THE LODGE and THE WRONG HOUSE: A DOUBLE BILL OF HORROR FILM REVIEWS BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

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THE WRONG HOUSE and THE LODGE: A DOUBLE BILL OF HORROR FILM REVIEWS BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

THE WRONG HOUSE aka HOUSE-HUNTING. (2012) WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY ERIC HURT. STARRING MARC SINGER, ART LA FLEUR, HAYLEY DUMOND, VICTORIA VANCE, PAUL MCGILL, JANEY GIOIOSA AND REBEKAH KENNEDY.

THE LODGE. (2008) DIRECTED BY BRAD HELMINK AND JOHN RAUSCHELBACH. WRITTEN BY DEB HAVENER. STARRING KEVIN MCCLATCHY, ELIZABETH KELL, OWEN SZABO AND MANDY KREISHER.

I picked up these two little horror finds at my local music/DVD store recently and made a night of watching them back-to-back. It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience but, like George Washington, I cannot tell a lie. THE WRONG HOUSE is a million times better than THE LODGE, which I think we’ll start with.

It’s kind of a typical run-of-the-mill dopey-young-couple-holidaying-in-a-creepy-cabin-in-the-woods type of film, and I must admit that I wasn’t crazy about the couple involved, which makes it harder to properly engage with the film. Julia and Michael don’t seem to have that good of a relationship.

Michael, a dope-smoking Little Rich Boy with a wealthy Pops, seems to love Julia, at least, and he’s hoping to use the weekend away at an isolated mountain lodge as a chance to pop a certain question. He’s got the little box and everything.

Julia doesn’t seem to care about Michael too much, though, judging by the number of times she tries to get out of having sex with him. And surely a surfeit of sleazy vacation sex is the main reason for a young couple heading for the hills for a couple of days? But he’s a doped-up twat, so I can’t say that I blame her too much for that.

The titular Lodge is nice and spacious and comfortable enough, but how come the seriously uptight owner is hanging around the place like a bad smell instead of leaving the young ‘uns to their own devices as they’d- not unnaturally- been expecting? Henry is a decidedly odd fish but, to add fuel to an already over-stoked fire, there’s a shadow at the window and I think it wants to come in…

This is a pretty violent film, and there’s some sexual violence in there as well, deservedly earning the film its 18s rating. I could have completely done without the addition (more like tacking on) of a fourth person into the mix, however.

It took away some of the film’s believability and it looks like it was added because what’s a movie nowadays without a creepy mute of a long-haired girl in it, standing there in the corner like a spare part with her bedraggled barnet obscuring her mopey face? Bit of a spoiler there but I just had to get that off my chest…!

Believe it or not, and I’m sure you can easily believe it, there’s a creepy mute of a long-haired girl in THE WRONG HOUSE too, but there’s a perfectly satisfying reason for her not talking. Yes, it’s annoying that she’s there at all but in this case she’s serving a purpose.

Meh. I’m getting really tired of the creepy-mute-girl trope. Can’t they ever mix it up a bit? Have an overweight middle-aged garage mechanic or lollipop lady (or even a sarcastic hippopotamus wearing glasses and carrying a briefcase) standing in a corner blindly staring at nothing instead of a long-haired girl? Just for a bleedin’ change, you know…

THE WRONG HOUSE is also known as HOUSE-HUNTING. Two families, the Hays family and the Thomsons, each turn up at a remote countryside farmhouse at which they think is an Open Day, designed to let prospective buyers check the place over with a view to buying it.

Both the Hays family and the Thomsons absolutely love the place. And the house must really, really like them too, because when it’s time for them to go home, it won’t let them leave. All their attempts to go home leave them right back where they started, back at the house. The house has an evil purpose in mind. It’s called revenge, and it’s going to drive the two families clean out of their minds…

The two Dads, Marc Singer as Charlie Hays and Art LaFleur as Don Thomson, are absolutely excellent as the two alpha males who desperately try to hold their families together  while the house closes in around all of them like a ghastly inescapable fog that holds evil within it, terrible evil.

Victoria Vance as the domesticated Thomson Mom Leslie is wonderful in her moving portrayal of a woman who’s tragically lost a child and can easily be pushed over the edge of sanity because of it. The three young ‘uns (including Mopey Girl) I disliked intensely. What horrible bloody kids…!

The tension is ramped-up again and again as the families turn on each other and tear strips off each other, much to the delight, one would imagine, of the watching house. The house is always watching, by the way.

Watching and waiting. Just what you don’t really want in a house you’re contemplating buying, methinks. A know-it-all, smart-alecky house imbued with human reasoning and a malevolent sentient. What a pain in the ass…!

So the consensus is as follows. THE LODGE, meh. It’s okay but it’s only okay. THE WRONG HOUSE, excellent. Scary, well-paced with no droopy or flagging bits and with a satisfying ending that only disappoints if you’re, like, super-fussy and hard to please.

I loved this film, anyway. I always love films about evil houses that have pre-ordained, murderous agendas. They really float my boat. Float my boat good. Watch it and float with me. We all float down here, dontcha know…?

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

 

 

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THE RAVEN (1935) and THE BAT (1959): A DOUBLE BILL OF HORROR FILM REVIEWS BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

bela lugosi the raven

THE RAVEN WITH BELA LUGOSI AND BORIS KARLOFF AND THE BAT WITH VINCENT PRICE: A DOUBLE BILL OF CLASSIC HORROR FILM REVIEWS BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

THE RAVEN. (1935) DIRECTED BY LEW LANDERS. BASED ON THE POEM BY EDGAR ALLAN POE. STARRING BELA LUGOSI, BORIS KARLOFF, IRENE WARE, SAMUEL S. HINDS AND LESTER MATTHEWS.

THE BAT. (1959) STARRING VINCENT PRICE, AGNES MOOREHEAD AND GAVIN GORDON. WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY CRANE WILBUR. BASED ON ‘THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE’ (1908 NOVEL) BY MARY ROBERTS RINEHART AND ‘THE BAT’ (1920 PLAY) BY MARY ROBERTS RINEHART.

These are two marvellous old horror films starring no fewer than three of the horror genre’s most iconic legends: Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff and Vincent Price. All we’re missing here is Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee. If we had those two guys as well, we’d have ourselves a real horror party, haha.

Bela is absolutely magnificent in the deeply atmospheric gothic movie THE RAVEN as the demented Dr. Richard Vollin, a talented surgeon who’s obsessed with the writer Edgar Allan Poe. He adores Poe’s famous poem, THE RAVEN, but his main interest in the melancholy scribe is in the whole torture thing that Poe espouses in his grim writings.

Dr. Vollin, an expert on Poe, has gone so far as to recreate one of Poe’s torture chambers in his basement. It comes complete with its very own pit and pendulum, and Dr. Vollin is thrilled with himself at the thought of how state-of-the-art it all is. All he’s lacking, really, is a victim on whom to inflict all these delightful tortures…

His opportunity for victim-finding comes when he befriends the Thatcher family after saving the life of the movie’s eye-candy, Jean Thatcher. Judge Thatcher, Jean’s father, however, thinks that Dr. Vollin is stark staring mad and inappropriately in love with Jean, who’s engaged to a rather stodgy and dull but worthy chap called Jerry. The Judge doesn’t want Jean involved in any way with the rather odd Dr. Vollin. Quite rightly, says you. The man’s clearly a nutcase…!

Dr. Vollin invites Jean, her father, Jerry and a few friends to a get-together in his creepy old mansion in the countryside. A storm is raging outside as the mad doctor prepares to lure his guests to his evil torture chamber.

Don’t even ask me how he’s planning to get away with murdering a number of the town’s prominent citizens. Probably half the town knows they’re there, as well. This doesn’t seem to bother Dr. Vollin one iota. That’s what makes him a madman, see? Madmen don’t give a shit about piddly little trifling details like that. Details are for shmucks, haha. Madmen have their minds on higher things.

He’s particularly excited about torturing Judge Thatcher, who doesn’t think that he, Vollin, is good enough for his precious daughter. Bela is looking forward to scoffing down a nice dish of revenge, which we all know is best served cold, haha.

He’s going to need a bit of muscle, though, to carry out his fiendish plans. Enter Boris Karloff, who gives a wonderful performance as Edmond Bateman, the pitiful escaped killer who is unwise enough to let Dr. Vollin operate on his face. Bateman only wanted his face altered a little bit so that he could escape detection for a while longer.

The spiteful Dr. Vollin has other ideas, however. If Bateman wants Vollin to undo the terrible damage he’s done to poor Bateman’s kisser, Bateman will have to go along with Vollin’s plans for torture and revenge. Not to mention a little spot of… murder…

Vincent Price is suave, smooth and terribly sexy as yet another doctor in THE BAT, a fantastic black-and-white mystery thriller. He plays Dr. Malcolm Welles, a medic who’s conducting extensive research on… you guessed it, bats!

Could he also be the deadly murderer who’s terrorizing a small American town, the killer known as ‘The Bat’ because of the way he tears out women’s throats with his sharp claws? He’s certainly Suspect Number One, according to the local constabulary, anyway.

The film also stars Agnes Moorehead, an excellent actress still retaining here most of the gorgeous bone structure and beauty of her youth. She plays a murder mystery writer who’s staying in the town that’s currently going in fear of its life because of this so-called ‘Bat.’

She’s staying with her loyal maid Lizzie in the town’s most haunted old house and the fun really starts when ‘The Bat’ starts targeting the two game old gals personally. Is it really them he’s after, though, or could it be the missing million-dollar stash of bank securities secreted somewhere about the old house that’s drawing him ever nearer…?

Both films, especially the older one, are super-atmospheric. I think I have a soft spot for THE RAVEN in particular, though, simply because it’s so old, a mere four years older than the DRACULA movie that made Bela Lugosi’s name and cemented his place forever in horror movie history.

Boris Karloff, of course, made his name in horror when he did THE MUMMY in 1931. Vincent Price was already famous when he made those fabulous Edgar Allan Poe adaptations with Roger Corman for AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL PICTURES in the middle of the twentieth century.

THE RAVEN and THE BAT are two of my favourite old horror films from Lugosi, Karloff and Price. Hopefully, any of you guys who have yet to see them will feel the same about them after you’ve watched them.

And hopefully too, you’ll agree with me when I say that they just don’t make ’em like that any more. Let’s be thankful for these old cinematic treasures and continue to carefully preserve them. God knows, they’re worth their weight in old.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

 

 

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA. A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. © BOOK 3- PARTS 36, 37 & 38.

dracula mina again

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA.

A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

BOOK 3- CHAPTER 36.

It was evening now and Jack Walton’s Tavern, the focal point of the little village of Birney, was full to capacity. Earlier, the villagers en masse had attended yet another funeral, that of young Millie Myers who’d disappeared while walking through the woods at night several weeks ago. In the absence of a body, a coffin filled with bricks had been lowered into the grave, while Millie’s distraught parents sobbed at the graveside, surrounded by neighbours.

Simeon Randall, her lover, was at the bar now talking to his younger brother Jamie, his partner in the coach business they ran jointly. Simeon, not normally given to expressing his feelings openly, was badly shaken by Millie’s disappearance.

If only she hadn’t gone home through that bloody forest! Every woman who’d walked through that accursed place in the last year or thereabouts had gone missing, vanished into thin air as if they’d never existed. No bloodied corpses had been found either, corpses that might have given the anxious villagers a clue as how the women had died.

