While Alan and
his superiors discuss their next recourse, the bus passengers, constable and
nearby cattle suddenly begin to stir. Whatever strange spell has occurred, its
strain has just as inexplicably ended.
Meanwhile, at
Zellaby’s home, Gordon and his wife, Anthea (Barbara Shelley) awaken after
being comatose for several hours; even more unsettled when Alan informs them
the entire town was equally afflicted. Feebly, the military can deduce no cause
to the event. One by one, the towns people are brought in to be checked for
adverse effects from their ordeal. And although Doctor Willers (Laurence
Naismith) can find none, the incident at Midwich is quarantined until further
notice. Several weeks later, Anthea discovers she is expecting; usually a cause
for celebration. Only, Anthea learns virtually all of the women in Midwich have
become pregnant too, including the spinster, Miss Ogle (Rosamund Greenwood) and
teenager, Milly Hughes (Pamela Buck). Publicly, Willers assures the ladies they
have nothing to fear. Privately, however, he informs Gordon of x-rays revealing
all of the fetuses in a very advanced stage of development. Time passes. Several
months later, twelve seemingly normal babies are born within hours apart; all
sporting the same blonde hair and arresting eyes. Monitoring their health,
Willers takes notice the children are evolving at an advanced state of physical
progression.
At the Zellaby’s,
Anthea succumbs to a spell of hysterics while feeding her infant, David.
Chalking her anxieties to simply those of a new mother, Gordon is nevertheless
startled when young David is able to easily solve a puzzle box that even Alan finds
challenging. Gordon also recognizes at least two of David’s contemporaries are
as able to manipulate the trick box to their advantage. Over time, it becomes
apparent to Gordon, assigned to monitor the children’s developmental growth and
behavior, all twelve of these mysteriously conceived can communicate with one
another without ever saying a word. They share a common
consciousness, void of any genuine human emotion. More curious, they prefer each other's company
to their parents’ affections. Alan fervently
believes the children have been born evil. For now, however, Gordon adopts a
less ominous tone, suggesting that their exceptional intelligence simply lacks
human compassion because of their youth – a character flaw, at best.
Not long thereafter,
Gordon and Alan are met by a committee jointly run by government and military
personnel. They are informed of simultaneous incidents consequently meant to
establish such colonies of children around the globe. Alas, the one in
Australia was inexplicably wiped out only ten hours after birth while another contingent
in the Arctic was murdered by the local Eskimos, superstitious of the children’s’
blonde hair and fair complexions. Speculations veer wildly from a ‘genetic leap’
in human evolution to a hypothesis of alien abduction. The military announces
plans to imprison the children of Midwich. Instead, Gordon asks for clemency and
a chance to educate them as a group. Soon, however, he begins to suspect Alan
may be right. The children have mind-reading skills and, when asked about life
on another planet, clam up. Perhaps, they do plan to take over the earth. Gordon’s
suspicions are further confirmed when one of the locals accidentally hits one
of the children with his car. Unharmed by the incident, the child bands with
the others, using their combined telepathy to will the driver to suicide by
plowing headlong into a brick wall. Plotting to avenge the ‘murder’, the man’s
brother is defeated in the presence of Gordon, Alan and Anthea as the children,
sensing he man’s hatred for them, command him to shoot himself in the head.
As it is now
abundantly clear the children mean to destroy the adults, Gordon, Alan and
Willers gather to discuss their options. General Leighton (John Phillips)
informs Alan the Russians have since destroyed the village of Raminsk to
cleanse it of a similar influence. Meanwhile, in Midwich, an angry mob marches
on the children’s safehouse, determined to burn it to the ground. Instead, the
children put everyone in a trance, forcing their leader to set himself afire.
Extending the olive branch to David, Alan is quietly informed the children know
all about Raminsk and have decided to survive, whatever the cost. Sometime
later, David arrives at the Zellabys, ordering Gordon to help them covertly
disperse throughout the country. Instead, Gordon, armed with a briefcase full
of dynamite, and concentrating his thoughts on a brick wall to prevent his mind
from being read, arrives at the safe house. Previously, he asked Anthea to drive
Alan back to London; not an ‘odd’ request. However, Anthea suddenly becomes
concerned for her husband’s safety and turns the car around. Sensing Gordon’s rigidness, the children ply
their collective telepathy, but to no avail. As Anthea arrives in town, she
witnesses the detonation of the dynamite, killing Gordon and the children
inside the safe house; his altruism, having saved the world at large from a
terrible nightmare.
