Stephen Gilbert | Lancer Books | 1967 | 191 pages
The unnamed narrator of Ratman’s Notebooks lives at home in a rundown estate with his elderly, pestering mother, and is bullied at work by his manager, Jones, a pettily vindictive man who was once an underling to the narrator’s father, the former owner of the company. His only friends are the rats who live in the garden, spared from his mother’s extermination order with a last minute change of heart. Among the growing nest of rodents outside, the narrator builds a special bond with Socrates, a clever white rat with a remarkable aptitude for learning.
Quickly developing a system of communication, the narrator begins a training regime for his army of rats, with Socrates serving as his general. Frustrated and belittled at work and at home, he eventually experiences a moral epiphany, realizing that he no longer feels compelled to abide by the legal or ethical norms imposed by society. The initial foray into criminal action involves breaking into a supermarket to feed the swelling ranks of his rodent followers, followed by monetary heists to pay off his family debts. However, the ultimate target is Jones, whose shocking act of violence escalates the narrator’s desire for revenge.
The narrator’s genuine affection for Socrates occupies the core of Notebooks, but the introduction of a rival throws a potential internal conflict into the account of criminal exploits and revenge. A young, dark-haired rat named Ben shows the same affinity for learning as Socrates, but seems less inclined to accept the friendship of the narrator, who fears that his role as leader may someday possibly be usurped.
Ratman’s Notebooks was the basis for the cult 1971 film, Williard, and the character of Ben continued on as the “star” of Ben, its 1972 sequel. Interestingly, although the first film was faithful to the source material, the sequel transformed Ben from a dubiously loyal character to a die-hard companion to a chronically ill child.
The adventures of Ratman’s gang, documented by sensationalized newspaper accounts, are entertaining centerpieces here. From home invasion to strong-arm robbery on the street, they inevitably grow to a culminating act of bloody revenge that makes an ultimate redemption a fatal choice. It all adds up to a stunning portrait of a descent into madness—one that the protagonist eventually chooses to escape from—but avoids the common trap of explaining away everything as simply existing all in the deranged mind.
“Tear him up,” I whispered softly.
Bonnie and Clyde | Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot | Fontana Records | 1968
Vous avez lu l’histoire | You’ve read the story
De Jesse James | From Jesse James
Comment il vécu | How he lived
Comment il est mort | How he died
Ça vous a plus hein | You’ve had more huh
Vous en demandez encore | You’re still wondering
Et bien | Well
Écoutez l’histoire | Listen to the story
De Bonnie and Clyde | From Bonnie and Clyde
Alors voilà | So here it is
Clyde a une petite amie | Clyde has a girlfriend
Elle est belle et son prénom | She’s beautiful and her name
C’est Bonnie | It is Bonnie
À eux deux ils forment | Between them they form
Le gang Barrow | The Barrow Gang
Leurs noms | Their names
Bonnie Parker et Clyde Barrow | Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow
Bonnie and Clyde
Bonnie and Clyde
Moi lorsque j’ai connu Clyde | Me when I met Clyde
Autrefois | Formerly
C’était un gars loyal | He was a loyal guy
Honnête et droit | Honest and upright
Il faut croire | You have to believe
Que c’est la société | It’s the company
Qui m’a définitivement abîmé | That permanently ruined me
Bonnie and Clyde
Bonnie and Clyde
Qu’est-ce qu’on a pas écrit | What we did not write
Sur elle et moi | About her and me
On prétend que nous tuons | We pretend we kill
De sang-froid | Cold blood
C’est pas drôle | It’s not funny
Mais on est bien obligé | But we have
De faire taire | To shut up
Celui qui se met à gueuler | The man who starts to yell
Bonnie and Clyde
Bonnie and Clyde
Chaque fois qu’un policeman | Every time a policeman
Se fait buter | Gets busted
Qu’un garage ou qu’un’ banque | That a garage or a bank
Se fait braquer | Is robbed
Pour la police | For the police
Ça ne fait de mystère | That’s no mystery
C’est signé Clyde Barrow | It’s signed Clyde Barrow
Bonnie and Clyde
Bonnie and Clyde
Maintenant chaque fois | Now every time
Qu’on essaie de se ranger | We try to
De s’installer tranquilles | To settle down quietly
Dans un meublé | In a furnished room
Dans les trois jours | Within three days
Voilà le tac tac tac | He is the tac tac tac
Des mitraillettes | Submachine guns
Qui reviennent à l’attaque | Coming back
Bonnie and Clyde
Bonnie and Clyde
Un de ces quatre | One of these four
Nous tomberons ensemble | We’ll fall together
Moi je m’en fous | I do not care
C’est pour Bonnie que je tremble | It’s for Bonnie I’m shaking
Quelle importance | How important
Qu’ils me fassent la peau | They make my skin
Moi Bonnie | Me Bonnie
Je tremble pour Clyde Barrow | I’m shaking for Clyde Barrow
Bonnie and Clyde
Bonnie and Clyde
De toute façon | Anyway
Ils ne pouvaient plus s’en sortir | They could not get away
La seule solution | The only solution
C’était mourir | It was to die
Mais plus d’un les a suivis | But more than one followed them
En enfer | In hell
Quand sont morts | When Died
Barrow et Bonnie Parker | Barrow and Bonnie Parker
Bonnie and Clyde
Bonnie and Clyde
Orgy of the Dead
Starring Criswell | Fawn Silver | Pat Barrington | William Bates
Written by Edward D. Wood, Jr. | Directed by Stephen C. Apostolof
1965 | 1 hour, 32 minutes
“No one wishes to see a man dance.”