First his brother Jamie’s lover Rowena Sampson, though no-one but Simeon knew that Jamie and Rowena had been sleeping together. Rowena’s father and brother would have torn Jamie’s handsome head from his shoulders for defiling Arthur Sampson’s youngest daughter.

Then, of course, Rowena’s older sister Jessie, married with a beautiful chubby baby daughter Tabitha, had gone missing. She’d gone out one evening to put flowers on Rowena’s grave, though as with Millie, no corpse lay in the coffin buried beneath the simple headstone. Jessie never came home. Her husband and child had been devastated by her loss.

Two or three more young women and girls had gone missing from the village after the two Sampson sisters, and then poor little Millie. Pretty Millie Myers with the tumbling curls and sparkly eyes, who’d only been courting with Simeon, a good decade older than herself, for a few months before her disappearance.

Now she’d gone the way of Rowena and Jessie and all the others, never to be seen again, a coffin filled with bricks marking the place where she’d probably never lie for real. Simeon drained his tankard of ale in a few gulps and signalled Tamsin, the barmaid, to bring the same again for himself and his brother. Tamsin smiled and nodded and went to fetch the drinks.

‘I’ll go to no more of those damned ‘funerals,’ Simeon told Jamie bitterly now. ‘I’ll tell you that much for nothing, brother. A coffin filled with bricks! How many more of these bloody disappearances will we have to bear? There’s scarcely a family left in the village that hasn’t been torn apart by ’em.’

Jamie nodded sympathetically and clapped his older brother on the shoulder. Jamie had been shocked to his core when his own lover Rowena had gone missing. He’d been consumed with guilt for months afterwards because he’d refused to walk her home through the forest after their love-making, when he’d tumbled her in his little bedroom beneath the eaves till they were both pleasantly sore and tired.

He’d been so tired, in fact, that he’d gone comfortably to sleep after their frantic coupling, leaving Rowena to hurry home through the trees. She’d been eager to get home before her father and brother found out she’d left the house and gone to Jamie Randall’s place. She’d never been seen again. For a while after he’d heard the news, Jamie had been distraught.

Now, however, he spent his evenings with Tamsin the barmaid, and life was definitely looking up. He’d climb the ivy up the wall of the tavern and clamber through her bedroom window. They’d spend an hour or two together as quietly as they could, on account of the fact that Tamsin’s father Jack Walton, the owner of the pub, slept just across the landing.

‘I blame them strange folks up at that there castle,’ said Arthur Sampson now, the father of Rowena and Jessie. Since the disappearances of his only daughters, he’d been a broken man. His thick brown hair had turned white and sparse and there were deep grooves now around his mouth and eyes. ‘Since they come ‘ere, there ain’t been nuthin’ but death and destruction come to our little village.’

‘Who owns it now, anyway?’ put in Jamie. ‘Is it still that Count fellow from foreign parts?’

Birney Castle at the edge of the forest had been empty, falling into rack and ruin, for many years. It had never been occupied in living memory of anyone in the village, as far as anyone knew. Then a nobleman from Romania called Count Dracula had come and leased the place, though in the year or so he’d been there, not a soul from the village had ever laid eyes on him.

The forest had become darker and more sinister than before, though, ever since this Count Dracula and his entourage had taken residence. No birds sang there any more and the sun shone there no longer. It was a dead place now, dead and evil, and there wasn’t a man in the village who would walk there alone, day or night.

‘It’s him all right, Count Whats-his-name,’ said Joshua Sampson grimly, a moustache of foam from his pint lining his upper lip. Joshua, a hot-headed lad of twenty-four- or-five, was Arthur Sampson’s son and the brother of the two missing sisters, Rowena and Jessie. ‘We should get up a party and storm the place, find out for ourselves what he’s done with our women.’

‘But we’ve no proof that it’s anything to do with the Count and whoever he’s got living with him at the castle,’ said Jamie, eyeing up Tamsin’s magnificent breasts in the low-cut blue dress, patterned all over with little flowers, that she was wearing tonight for work.

He couldn’t wait till closing-time came and he could climb the ivy up to Tamsin’s bedroom window. She might even be waiting naked on her bed for him with her legs accomodatingly spread for him. Tamsin hadn’t the prettiest face he’d ever seen on a woman, but her enormous breasts and general enthusiasm for his lovemaking compensated amply for any lack of looks.

‘What proof do we need?’ replied Joshua Sampson angrily. ‘Our women’s missing, ain’t they, and nothin’ like this never ‘appened before this Count came to the castle, did it?’

A general murmur of approval from the men in the bar greeted his words.

‘He’s right, Jamie,’ said Simeon, nodding his agreement. ‘I say we go up there and have a look around. Joshua’s right, after all. Until the castle was occupied, we never had any trouble around here. No women or girls ever went missing, that’s for sure.’

Again, the murmurs of approval and assent from the patrons of the bar, even from Jack Walton himself, the proprietor of the tavern. Jack had a daughter of his own, and was afraid of his life for his Tamsin’s safety.

‘Not tonight though, surely?’ said Jamie, disappointed. He had visions in his head of a lovely hour or two spent fondling Tamsin’s massive breasts and burying himself up to the hilt in her warm and oh-so-accommodating lady-parts.

However anxious he was to catch the perpetrator- or perpetrators- of these foul abductions, and he was as keen as anyone else in the village, Jamie did not want to spend the rest of tonight wandering around the gloomy forest up to his ankles in muck and thorns, not when he had the lovely Tamsin upstairs in her bedroom waiting for him. At least, she would be, as soon as this damned tavern emptied and the patrons stumbled drunkenly home.

‘Time now please, gentlemen,’ said Jack Walton, ringing the bell for closing-time as if in answer to Jamie’s prayers.

