I don't remember when I realized this, exactly, but I know it must have been around middle school. While my fourth grade teacher playing a Vincent Price-hosted clip show of classic horror on Halloween excited me, I was a Chaney, Sr. man then, and a Lugosi faithful by the end of elementary school. Somehow, though, as my adolescence began and my knowledge of film grew past 1941, Price took over.
Do you think it might have been the films? Not to sound unsophisticated or anything, but much as I admire Chaney's silent-era physicality and Lugosi's early-sound histrionics, Price got to ham it up in the colorful 60s and 70s, when bare breasts began bouncing on-screen alongside close-up gore effects and bizarre Hollywood concepts of the drug scene. His movies were campy and dark, funny and violent, sexy and...sexy?
We could talk for ages about his Wm Castle flicks (The Tingler, House on Haunted Hill), his Poe vehicles for Roger Corman (House of Usher, The Tomb of Ligeia), his work in more prestigious fare (The Song of Bernadette, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex), or his contributions to early Tim Burton ("Vincent", Edward Scissorhands). But I think any Price fan worth his or her salt knows that nothing beats his one-two punch of Dr. Anton Phibes and Edward Lionheart, the anti-heroes of 1971's The Abominable Dr. Phibes, 1972's Dr. Phibes Rises Again and 1973's Theatre of Blood. Both men seek to avenge perceived wrongs by murdering those he begrudges in the most creative ways possible. In the first Phibes, it's according to the Plagues of Egypt. In Theatre of Blood, it's the works of William Shakespeare.
It's really quite a phenomenal idea for a film: Vincent Price as a hammy Shakespearean actor who attempts suicide when the Critics' Circle Awards snub him in favor of a young Method actor. Unbeknownst to everyone else, he survives, and he plans his revenge on the nine members of the jury according to the plays he performed in his final theatrical season. And in between killings, he performs scenes from those very plays to a rapt audience of homeless drug addicts who "rescued" him from his botched drowning.
This is my favorite Vincent Price film, and I've always loved that it was his, too. Of course, it was here that he met his third wife Coral Browne, and realized his dream of performing Shakespeare on film. I am not lying or exaggerating when I say that I always just heard Hamlet's soliliquoy in legitimate film versions of the Bard's work; only with Price's recitation after losing the coveted prize did I fully "get" the import of the words, and the beauty of the writing.
Lionheart goes from a darkly comic villain to a tragic hero, a man who only wants to be recognized for his hard work and dedication, to be celebrated for pursuing his dream with such single-mindedness...and they laugh at him. These people who dare not try their hand at performing, who make their living scoffing at struggling performers and eviscerating the efforts of hard-working craftsmen, these butchers (as Edwina puts it) laugh at him. Perhaps Lionheart puts it best:
And if those two scenes aren't enough to convince you of this movie's greatness:
So awesome.
But Price isn't the only one with a great part. The critics are a colorful ensemble of pompous prigs, the policemen are the right balance of competent and befuddled, and Lionheart has a beautiful daughter (played by Diana Rigg) who may or may not be working with him. It's a film ripe with character parts, which is why I'm a little surprised no one's tried to remake it. There was a stage version a few years back, with Jim Broadbent and Rigg's daughter Rachael Stirling as the Lionhearts, but otherwise, no one else dares to touch the film. Is it the daunting task of even equaling Price's performance? The difficult tone? The logistics of rounding up an ensemble not only willing to do a slasher flick but giving said flick an air of legitimacy and class?
Perhaps. But this is Casting Coup Tuesday. We gotta try. But let's at least do it after the jump:
