"Silent Night, Bloody Night" (1974) on Amazon Prime and Youtube

Slight spoiler's below...  

     Man, when I started this Christmas movie series, I had no idea a full 50% of the selections would feature incest as a major plot reveal. But, there it is, yet again, at the end of "Silent Night, Bloody Night", a grungy American giallo from 1974. I guess that would make it the " 'Chinatown' of Long Island Gothic Christmas movies starring multiple member's of Warhol's Factory". Actually, "starring" is too strong a word. Mary Woronov is the only Warhol acolyte with a major role. She was married to the director, Theodore Gershuny at the time, so I imagine she brought her Factory friend's along for the fun.

     Patrick O'Neal is John Carter, a lawyer tasked with brokering a deal to sell the Butler mansion to a group of power player's in the town of Arlington, MA. These potential buyer's are the mayor (Walter Abel), the sheriff (Walter Klavun), the newspaper editor (John Carradine) and...the telephone operator (Fran Stevens). The estate was left to Jeffrey Butler after his grandfather was burned alive on Christmas Eve 1950. Along for the ride with Carter is his mistress, Ingrid, played by the Bardot-esque Astrid Heeren. It should be noted that Carradine only communicates by ringing a bell ala Hector Salamanca on "Breaking Bad". I don't know why this choice was made. Maybe Carradine had variable rate's and charged less for not speaking. Anyway, it's a strange touch in a movie filled with them, such as having Tess' house filled with bird's in cage's. O'Neal is the biggest name in the picture and you know the budget wasn't there to pay him for an entire shoot, so he and Ingrid exit the picture early; axed to death in the Butler house where they are spending the night. This early portion of the movie flows well, with a fractured artistry to the pacing.

     The unseen killer is black gloved and makes disturbing phone call's to the potential buyer's in true giallo fashion. "It's Marianne. Tell the mayor. Tell them all. I'm waiting in my father's house", they tell Tess in an unsettling whisper. Bob Clark's "Black Christmas" receives a lot of completely justified praise for bringing the tropes of the Italian giallo to the North American horror picture, but "Silent Night, Bloody Night" is every bit as indebted to the style. Strangely, Christmas horror movies seem to follow a rule of two's: this and "Black Christmas" were both released in 1974 and 1980 saw the release of Santa slasher's "Christmas Evil" and "Silent Night, Deadly Night".

     Tony award winning New York actor James Patterson plays Jeffrey Butler, who has just arrived in town and may or may not be an escaped, wrench toting psycho. He befriends a suspicious, gun wielding Diane Adams, the mayor's daughter, played by statuesque, strong jawed, B-movie staple Mary Woronov. In a truly disturbing sequence, Tess arrives at the Butler mansion and is confronted by the killer who shines a flashlight in her face, the only light in the darkened house. The spotlight holds her frightened gaze as the whispering maniac addresses her before ending her life. Later, a handless ("His hand's...somebody cut off his hands") Carradine is accidentally hit and killed by Jeffrey as he and Diane drive to the house to investigate.

     The house's grotesque, debauched, blood soaked history is told in a sepia tone nightmare flashback. Featuring such Warhol Superstar's as Ondine and Candy Darling, it's a sequence both beautiful and ugly, exceeding the low bar the movie has set for itself by such a degree that it's rather stunning. The score by Gershon Kingsley, the guy who wrote "Popcorn", is dreary and ominous; effective not just during this part but the entire picture.

      With Woronov giving a scream queen performance for the ages during the surprisingly powerful, knockout ending, "Silent Night, Bloody Night" is the ugly New Yorker cousin of "Black Christmas"; rough looking and jittery from too many sleepless nights shooting speed with the Warhol crew. Candy Darling passed away the same month the movie came out, and James Patterson died two year's earlier when it was shot. It all adds to the general unhappy atmosphere of the picture. As anyone from the Northeast can tell you, winter isn't always beautiful, it's often bleak, barren and dirty; Theodore Gershuny's movie imperfectly captures that aspect.

   

"Crescendo" (1970) on Warner Archive Instant

"There's so much atmosphere. I hardly know where to begin."