‘No, we’ll not go up there tonight,’ said Simeon thoughtfully. ‘We need to send someone up there first, during the day maybe, to scope out the lay of the land. It’d be madness to go tearing up there half-cocked tonight, in the dead of bloody night.’

‘Oh, absolutely, sheer madness,’ agreed Jamie, winking broadly at Tamsin as she ushered some of the patrons to the door, flapping their hands away smartly, with the ease of long practice, if they tried to grab her large plump bottom or a handful of soft white breast.

‘We’ll all make a plan,’ said Simeon, finishing up his ale and heading for the door.

‘Yes, a plan, good idea,’ echoed Jamie, his manhood already stirring in his breeches at the thought of Tamsin’s curvaceous body lying warm and compliant beneath his own. ‘Tomorrow, we’ll all make a plan…’

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA.

A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

BOOK 3- CHAPTER 37.

Tamsin had already undressed for bed when Jamie entered by the window, clattering more noisily than was usual as he missed his footing and went sprawling awkwardly to the floor. He leapt up nimbly with a grin, the grin that had already charmed the undergarments off of more than a hundred women from the village of Birney to London Town, and not all of them from the peasant classes, either.

‘Are you trying to wake up Father?’ giggled Tamsin. ”Cause he’ll be in here in a flash, you know he will, if he thinks I’m up to summat. His bedchamber’s only down the landing.’

‘Don’t I know it?’ replied Jamie with a grimace. ‘You only remind me every time I come here to visit you.’

‘Well, you know how strict he is with me,’ said Tamsin. ‘I’m his only daughter, after all.’

She didn’t add that some evenings after the Tavern had closed, her father would take her across his knees for a painful, bare-bottomed spanking to punish her for being overly familiar or flirtatious with the customers, or for allowing them to fondle her ample breasts or backside.

Tamsin was a natural flirt with enormous breasts and round, curvaceous buttocks. She also supplied the patrons of her father’s tavern with a friendly face and a listening ear, which, combined with her physical charms, made her a very popular barmaid indeed with the customers. But Jamie was her favourite, always had been, and well he knew it.

Tamsin hadn’t been altogether disappointed when Rowena Sampson, who’d always given Jamie the eye, had been the first young and pretty woman to disappear from the village. As far as Tamsin had been concerned, the less competition there was for the handsome Jamie Randall’s attentions, the better she liked it.

‘That’s a pretty night-gown,’ he commented now as he swiftly disrobed. ‘Such a shame, really, that you won’t be wearing it for long.’

Tamsin giggled again, allowing Jamie to pull the peach-coloured, beribboned nightie over her head, leaving her as naked as the day she was born. The nightie was consigned to the floor and Jamie launched himself enthusiastically at the breasts and buttocks he’d been eyeing up all evening in the tavern. Oh, but she had some truly marvellous curves…!

‘What were you and all the other men plotting earlier, then?’ she asked him, enjoying the feel of his strong capable hands on her nude body.

Jamie grinned, but he kept his fingers busy while he answered:

‘There’s talk of getting up an angry mob to storm the castle, you know, pitchforks and blazing torches, the works. See if that’s where the missing women are being held. That’s if they’re still alive,’ he added, more seriously.

‘That place gives me the creeps,’ shuddered Tamsin as she wrapped her own capable fingers around the shaft of Jamie’s erect manhood and began to stroke it eagerly. ‘All those blank staring windows and crumbling chimneys. And the garden’s like a jungle, it is! God knows what’s crawling around in those thorny bushes. Probably a million rats. Eeuw.’

She shuddered again theatrically for effect. Jamie wondered briefly what was lurking behind those darkened windows, like dozens of bleak eyes staring at you. The place was an eyesore all right. He’d raze it to the ground if it were up to him.

‘Forget about that place,’ he urged his lover now as he mounted her and placed his swollen manhood at the entrance to her much-moistened lady-parts. ‘It doesn’t matter. All that matters now is this. Us.’

He entered her with one swift fluid movement that nearly took her breath away, then she moaned so loudly that Jamie clamped a hand down over her mouth in alarm.

‘You’ll have your old man in here if you’re not careful,’ he admonished her while continuing to thrust in and out of her so vigorously that she was nearly lifted off the bed with the ferocity of his movements.

‘Sorry,’ she giggled, trying her hardest to control her responses as Jamie’s love-making pushed her almost to the heights of ecstasy.

It certainly wouldn’t do to have her father come rushing in here now before she’d even attained her own climax. Jamie made her feel like a real woman, unlike some of the men she’d had in her bed before now. Boys and old men they’d been, just boys and old men, not a real man like Jamie.

She gasped involuntarily as his wicked fingers probed between her buttocks to find the secret hole that nestled there, while simultaneously locating her special lady-bud and rubbing it a bit with his knuckles. Ooooh, Jamie Randall, you devil! What are you doing to me? You KNOW what touching me there does to me!

As silently as she could manage it, she rode the crest of her orgasmic wave before collapsing, trembling, in Jamie’s arms. What a wonder he was between the sheets, her Jamie! What an absolute marvel. She was so very glad they’d found each other.

‘I’m coming now,’ he forewarned her, intensifying his thrusting as his handsome face turned red with his efforts.

With a grunt, he spilled his seed in her, breaking wind loudly then as he pulled out and rolled over onto his back, closing his eyes for a few minutes’ rest as he always does. His loud emission did not smell fragrant, but rather of the ale and pork pies he’d consumed with enthusiasm earlier, downstairs in the Tavern.

Holding her nose in distaste, Tamsin lay beside him and waited impatiently for him to rouse himself as she always did. Maybe her marvel of a wonder of a man could be persuaded into an encore before shimmying back down the ivy and heading for home.

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA.

A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

BOOK 3- CHAPTER 38.

After Jamie had gone home, Tamsin stood by the open bedroom window, breathing in the refreshingly cool night air. She had every intention of leaving the window open until the smell of Jamie’s ale and pork-pies, coupled with his sweat, had disappeared completely from her bedroom. Tamsin adored the company of men but, as she’d remarked to herself on an occasion or two, they didn’t half smell rank at times.

She hadn’t bothered to put her peach-coloured and beribboned nightgown back on, and she greatly enjoyed her own daring in standing bare-breasted at the open window, letting the cool night breeze lap against her nipples and stiffen them. It was almost sexual, she thought, the way the breeze felt on her soft white breasts.

Her father would certainly punish her most severely if he knew that she was standing stark-naked at her window, having just been made violent love to by Jamie Randall, the village Lothario. It surely wouldn’t be just a spanking across his knees with the flat of his hand that she’d be getting, either. Not for something as serious as this.

No indeed, for something this serious she’d be hauled by the ear out to the little woodshed at the back of Jack Walton’s Tavern, and there made to take off her dress and drawers for a painful strapping on her bare behind from her father’s belt.

Tamsin may have been twenty-eight years old but she was still subject to the rules and regulations of her father’s house. He’d always been very strict with her, mainly because she was his only child and her mother had died when she was a baby. He was so protective of her.

Tamsin supposed that she could always marry and move away from her father’s house. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had suitors. But she liked it here in her father’s house, she reflected now as she leaned her elbows properly on the bedroom windowsill and gazed up dreamily at the night sky.

It was grand and comfortable here, and working in her father’s tavern meant that she could have a different man in her bed every night if she was so inclined, which she was. It might have to be the same man more than once, mind you, the village wasn’t that big.

But the life suited Tamsin well enough and besides, she thought now, unless she could marry Jamie Randall, whom everyone in the village agreed wasn’t the marrying kind, she didn’t want to marry anyone at all and that was a fact.

How beautiful the sky looked tonight, though! The moon was out and the stars had surely never looked more twinkly or brilliant. There was even a bat, she noticed in surprise, a big black bat seemingly hovering no more than a few feet from her window.

The real surprise was that she wasn’t screaming and slamming the window shut in a panic. She normally couldn’t abide bats, with their nasty flapping leathery wings and all. And this bat was positively gigantic, the biggest bat she’d ever seen in her whole life.

The strange thing was that she wasn’t remotely afraid of this bat. In fact, her mind was already framing the words ‘come in’ even as her body was stepping back to let it enter into her bedroom. It flapped over her head, but she was not in the slightest bit worried that it would entangle itself in her long tousled hair as she’d heard that bats were wont to do.

No, Tamsin was not in the least bit frightened of this bat. And even more strangely, when she turned away from the window to greet it properly it was no longer there. In its place was a man, a man much older and taller and even, dared she say it, more handsome than her Jamie, who’d always been pleasing to look upon.

‘Good evening, Tamsin,’ the man said in his cool, cultured slightly accented tones. ‘You’ve been quite the wicked little slut tonight, haven’t you?’

Tamsin flushed excitedly and whispered: Yes Master, a wicked, wicked little slut.’

‘And what happens to wicked sluts, Tamsin?’ continued the man, throwing off his black cloak and lowering Tamsin to her knees in front of him.

‘They are punished, Master?’ she breathed, her brown eyes wide as he adjusted his linen and removed from the folds of his clothing the largest, most impressive male organ she’d ever seen, and Tamsin had seen a lot of male organs.

‘Yes, my dear Tamsin,’ he said softly now, his dark eyes beginning to glow red in the gloom of her unlit bedroom. ‘They are punished. But not yet,’ he added almost mischievously. ‘First you will take this in your mouth and suck it. And suck, and suck, and suck…’

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

FANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA. BOOK 3- PART 35. BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

brides of draculaFANGS AND FOREPLAY… THE EROTIC ADVENTURES OF DRACULA.

A NOVEL BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

BOOK 3- CHAPTER 35.

Anna snuggled up to Count Dracula in the most blissful of post-coital dazes. The Count had made love to her no fewer than eight times in the last several hours, each time better than the last. It was a long time since Anna had felt this happy or fulfilled. No cloud marred her state of perfect happiness. No cloud but one, that was. A rather noxious cloud called Carmilla…

It was the strangest thing. The Countess Carmilla Karnstein had recently arrived at Birney Castle after the long journey overseas from Romania, but almost no-one save for the Count himself seemed to have laid eyes on her since her arrival.

She had not been introduced to Countess Anna, Dracula’s wife and the mistress of the house, a grievous social oversight, surely. Now Dracula was claiming that Carmilla was ‘indisposed’ after the difficult journey and unable to leave her bedchamber.

But Anna knew through her loyal handmaiden Valeria that the bedchamber that she herself, Anna, had ordered should be made ready for Carmilla had not been occupied. Anna smiled to herself as she recalled how she had assigned Carmilla a bedchamber as far away from the Count’s private quarters as she dared.

Anna was still not exactly sure how things currently stood between her husband and his cousin Carmilla from the old country. Did the Count still love his childhood sweetheart, his first ever love, or was the visit really just an opportunity for the two cousins to catch up, as Dracula had claimed? Anna wished she knew how much truth there was in his words.

But the bedchamber stood empty, and Anna was completely in the dark as to the whereabouts of Carmilla. Had Dracula and his cousin had a row, was that it? Maybe he’d been too proud to tell her that he’d squabbled with Carmilla and now she was refusing to speak to him, or be introduced to his wife Anna, the mistress of Birney Castle.

Anna knew the whereabouts of her husband perfectly well, however, for which she was immensely grateful. He slumbered naked beside her now, one arm thrown casually above his head. His long dark eyelashes cast shadows across his handsome face, which seemed younger and softer somehow in sleep.

