(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or character. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Boris Karloff hosts a trio of horror stories concerning a stalked call girl, a vampire-like monster who preys on his family, and a nurse who is haunted by her ring’s rightful owner.”
From what I’ve read, 1963’s Black Sabbath – an anthology picture of three Horror stories all adapted (in part) and directed by famed Italian director Mario Bava – was a project rushed into production and distribution somewhat on the heels of the theatrical success for his 1960 similarly-named Black Sunday. I’ve also read that there exist two very different edits of the film with the Italian version being allegedly a bit brighter and accommodating of sexual mores while the U.S. incarnation kinda/sorta dials down some of this narrative extravagance as well as re-orders the order of the separate stories. (For clarity’s sake, I’m reviewing the American International Pictures’ version.) And, lastly, yes, I’m also aware that the film is cited as serving as the inspiration behind the rock group Black Sabbath choosing their name (a curious development, indeed, for anyone who wants to Google it), so let’s just agree initially that the flick has a much-deserved reputation.
Because this is an anthology film, I’m going to adjust my format, allowing for both a plot summary and some individual observations on each chapter. I think this is the only way to do justice to the production, giving equal time to stories that only overlap tangentially.
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Boris Karloff hosts a trio of horror stories concerning a stalked call girl, a vampire-like monster who preys on his family, and a nurse who is haunted by her ring’s rightful owner.”
From what I’ve read, 1963’s Black Sabbath – an anthology picture of three Horror stories all adapted (in part) and directed by famed Italian director Mario Bava – was a project rushed into production and distribution somewhat on the heels of the theatrical success for his 1960 similarly-named Black Sunday. I’ve also read that there exist two very different edits of the film with the Italian version being allegedly a bit brighter and accommodating of sexual mores while the U.S. incarnation kinda/sorta dials down some of this narrative extravagance as well as re-orders the order of the separate stories. (For clarity’s sake, I’m reviewing the American International Pictures’ version.) And, lastly, yes, I’m also aware that the film is cited as serving as the inspiration behind the rock group Black Sabbath choosing their name (a curious development, indeed, for anyone who wants to Google it), so let’s just agree initially that the flick has a much-deserved reputation.
Because this is an anthology film, I’m going to adjust my format, allowing for both a plot summary and some individual observations on each chapter. I think this is the only way to do justice to the production, giving equal time to stories that only overlap tangentially.
The Drop Of Water
According to Wikipedia.org, here’s the plot summary:
“… is centered on Helen Corey, a nurse who steals a ring from a corpse that is being prepared for burial and finds herself haunted by the ring’s original owner after arriving home.”
Without getting into all of the particulars, the American edit of Black Sabbath really hits it out of the park with this first chapter. In fact, it’s so good – expressive performances, fantastic cinematography, downright elegant production details – that I’d argue it should’ve been the anthology’s final chapter. After all, why not go out ‘big’ with the best you’ve got?
Much like Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Tell-tale Heart,’ the narrative weight of Water rests entirely on the oppressiveness of sights and sounds truly terrifying our lead – a common nurse with a penchant for thievery – and Bava’s magic in this arc should have him standing side-by-side with any other Horror director in film history. That might seem hyperbolic to some, but Water works entirely because its director knew precisely what was needed in every detail and managed to deliver just those elements to those watching closely. From the glint off a jewel in a ring to the heavy plunk-plunk-plunk of dripping water, this short is crafted with epic details; and it could easily be celebrated alongside any award-winning ghost story I’ve ever seen.
Jacqueline Pierreux – as the nurse – earns high praise for the deftness with which she walks effortlessly through each scene, up until the point wherein The Other Side of Reality extracts its vengeance on a woman who would steal from the dead. Milly – one of Italy’s most revered singers – equally handles her responsibilities as the dutiful maid (to the deceased) who really wants nothing more than to finish up her last day of work and get as far away from the gawking corpse as is humanly possible.
It's a fabulous affair, and it’s arguably this Sabbath’s best.
According to Wikipedia.org, here’s the plot summary:
“… is centered on Helen Corey, a nurse who steals a ring from a corpse that is being prepared for burial and finds herself haunted by the ring’s original owner after arriving home.”
Without getting into all of the particulars, the American edit of Black Sabbath really hits it out of the park with this first chapter. In fact, it’s so good – expressive performances, fantastic cinematography, downright elegant production details – that I’d argue it should’ve been the anthology’s final chapter. After all, why not go out ‘big’ with the best you’ve got?