     Hammer Films in the 1970's was a strange beast. The violent Technicolor elegance that had once enthralled horror fans in the late 50's/ early 60's had come to be viewed as quaint and dated as the Universal horror's. Forced to survive in a post- "Night of the Living Dead" genre landscape alongside titles such as "The Exorcist", "The Last House on the Left" and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre", Hammer desperately tried to remain relevant by upping the sex and gore quotient; cashing in on post "Exorcist" satanic panic with "To The Devil a Daughter" and even teaming with kung-fu magnates the Shaw Brothers for a couple co-productions. They managed to create some entertaining work during those twilight years. "Captain Kronos- Vampire Hunter" is a fun vampiric swashbuckling tale and "The Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires" features Peter Cushing going on a kung-fu adventure (if that's not something you're interested in, you're reading the wrong blog). To that list of noteworthy late period Hammer productions you can add the sleazy Gothic thriller "Crescendo".

     Originally a project of the Brian Jones of British horror, Michael Reeves, "Crescendo" finally came to be made at the turn of the decade under the direction of Alan Gibson, with a script rewritten by old Hammer standby, Jimmy Sangster. The picture opens with slow motion horseback riding and smooth sax, not exactly how you'd expect a thriller to start. It all soon turns into an Argento-esque fever dream, though, as a man has a shotgun pointed at him by his mirror image and he discovers the girl he's been laying with has become a corpse. The man suffering the dream is Georges Ryman (James Olsen), a wheelchair bound ex tennis player, who lives in a large French chateau with his mother, Danielle (Margaretta Scott). Throughout the film, Georges repeatedly experiences the dream, with the imagery staying basically the same, changing only slightly as fact's are slowly revealed.

     Into their life enters Susan Roberts (Stefanie Powers), a grad student there to do her thesis on the late Mr. Ryman, who was a renowned composer. Initially enthusiastic, Susan is slowly drawn into the bizarre psychodrama of the Ryman's and their servant's Lillianne (Jane Lapotaire) and Carter (Joss Ackland). Georges takes a liking to Susan, but suffers spasms only curable through heroin, usually administered by a naked, sadomasochistic Lillianne, who desires to marry him for his family's fortune and wishes Susan to be gone. One evening Susan hears piano coming from the music room, played by an unknown hand. Her fruitless journey to find out who it is ends with her discovering a disfigured mannequin head of her own visage. The classic monsters of Terrence Fisher, this is not. With a heavy air of Gothic mystery, the picture plays like a chamber drama directed by Mario Bava.

     Susan finds the clothes she has been wearing (since her own luggage disappeared under questionable circumstances) are those of an elusive woman from Georges' past, to whom she bears a resemblance. Georges urges Susan to leave the house, but Danielle wants just the opposite. As the baroque power struggle builds, people begin to get killed and Susan finds herself at the center of it all. Powers is great as a woman losing her innocence while trying not to lose her identity as well as her mind. The picture's climax is a clash between Eros and Thanatos in the form of mother and son, with a shocking twist worthy of classic Brian De Palma.

     Indeed, this film also shares De Palma's obsession with Hitchcockian body doubles, with Susan being groomed in a "Vertiginous" manner to resemble Catherine, and Georges' continual nightmare in which he confronts his own image. If De Palma's work can be considered the American echo of the modern Italian giallo as ushered in by Argento, then "Crescendo" can be viewed as the Anglo counterpart. Released early in the cycle, the same year as Argento's tide shifting "Bird With Crystal Plumage" and three years before De Palma would enter his "red period" with "Sisters", "Crescendo" fulfills most of the genre tropes: blood, nudity, twisted psychology, red herrings,  stylish camerawork, and a twist ending (the only thing missing is a black gloved killer). The American distribution for the the film was delayed by two years, when it was ignobly dumped on a double bill with "Dracula A.D. 1972", just months before De Palma would gain worldwide recognition by employing many of the same elements.

     The ending to the picture is tense and unsettling, as we wade waist deep into the killer's insanity within a room full of mannequin's. There is something intensely satisfying about a mystery thriller that knows how to stick the landing with a satisfying conclusion, rather than giving the audience a flaccid or sloppy letdown. It's a tough thing to do. Hitchcock knew how to do it, Depalma (in his younger day's) knew how to do it, Argento (in his younger day's) knew how to do it, and, in "Crescendo", Alan Gibson knew how to do it. That's reason enough to learn his name. Visually, the film is multi layered and evocative, with a great sense of movement and the final shots directly anticipate the ending's to Argento's "Suspiria" and "Inferno".

     "Crescendo" is the best example of Hammer bringing their style into the nasty, dirty 70's; taking the Gothic atmosphere they built their name on and adding sex, drugs and harder violence in a manner that doesn't seem desperate or forced. The master himself, Alfred Hitchcock, would pull off the same trick a couple years later, when he stepped back onto the street's of London and gave us "Frenzy".