Village of the Damned ought to be
considered a textbook example of how to create a truly satisfying horror movie
on a modest budget - $320,000 to be exact; proof positive, fear on a shoestring
can be achieved. The picture is broodingly photographed by Geoffrey Faithfull
in stunning B&W compositions that do not immediately draw attention to
themselves and yet conspire to evoke the intensifying alarm. It helps immensely
that the talent in front of the camera is A-1 top-tier Hollywood royalty.
George Sanders may have been a cad in real life. There are conflicting stories about
cruelties inflicted upon women – particularly his wives – and indifference
toward his own brother, actor Tom Conway, who…some say…he allowed to spiral
into alcoholic destitution without lifting a finger to help. On screen, Sanders
was mostly cast as the urbane villain with a mellifluous deep bass English
accent. He virtually eschews this persona in Village of the Damned, as the morally conflicted scientist who
spares the earth from this otherworldly evil incarnate. It is a great
performance, one infused with self-doubt and personal angst over having to
murder, along with the rest, David - the child he has reared as his own.
Village of the Damned also benefits
from Wolf Rilla’s competency behind the camera; the director delivering a
sustained sense of ethical trepidation, undoubtedly ruffling more than a few Puritanical
feathers along the way. For reasons known only to them, the British censors
elected to remove the ‘glowing eye’ SFX from all UK prints; replaced with shots
of the children’s eyes opening wider instead. During the sequence where the mob
leader torches himself, the censors allowed David’s thin, and thoroughly wicked,
little grin to remain – an almost passed over nuance, expunged from the U.S. print.
When it debuted, Village of the Damned
was an immediate hit with audiences on both sides of the Atlantic, with queues
forming at 9am for advanced tickets. The picture would go on to gross a
whopping $2,175,000, making it MGM’s sleeper hit of the season. Viewed today, Village of the Damned has lost none of
its disturbingly rich and paranoiac ‘charm’. The idea of bringing pure evil into a small
town unsuspecting of its destructive potency was decidedly nothing new. But
Rilla’s picture achieves a sort of devastating terror, thanks to the deft
screenwriting of Stirling Silliphant and Ronald Kinnoch, with Rilla’s assist.
In 1995, ignoring the truth in logic that what scared us before weakens in its
ability to procure the same emotional response twice, horror master John
Carpenter ambitiously endeavored – and failed
– to rekindle Rilla’s magic with a ruthlessly bad remake.
Despite changing
times and tastes, Rilla’s understated 1960 masterpiece remains the top-tier
terror-fest to beat. The bone-chilling screenplay and nimble direction conspire
to build upon the realization that the future of Midwich is putting a distinct
period to its past. And, owing to its alien abduction angle, Village of the Damned can also be
considered one of the truly outstanding sci-fi achievements in a decade of ultra-campy
tales about gamma rays, over-sized bugs or walking plants taking over the earth.
Taking its cue from the time-honored tradition of 'implying' more than
'showing', Rilla and cinematographer, Geoffrey Faithfull create an unsettling
atmosphere from nothing more than a rather disquieting and all-pervading
silence, intermittently underscored by Ron Goodwin at just the right moments to
heighten its melodrama. No doubt about it. Village
of the Damned is a classy and classic chiller.
The Warner
Archive will release Village of the
Damned on July 31st, but advanced copies illustrate the purity
of the good work WAC continues to achieve on Blu-ray, albeit via limited
distribution. This is a new scan and it leaps light years ahead of the ole DVD double
bill, together with the movie’s sequel, Children
of the Damned (1963). Sorry, no sequel on this disc. One can only hope Warner
will either get around to it themselves or allow a third-party distributor like
Shout! or Criterion to get their hands on the goods so we can officially retire
the DVD. But for now, Village of the
Damned sports an impressively clean 1080p transfer with superb contrast, a
modicum of film grain appearing indigenous to its source, and, some stunningly
realized fine detail that really adds to our admiration of its visual
presentation. Shadow delineation is superb. Just look at the sequences photographed
at night, shadows on the ground as the mob attempts to storm the safe house. While
the old DVD transfer was fairly impressive in its own right, this new to Blu
reincarnation bests it in virtually every way. The 2.0 DTS mono soundtrack is surprisingly
nuanced, given the limitations of its source, with crisp-sounding dialogue. The
only extra, apart from the original theatrical trailer, is the informative audio
commentary by Steve Haberman, ported directly from the DVD release. Aside: I
could listen to Haberman’s breezy insights all day long. Bottom line: very
highly recommended!
FILM RATING OUT OF 5 – 5 being the best
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
5+
EXTRAS
1
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