Much like Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Tell-tale Heart,’ the narrative weight of Water rests entirely on the oppressiveness of sights and sounds truly terrifying our lead – a common nurse with a penchant for thievery – and Bava’s magic in this arc should have him standing side-by-side with any other Horror director in film history. That might seem hyperbolic to some, but Water works entirely because its director knew precisely what was needed in every detail and managed to deliver just those elements to those watching closely. From the glint off a jewel in a ring to the heavy plunk-plunk-plunk of dripping water, this short is crafted with epic details; and it could easily be celebrated alongside any award-winning ghost story I’ve ever seen.
Jacqueline Pierreux – as the nurse – earns high praise for the deftness with which she walks effortlessly through each scene, up until the point wherein The Other Side of Reality extracts its vengeance on a woman who would steal from the dead. Milly – one of Italy’s most revered singers – equally handles her responsibilities as the dutiful maid (to the deceased) who really wants nothing more than to finish up her last day of work and get as far away from the gawking corpse as is humanly possible.
It's a fabulous affair, and it’s arguably this Sabbath’s best.
The Telephone
According to Wikipedia.org, here’s the plot summary:
“… involves Rosy who continually receives threatening telephone calls from an unseen stalker.”
For all intents and purposes, I thought that The Telephone both sounded and worked a bit too conventionally as Horror story. While its performances are good and there are some nice supernatural touches that comes to life in its somewhat forced conclusion, this is a story that’s been done – to one degree or another – several times before both on the silver screen, in television, and even in book or story format. As a consequence, it really only has the work of its players – namely Michéle Mercier and Lidia Alfonsi as dualling sources of affection – to give it the necessary ‘umph,’ and I thought they were both a bit light.
As Rosy, Mercier has vastly more screen time to both become her character and entice viewers into this story of a voice from the beyond haunting the present day. She capably hits her marks, but I didn’t think that there was enough substance to the issue of precisely why she was being haunted. Her increasing mania – resulting from both the repeated phone calls and the oppressive sense of claustrophobia – works well enough, but the elusive nature of her former lover’s axe to grind – as well as his reasons for using the telephone when it’s shown that he can choose human form as well as ghostly writing – held this one back from resonating beyond the grave as I think Bava intended.
While the anthology format wasn’t exactly brand new to storytelling in 1963, one wonders why Bava didn’t try to give this installment some greater freshness. Was our male aggressor truly ‘a spectral killer?’ If so, then why couldn’t he be everywhere he needed to be to haunt the lady authentically? Some of his talents suggest that is the case; but we see – in the all-too-brief finale – that he can be stabbed with a kitchen knife, so there are signs otherwise.
A bit of a misfire, if you ask me.
According to Wikipedia.org, here’s the plot summary:
“… involves Rosy who continually receives threatening telephone calls from an unseen stalker.”
For all intents and purposes, I thought that The Telephone both sounded and worked a bit too conventionally as Horror story. While its performances are good and there are some nice supernatural touches that comes to life in its somewhat forced conclusion, this is a story that’s been done – to one degree or another – several times before both on the silver screen, in television, and even in book or story format. As a consequence, it really only has the work of its players – namely Michéle Mercier and Lidia Alfonsi as dualling sources of affection – to give it the necessary ‘umph,’ and I thought they were both a bit light.
As Rosy, Mercier has vastly more screen time to both become her character and entice viewers into this story of a voice from the beyond haunting the present day. She capably hits her marks, but I didn’t think that there was enough substance to the issue of precisely why she was being haunted. Her increasing mania – resulting from both the repeated phone calls and the oppressive sense of claustrophobia – works well enough, but the elusive nature of her former lover’s axe to grind – as well as his reasons for using the telephone when it’s shown that he can choose human form as well as ghostly writing – held this one back from resonating beyond the grave as I think Bava intended.
While the anthology format wasn’t exactly brand new to storytelling in 1963, one wonders why Bava didn’t try to give this installment some greater freshness. Was our male aggressor truly ‘a spectral killer?’ If so, then why couldn’t he be everywhere he needed to be to haunt the lady authentically? Some of his talents suggest that is the case; but we see – in the all-too-brief finale – that he can be stabbed with a kitchen knife, so there are signs otherwise.
A bit of a misfire, if you ask me.
The Wurdalak
According to Wikipedia.org, here’s the plot summary:
“… where a man named Gorca returns to his family after claiming to have slain a Wurdulak, an undead creature who attacks those that it had once loved.”
