In our Scare U episode on Frankenstein's Army, I made a reference to a strange independent rock band called Vincent Price's Orphan Power Death Machine. And I realized, shockingly, that here at Scare U, we have never talked about a Vincent Price horror movie. I think it's long overdue that we celebrate the genius here of one Mr. Vincent Leonard Price Jr. of St. Louis, MO who started life as the humble, very wealthy son of the president of National Candy Company, grew up doing things like The Grand Tour and graduated from Yale. He had a singular voice and appearance. He appeared in over 200 film and television roles beginning in 1938. And while his roles were varied and across multiple genres, he dipped his toe into horror in 1939 and by the 1960s, Vincent Price was synonymous with scary movies.

By the time Vincent was headlining his films, it was well past the James Whale days of Universal horror. Even though Price voiced the Invisible Man in a few films, he was a draw in the days when filmmakers had to be a little more creative than by simply adapting the work of Stoker or Shelley to the screen. And it took the transposition of the head and hand of a human being onto the body of a housefly, the exploration of horror in an American vein through the work of Poe or Hawthorne, and the productions of Corman instead of Laemmle Jr. It was in these works that Price's larger than life characterizations sprang forth in vivid technicolor madness.

Of course, as time went on, filmmakers had to become even more inventive, and supply storylines crafted out of whole cloth. It gets us to the point in Price's career where the levels of camp continued to grow with each film. And we get more and more original stories like The Abominable Dr. Phibes. The tone of this film, however, is really set in the opening credits when that score by Michael J. Lewis's score accompanies a miniature portrait by Nicholas Hilliard, and also footage from silent film versions of Shakespeare's plays. And I think this is important in setting up the audience experience, because the emerging medium of film, which was held in low regard, sought to elevate its status by concerning itself with the plays of William Shakespeare. Many of these films, of course, are now lost, but they were shot principally in the first decade of the 20th century. This was, of course, a collision of the most stagey stage acting of the time. Sarah Bernhardt was declaiming up a storm as the toast of Europe only about twenty years prior. Silent film acting was all about big, bold gestures and bolder facial expressions. So the union of these two ideas produces something quite strange in these opening moments, especially to modern audiences. Something which, of course, will be given voice the further we go.

Vincent Price in the role of Edward Sheridan Lionheart is going to chew the scenery so boldly and so vividly in the kinds of important theatrical roles he always wanted to play, but felt his stature and reputation in horror cinema kept out of his reach. Luckily for Vincent Price, and by extension for us, Lionheart's final season was a survey of some of the biggest and juiciest roles in Shakespeare's canon. The Shakespeare plays contained in Theatre of Blood were more likely than not chosen for the inventiveness with which characters are dispatched than for the significance of the plays themselves, but Price does get to wrap his mouth around monologues from Hamlet, Richard III, Shylock, and on and on.

This film was made in 1973. The year this film was made is the same year as The Wicker Man, The Exorcist, and Don't Look Now. And if you put these two things side by side, you'll see that this kind of continuation of genre filmmaking is about to be subsumed by something far scarier, far more naturalistic, far more violent and aggressive. And even though Theater of Blood is probably the best revenge film of this period (again, here I'm talking about things that started with House on Haunted Hill, The Abominable Dr. Phibes, and Dr. Phibes Rises Again), it's in this often absurd collision of Shakespeare and ‘70s camp horror comedy where the walls are so impossibly high that one can't ever truly seem to to really go over the top. All of the speaking roles are cast with some of the most delightful leading and character actors of British cinema of the time. Both Vincent Price and Dame Diana Rigg claim that Theatre of Blood is their favorite film. I think that says something about why we're talking about it. And it does go even further because in 2005, Jim Broadbent played Lionheart, and Rachael Sterling, Diana Rigg’s daughter, played the Diana Rigg role.

That production, importantly, was directed by Phelim McDermott, the Olivier Award-winning director who brought Shockheaded Peter to life with The Tiger Lilies in one of the most dazzling things that I've ever seen on stage. And while I feel like I might be doing the equivalent of Meryl Streep's “cerulean sweater” monologue from The Devil Wears Prada right now, the reason that I chose this film is that it is a culmination of decades of development in the industry, in the horror genre. And without arriving at a place of meta-commentary when British censorship had finally begun to relax, we wouldn't have a Theatre of Blood. And without a Theatre of Blood, we wouldn't have a Dressed to Kill. Without a Dressed to Kill, we wouldn't have a Seven. And so while on its face, Theater of Blood may feel kind of like a bit of a silly divertissement, ultimately, I think it holds an important place in the legacy of horror cinema and British horror.

Listen to our take on Theatre of Blood here.

Bradford Louryk