Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968)
Directed by Vernon Sewell

Film Review

Over a short but productive period in the late 1960s, early 1970s, the small British film production company Tigon gave rival studios Hammer and Amicus a good run for their money with its series of lurid offerings in the fantasy/horror genre.  Witchfinder General (1968), directed by Wunderkind Michael Reeves, was one of Tigon's early successes and stimulated a short-lived craze for films about the occult which Tigon profited from with its subsequent Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968) and Blood on Satan's Claw (1971).  Whereas the latter of these two films has acquired a cult status, the other is easily overlooked, let down by a muddled, half-baked plot that fails to distinguish it from other films of its kind.

On paper, it seems that Curse of the Crimson Altar can hardly fail to impress.  On offer is a respectable principal cast that includes two of horrors biggest icons, Boris Karloff and Christopher Lee, with two other habitués of the genre, Michael Gough and Barbara Steele, lending their support in roles that are among their creepiest.  The script derives from a short story by one of the most influential of horror authors, H. P. Lovecraft (The Dreams in the Witch House), and was written by Mervyn Haisman and Henry Lincoln, whose impressive list of television credits includes several well-regarded episodes of Doctor Who.  The story has all the ingredients for a spine-chilling entry in the occult thriller genre and yet it all ends up looking like a pallid dry run for The Wicker Man (1973).  The plot traces a familiar course to an all-too-predictable resolution, conveniently overlooking all the loose ends along the way so that you are left confused and ever so slightly dissatisfied.

On the plus side, Curse of the Crimson Altar is atmospherically shot and occasionally so visually weird that it has little difficult holding our attention, in spite of its somewhat nonsensical plot.  Cinematographer John Coquillon brings a similar aura of understated malevolence to the film that he had previously brought to Witchfinder General, and effective use is made of the old dark house (one that is reputedly haunted) in which most of the action takes place, Grim's Dyke in northwest London, one-time residence of W.S. Gilbert.  Vernon Sewell's direction is mostly routine but there are a few eerily inspired touches, notably the demonic dream sequences in which Barbara Steele appears painted luminiscent green to resemble a pagan goddess.  By this late stage in his career, Sewell had an impressive list of B-movie credits to his name, his other fantasy/horror excursions including The Ghosts of Berkeley Square (1947), The Blood Beast Terror (1968) (also for Tigon) and Burke & Hare (1971).

Suffering from a severe lack of character depth and/or possible interest in the film, Christopher Lee has none of his customary menace and for the most part he looks like a casual bystander.  With Lee out of the running, the 81-year-old Boris Karloff has no difficulty stealing the film, in spite of the fact he was wheelchair bound and had great difficulty moving about.  Curse of the Crimson Altar was the last film of Karloff's that was released before his death in 1969 (followed by some low budget trash that is best forgotten) and his performance is mesmerising, to say the least.  Karloff brings a gravitas and authority to his portrayal of a student of the Black Arts, without which the film would be vacuous and tediously pedestrian.  So strong is his presence that we hardly notice (or fail to be interested by) the more active characters blandly played by Mark Eden and Virginia Wetherell, whose only role seems to be to keep the plodding narrative from stalling completely whilst titillating the audience with the odd flash of nudity.  Compared with other occult-themed films of the time, Curse of the Crimson Altar now looks drearily dated, but it has the odd moment of stylistic brilliance, and it's worth watching for Karloff's last great turn before he checked into the final horror vault from which there is no return, by which I mean the absolute nadir of Mexican cinema.

Film Synopsis

When his brother Peter mysteriously disappears, antiques dealer Robert Manning visits the house where he was last seen - Craxted Lodge in the remote English village of Greymarsh.  The house's owner Morley denies having ever met Peter Manning but cordially invites Robert to stay the night.  Robert's sleep is disturbed by a strange dream in which he is at the centre of some kind of occult ceremony.  It so happens that a neighbour of Morley's is an expert on the occult and explains that the burning of a witch in the 17th century has spawned a local cult.  The witch in question turns out to be a distant relative of Morley and Robert is a direct descendent of the man who sentenced her to death...