Delicately, Anna trailed her fingers over his bare chest, entangling her red-tipped fingernails in the smattering of dark hairs that covered it. His nipples stiffened under her touch. She let her fingertips move teasingly down his belly to the triangle of thick black pubic hair at its base. His idling manhood jerked into life at the touch of her hand.

‘Who gave you permission to embark on such an obscene voyage of exploration?’ came the Count’s voice now, a layer of amusement beneath its customary sternness. His dark eyes had shot open and he was looking at his wife with one eyebrow quirked in sardonic inquiry.

‘No-one did,’ giggled Anna, wrapping her hand determinedly around his rapidly awakening manhood and beginning to manipulate him, with the expertise of many long hours of practice, to a state of full erection. ‘I acted solely on my own authority, dearest Count.’

‘I see,’ replied the Count, pretending to frown. ‘It’s a slutty little minx we have here then. Do you perchance know what happens to slutty little minxes who get caught with their hands in the metaphorical cookie-jar?’

Anna shook her head and giggled again, her blue eyes wide with mischief and happiness, the happiness of having her beloved Count’s undivided attention for once. She was forced to share him with so many women. It felt wonderful beyond words to have him all to herself.

‘No, tell me,’ she said delightedly. ‘What happens to them?’

‘I prefer to show you,’ said the Count, mounting her and pinning her suddenly to the bed with a speed and dexterity that took Anna’s breath away. ‘Actions, my dear Anna, speak so much louder than words, don’t you find?’

Anna gasped, unable to answer him as he entered her with one fluid movement. He began to thrust his now fully erect manhood in and out of her wet and welcoming lady-parts with an energy that would have put a much younger man to shame. At seven hundred years of age, the Count liked to think that he still had what it took to satisfy any woman alive, or Un-Dead.

Anna moaned and writhed beneath him rapturously as he plundered her feminine parts while fondling her breasts and pushing his tongue between her eagerly parted lips. She forgot all about Carmilla as they moved together towards a simultaneous orgasm that would leave them both spent and shaken.

Carmilla? As Anna gave herself up to the beauty and savagery of her climax, it was much more a case of Carmilla Who…?

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

brides of draculahttps://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

THE RAVEN, STARRING VINCENT PRICE AND BORIS KARLOFF. (1963) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

raven boysTHE RAVEN. (1963) AN AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL PICTURE. BASED ON THE POEM BY EDGAR ALLAN POE. PRODUCED AND DIRECTED BY ROGER CORMAN. SCREENPLAY BY RICHARD MATHESON. MUSIC BY LES BAXTER. EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS: JAMES H. NICHOLSON AND SAMUEL Z. ARKOFF.

STARRING VINCENT PRICE, PETER LORRE, BORIS KARLOFF, HAZEL COURT, OLIVE STURGESS AND JACK NICHOLSON.

REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

This quaintly charming horror film is a marvellous example of the work that Roger Corman and Vincent Price did together for AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL PICTURES. With a little help, of course, from a certain sombre-faced writer who went by the name of Edgar Allan Poe, haha.

THE RAVEN begins- and ends- with beloved horror icon Vincent Price actually reciting Poe’s famous poem of the same name and he really does the grim but beautiful words justice. In fact, if you’re going to get someone to read Poe’s words, you really couldn’t do better than have Vincent Price do the job in his deliciously distinctive spooky voice.

My wee son does an impression of the late Vincent Price’s voice that’s so like him it’s uncanny. I really must record him doing it one day for posterity…!

Anyway, in the film THE RAVEN, a rather splendidly-dressing-gowned Vincent Price, playing the magician Erasmus Craven, is sitting about at home when an actual raven comes tap-tap-tapping upon his chamber door, believe it or not. In point of fact, the bird comes to the window but I don’t think that there’s any mention of that in the poem, haha.

The wise-cracking bird turns out to be none other than Peter Lorre under a spell or ‘enchantment,’ put there by an evil wizard called Dr. Scarabus. Some highly hilarious rooting about for ingredients from his dead scientist father’s old laboratory leads to Craven being able to release the Raven, aka Peter Lorre as a boozy second-rate magician called Bedlo, from the spell. The insanity does not, of course, end there…

Bedlo stirs the pot big-time by informing a shocked Craven that he’s seen Craven’s dead wife’s spirit hanging around this Dr. Scarabus’s gaff. Now, Craven still loves the deceased Lenore with every fibre of his being and he’s hell-bent on charging around to Dr. Scarabus’s place to see if what Bedlo says is true.

Also, Bedlo wants his magic-kit back from Scarabus’s house where Scarabus is apparently holding it hostage. The pair high-tail it there in a carriage, accompanied by Craven’s beautiful daughter Estelle and Bedlo’s handsome but rather clown-ish son Rexford, played by a really young Jack Nicholson, long before ever he flew over the cuckoo’s nest to land head-first in THE SHINING…

Horror legend Boris Karloff is magnificent as the aforementioned Dr. Scarabus, a wizard with powers far superior to Bedlo’s but about equal with Craven’s. He greets the deputation with a fake hospitality, feigning polite surprise at their various complaints.

A little display of Dr. Scarabus’s powers over dinner puts Bedlo firmly back in his box. Craven will not be so easy to outwit. But Craven is horribly distracted by the shocking return to life of someone he was sure was dead…

The duel between the two wizards is superbly done and hilariously funny. Vincent Price can be awfully mischievous when he wants to be. The fun and games are wonderful to witness, although the outcome of the duel is never really in doubt. Or is it…?

Hazel Court is fantastic (and delightfully booby-licious!) as the lady whose name we won’t mention for fear of spoilers. Suffice it to say that she also plays a beautiful but duplicitous wife in the excellent horror movie PREMATURE BURIAL starring Ray Milland, a story also based on a work by Mr. Poe. He surely wrote a lot of grim stuff, didn’t he…?