Undoubtedly, the inclusion of Horror legend Boris Karloff – both as this anthology’s narrator as well as having him play the famed Wurdulak of this story – was meant to capitalize on the actor’s reputation with Western audiences. And, frankly, he’s probably the best thing in this installment – so far as this viewer is concerned – as the story is a largely predictable one involving a vampire who apparently only feeds on friends and family. While I’m not sure technically how such a diet could last throughout the ages – once you’ve fed and turned all in your bloodline, what else is there to eat? – but perhaps I’m just reading too much into the whole bloody affair.
But, yes, Karloff is very good here, vastly more committed and hugely successful in conveying his menace with little more than a look and a smile. He rather creepily commands one scene after another, leaving the remaining actors and actresses with little more to do than fill out the story – and their respective descents into vampirehood – in melodramatic if not obligatory fashion. While a twist would’ve been nice, I suspect Bava stuck as close to the source material as possible; and that just didn’t leave room for any further surprises in this mix of family dynamics.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t add that – perhaps more than the previous chapters – Wurdulak also benefits from the technical wizardry of its craftsmen and women along with Bava’s accomplished direction. The piece both looks and feels exquisite, taking the audience on a tour through one decidedly Gothic location to the next. While I thought that the yarn lost a bit of steam in its final moments – the seduction of our hero really became more inevitably than it was predictable – I think it’s still safe to say that Wurdulak demonstrates capably a good deal of what Italian producers could achieve on screen in this time and place; and it’s deserving of a look if for no other reason than that.
According to Wikipedia.org, here’s the plot summary:
“… where a man named Gorca returns to his family after claiming to have slain a Wurdulak, an undead creature who attacks those that it had once loved.”
Undoubtedly, the inclusion of Horror legend Boris Karloff – both as this anthology’s narrator as well as having him play the famed Wurdulak of this story – was meant to capitalize on the actor’s reputation with Western audiences. And, frankly, he’s probably the best thing in this installment – so far as this viewer is concerned – as the story is a largely predictable one involving a vampire who apparently only feeds on friends and family. While I’m not sure technically how such a diet could last throughout the ages – once you’ve fed and turned all in your bloodline, what else is there to eat? – but perhaps I’m just reading too much into the whole bloody affair.
But, yes, Karloff is very good here, vastly more committed and hugely successful in conveying his menace with little more than a look and a smile. He rather creepily commands one scene after another, leaving the remaining actors and actresses with little more to do than fill out the story – and their respective descents into vampirehood – in melodramatic if not obligatory fashion. While a twist would’ve been nice, I suspect Bava stuck as close to the source material as possible; and that just didn’t leave room for any further surprises in this mix of family dynamics.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t add that – perhaps more than the previous chapters – Wurdulak also benefits from the technical wizardry of its craftsmen and women along with Bava’s accomplished direction. The piece both looks and feels exquisite, taking the audience on a tour through one decidedly Gothic location to the next. While I thought that the yarn lost a bit of steam in its final moments – the seduction of our hero really became more inevitably than it was predictable – I think it’s still safe to say that Wurdulak demonstrates capably a good deal of what Italian producers could achieve on screen in this time and place; and it’s deserving of a look if for no other reason than that.
Black Sabbath (1963) was produced by Emmepi Cinematografica, Societé Cinématographique Lyre, Galatea Film, American International Pictures (AIP), and Alta Vista Productions. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I thought that the sights and sounds to his release were exceptionally impressive; why, it ought to be a crime for a flick this dated to look this grand! Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc boasts the theatrical trailer along with a commentary from novelist and critic Tim Lucas.
Recommended, but …
Take note, readers: I think – and I could be wrong – that Black Sabbath is the kind of film that (A) appeals most to Bava purists; (B) interests fans of Italian and Giallo cinema; and (C) warrants a view for those chiefly interested in technical accomplishments. While its stories are exquisitely rendered, they’re also understandably brief as they’re pieces of a broader construct. I’m surprised I didn’t enjoy this one a bit more than I did – especially given Bava’s involvement and the fact that I’m fond of anthologies – but my last word on it is that I struggled with its ‘good, better, and best’ delivery. Sometimes, that’s just the way the ball bounces.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Black Sabbath (1963) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Recommended, but …
Take note, readers: I think – and I could be wrong – that Black Sabbath is the kind of film that (A) appeals most to Bava purists; (B) interests fans of Italian and Giallo cinema; and (C) warrants a view for those chiefly interested in technical accomplishments. While its stories are exquisitely rendered, they’re also understandably brief as they’re pieces of a broader construct. I’m surprised I didn’t enjoy this one a bit more than I did – especially given Bava’s involvement and the fact that I’m fond of anthologies – but my last word on it is that I struggled with its ‘good, better, and best’ delivery. Sometimes, that’s just the way the ball bounces.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Black Sabbath (1963) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
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