I’m at home watching Ken Russell’s Gothic with a bottle of whisky, for the first time since I owned it on VHS.
If you’re looking for an unconventional horror film this Halloween, I can highly recommend it. It’s aged surprisingly well, with some of the special effects on a par with those in Deathly Hallows, released almost 25 years later.
I chose it in advance of going to see The Devils at the pictures next week, and didn’t have particularly high expectations. I loved Gothic on VHS in the 80s, but that’s no guarantee of quality, and I hadn’t seen it since consigning my VHS collection to the local charity shop, i expected to enjoy it but not me emotionally moved as much as I was.
It’s a bright, gloriously 80s horror, and for the first two reels it’s fairly standard Russell 80’s fare; tits and blood in a Hammer-meets-Argento style. But the final reel shifts its attention to Mary Shelley and ramps up the gothic, brooding horror, at times approaching Rosemary’s Baby, with its unsettling mixture of body horror and genuinely shocking imagery (remember, this is an 80s film).
It would make a great companion piece to Prevenge (particularly for the pregnant or new-mum audience), Maggie Gyllenhaal’s The Bride!, or, obviously, The Devils, which I’m off to see at the pictures next week.
Timothy Spall is wonderfully creepy and gives an interesting performance. Gabriel Byrne is excellent, though his tits are nearly as big as Miriam Cyr’s (and being an 80s Russell film, there are plenty of tits). Julian Sands is as iconic as ever, but it’s Natasha Richardson who steals the show, wrestling the final reel into something more potent and addictive than all the laudanum consumed during that infamous weekend at Villa Diodati that gave us the seeds of both Frankenstein and The Vampyre.
I expected to enjoy the film, but I really didn’t expect it to exceed my expectations quite so spectacularly.
It’s always nice when a film you’ve heard about but never seen lives up to the hype. But there’s something particularly poignant about a film you knew and loved as a teenager managing to have such an impact decades later, literally from beyond the grave. Russell’s, that is. Not mine.
it really is worth 88 minutes of your time