It probably goes without saying that the three leads, Messrs Price, Lorre and Karloff, more than justify their places at the top of the horror tree by turning in warm, passionate and deeply humorous performances. Vincent Price in particular is just marvellous to watch. He’s just having so much fun with it and you can really tell.

As always with AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL PICTURES, the settings, furnishings and costumes are lavishly-gorgeous and rich and gloriously-coloured, with the lovely russets, reds and orangey-browns coming to the forefront as always.

Dr. Scarabus’s castle exterior takes the form of a stunning-looking painting and the shots of the sea are just beautiful. The film is quite similar to another horror film about the spirit of naughty deceased wives called THE TERROR, also starring Boris Karloff and a young Jack Nicholson. If you haven’t already seen this one, it’s well worth checking out.

THE RAVEN is a terrific watch, anyway. You should put it on one dark windy night when you’re all on your own in the darkened house. That way, when something sinister comes tap-tap-tapping upon your chamber door, it’ll turn the blood in your veins to ice just to hear it, and isn’t it just delightful to be scared stiff…?

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI and ZULU: A DUO OF SUPERB WAR FILMS REVIEWED BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

Zulu-Screencap-michael-caine-2662240-500-289

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI and ZULU: A DUO OF SUPERB EPIC WAR FILMS REVIEWED BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI. (1957) BASED ON THE 1952 BOOK BY PIERRE BOULLE. DIRECTED BY DAVID LEAN. STARRING ALEC GUINNESS, JACK HAWKINS, WILLIAM HOLDEN, JAMES DONALD, GEOFFREY HORNE AND SESSUE HAYAKAWA.

ZULU. (1964) DIRECTED, CO-PRODUCED AND CO-WRITTEN BY CY ENDFIELD. STARRING STANLEY BAKER, MICHAEL CAINE, JACK HAWKINS, ULLA JACOBSSON, NIGEL GREEN, PATRICK MAGEE, JAMES BOOTH AND CHIEF BUTHELEZI. NARRATION BY RICHARD BURTON.

These are undoubtedly two of the best war films that have ever been made. I’ve loved ’em both since I first clapped eyes on them and I’m thrilled to be reviewing them together like this.

Starring some of the finest actors in cinema history, they’ve won a ton of awards between them and are always featuring on lists detailing the best films of all time. There are quite a few similarities between them as well, as it happens. Let’s take a closer look at both movies, shall we, and see what we make of ’em…

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI tells the story (fictional, but based on some fact) of a large group of British soldiers who are taken prisoner by the Japanese during WW2. They are sent to a prisoner-of-war camp in Burma and forced to build the titular bridge which will connect Bangkok and Rangoon when it is completed.

ZULU is a dramatisation of an actual battle, the Battle of Rorke’s Drift, that took place between British soldiers and the massive Zulu army in early 1879 in Natal. It was during the Anglo-Zulu War that it happened. In the film, the same Zulus have just massacred large numbers of the British force at the Battle of Isandlwana.

Now they’re coming for the one-hundred-and-fifty of Her Majesty’s soldiers, many of them injured and in the sick bay, who currently occupy the little missionary station at Rorke’s Drift. The odds against the British soldiers are impossible. They’re dead men walking now, surely…?

Both films portray the British soldiers as courageous hard workers who keep a stiff upper lip at all times and never abandon their principles. They’re true Englishmen, after all, from a civilised country where people drink a nice cup of tea and read the morning paper unhurriedly regardless of the situation. It’s a good way to be, eh what, chaps?

Alec Guinness’s stiff upper lip as Lieutenant Colonel Nicholson in THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI nearly gets him killed. He clashes with Colonel Saito, the man in charge of the Japanese prison camp, over a rather piddling matter of principle for which he’s (Nicholson) clearly prepared to die.

It’s almost a huge relief when eventually the equally stubborn pair put aside their differences and decide, for their mutual benefit, to build the best damn bridge they’re capable of creating between them.

Michael Caine is superb in ZULU as the posh privileged army officer with the fancy toff’s name of Lieutenant Gonville Bromhead. He comes from a family of army royalty and initially looks down on Stanley Baker’s Lieutenant Chard.

Chard is an engineer who, incidentally, is busily- and sweatily!- engaged in building a bridge when Bromhead swans up on his horse, as cool as the proverbial cucumber. What is it with army men and their little bridges…? The two men quickly learn to work together, however, when those pesky Zulus start swarming over the horizon…

Although my favourite characters from THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI are those of Nicholson and Colonel Saito, William Holden is top-notch too as the American prisoner-of-war, Commander Shears. He daringly escapes from the impossible-to-escape-from prison camp and then is horrified when he’s asked to go back there by Jack Hawkins as the English Major Warden, who has orders to blow up the bridge that his fellow Englishman Nicholson has so lovingly created. Blow up the bridge? Jolly good show, chaps. Jolly good show…!

Actor Jack Hawkins is another feature that both films have in common. He also stars in ZULU as the rather naïve Swedish missionary Otto Witt, father to the beautiful Ulla Jacobsson’s Margareta and a man who’s partial to a bit of a tipple.

I love when that fine South African-born British character actor Nigel Green (COUNTESS DRACULA with Ingrid Pitt) as the exceptionally stiff-upper-lipped Colour Sergeant Bourne tells the drunken Otto Witt to ‘quiet down now sir, there’s a good gentleman, you’re scaring the lads…!’

Nigel Green gets another great line when a green and terrified young soldier says to him as they quietly wait to be overrun by Zulus: ‘Why us, Sarge?’ Not turning a hair, the splendidly-moustached Colour Sergeant Bourne replies: ‘Because we’re here, lad. Because we’re here…’

In a nice touch of authenticity, the real-life Chief Buthelezi plays his own great-grandfather, the Zulu King Cetshwayo, in the film. Also, a lot of singing talent is on show here as the Zulus take on the Welsh soldiers in the regiment in a sort of THE VOICE OF WALES X FACTOR MEETS ZULU’S GOT TALENT type of thing so be sure and buy the soundtrack…!

There are lots of terrific actors in minor roles in both films too, such as James Donald as the infinitely civilised and reasonable but also pragmatic Major Clipton in THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI and another James, this time James Booth, from ZULU. He plays the malingerer Private Henry Hook, the guy with the bad attitude who rather surprisingly ends up winning an award for bravery along with no small number of his colleagues.

These are two cracking war films that’ll make great viewing if you were to watch ’em back-to-back some lazy Saturday afternoon, like I’ve just done myself. Don’t forget to maintain that stiff upper lip throughout, though, and keep a tight rein on any tears that might threaten to fall during your viewing of this truly smashing and emotional double-feature.

It’s just not the done thing to sob and sniffle like hysterical women in front of the ranks, you know. As to what exactly constitutes the done thing, well, you know what, old boy? In the words of a certain Colonel Nicholson: ‘I haven’t the foggiest…!’

Zulu-Screencap-michael-caine-2662240-500-289

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.
Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor

HAMMER HORROR’S KISS OF THE VAMPIRE. (1963) REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

kiss of the vampire showdownKISS OF THE VAMPIRE aka KISS OF EVIL (when shown on American television). (1963) HAMMER FILM PRODUCTIONS. DIRECTED BY DON SHARP. PRODUCED BY ANTHONY HINDS. WRITTEN BY ANTHONY HINDS UNDER THE NAME ‘JOHN ELDER.’ STARRING EDWARD DE SOUZA, JENNIFER DANIEL, CLIFFORD EVANS, NOEL WILLMAN, BARRY WARREN, JACQUIE WALLIS, PETER MADDEN AND VERA COOK. REVIEW BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

This is another fantastic entry in the Hammer Horror canon of DRACULA-slash-vampire films. It comes five years after Christopher Lee first donned the cloak and fangs to play Bram Stoker’s timeless horror creation Count Dracula for Hammer Film Productions, and a mere two years before Sir Christopher reprised his role again in Hammer’s DRACULA: PRINCE OF DARKNESS.

Neither Christopher Lee as the Count nor Peter Cushing as Van Helsing the vampire-hunter appear in KISS OF THE VAMPIRE, my only gripe with an otherwise perfect vampire film. Let’s take a look at the plot, shall we, film buffs…?

A young just-married couple, Gerald and Marianne Harcourt, are honeymooning in Bavaria, definitely a gorgeous spot for honeymooning. Except for the cult of bloodsucking vampires that occupy the castle overlooking the village where the Harcourts are obliged to spend several days due to motor-car trouble. See what you get for trusting so-called modern technology? You’d never have had that trouble with a coach and horses…!

The little inn where the young couple are staying over, rather ambitiously monikered the ‘Grand Hotel,’ is a quaint and charming wee place. The landlady, Anna, nurses a terrible un-named sadness, however, and her lovely old hubby Bruno, while suffering too, is just trying to get on with things. You know the way men are, haha.

An invitation for the young English couple to dine at the aforementioned castle, the property of a Dr. Ravna, is the source of much excitement at the little inn. Gerald and Marianne, in particular Marianne, are positively captivated by the charming doctor and his attractive and accomplished grown-up children, Carl and Sabena.

A party invite comes hot on the heels of the dinner invitation for the Harcourts. It’s a sexy masked ball and the booze is flowing, especially for the not-exactly-used-to-it Gerald, who wakes from a drunken-and-drugged stupor to find his wife missing. What’s more, the Ravnas are closing ranks and claiming that they know nothing at all about any so-called wife of his…

A friend of mine has remarked in the past that Dr. Ravna looks like Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing mashed together. Sometimes I see it, sometimes I don’t. I do think, however, that the rather wooden Marianne, she of the fixed expression and unmoving hairstyle, resembles no-one so much as Doris Mann, the blonde woman from the marvellous spoof horror film CARRY ON SCREAMING who gets turned into a mannequin. Even being turned into a vampire-hussy doesn’t cause her expression to change or her hair to move at all…!

I love Clifford Evans as the alcoholic Professor Zimmer, who has good reason to be hitting the booze so hard and so often. Under his sternly-bearded exterior, he shares a joint pain with Anna and Bruno, the inn-keepers. He might also be the only person who can help a shell-shocked Gerald to free his missus from the cult of the vampires.

I don’t know if I’d bother if I were Gerald. I’m sure that Marianne could be easily replaced at any good department store where mannequins adorn the window displays. Sorry, sorry. I love the film, but Blondie surely could have used some serious loosening up…!

The film is as gorgeously filmed and coloured as you might expect from any Hammer production, with stunningly beautiful costumes, scenery, settings and interiors. I don’t like KISS OF THE VAMPIRE as much as, say, BRIDES OF DRACULA or any of the Christopher Lee Dracula films, but it’s still a super-worthy addition to the Hammer canon of brilliant vampire films.

Stakes through the heart, black magic, a bloodstained chest (though not the kind you’re thinking of!) and a thoroughly unusual ending make for an extremely enjoyable watch all round. Vampirism is here depicted as a sort of social disease that mostly afflicts those enjoying a decadent lifestyle. Another reason to keep buying those Lotto tickets, so…!

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, film blogger and movie reviewer. She has studied Creative Writing and Film-Making. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, womens’ fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra’s books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

You can contact Sandra at:

https://www.facebook.com/SandraHarrisPureFilthPoetry

https://sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com

http://sexysandieblog.wordpress.com

http://serenaharker.wordpress.com

sandrasandraharris@gmail.com

https://twitter.com/SandraAuthor