A burlesque review thinly masquerading as a horror film, Orgy of the Dead bumps and grinds through a series of topless, loosely horror-themed routines, before the sun eventually rises on its denizens of the night.
Driving at night in search of inspiration, horror writer Bob (William Bates) and his girlfriend Shirley (Pat Barrington) crash their car, inadvertently stumbling upon a strange ritual underway in a remote cemetery. An evil Master of Ceremonies (Criswell, Plan 9 From Outer Space) and Vampira look-alike Black Ghoul (Fawn Silver) conduct a series of performances under the full moon designed not only for their own macabre viewing pleasure, but also to test the very souls of the damned performers. Captured by the evil pair’s inexplicable Mummy and Wolfman minions, Bob and Shirley are forced to watch the proceedings, while waiting for their ultimate fate to be decided.
Enhanced by garish colors and an inherently appealing mid-sixties style, a full dance card of nudie performances by Zombie Girl, Cat Girl, Streetwalker Girl, Slave Girl, Indian Girl, Gold Girl, and more (equally stereotyped) follows, all accompanied by groovy instrumental scores. The two hosts leer and nod, with Criswell appearing to read his lines from cue cards, while the classic monster minions spout some corny shtick from the sidelines. Bob and Shirley wiggle against their bonds while more performers gyrate through a dry-ice fog, hanging low over a cemetery setting that appears to have been leftover from a late-night horror television show.
This jiggly curiosity delivers a delirious mid-century visual treat—to the right audience—for a short while, but becomes something of an endurance test at feature film length.
The Case Against Satan
Ray Russell | Paperback Library | 1962 | 160 pages
“I hope you rot in Hell for eternity, you lousy son of a bitch.”
Written nearly a decade before William Peter Blatty’s The Exorcist shocked readers with its depiction of demonic possession, The Case Against Satan details two Catholic priests in their struggle to free a young girl from—what seems to be—a diabolical influence.
Following a succession of strange episodes, Robert Garth brings his daughter, Susan, to the attention of Father Gregory Sargent, a new parish priest struggling with a history of alcoholism and doubt about his own faith. Susan suffers from a series of violent physical reactions against attending Mass, and exhibits an uncharacteristic display of vulgar behavior for such a previously sweet sixteen-year-old girl. Gregory learns that Garth also brought his daughter to seek the counsel of his predecessor, Father Halloran—towards whom she made carnal advances and violently attacked with her bare hands.
The arrival of Bishop Conrad Crimmings to the parish precipitates an impromptu experiment with Susan, involving the rosary blindly applied to her skin. Seeing the burn left on Susan’s arm after contact with the holy article, Bishop Crimmings concludes that her condition stems from demonic possession, and sets in motion the plans for her exorcism.
“Why, of course. I am human, am I not? A little girl. A little girl with filthy desires.” And she yelled, “DUNG!”
Perhaps shocking and controversial in the era of its first publication, the potentially blasphemous content in The Case Against Satan seems almost mild by comparison to more graphic, post-Exorcist horrors. Some of the language issuing from Susan during her exorcism is suggested rather than explicit, although disturbing revelations regarding incest and murder surface over the course of the sessions.
“Mankind is dung,” she said. “The Church is a dungheap, a congregation of dung. Dung in the wind! Father of dung! Son of filthy dung!”
Attempting to be more than a straightforward horror novel, The Case Against Satan functions as a dialectic between Crimmings and Gregory over the nature of possession. They argue whether psychologists are actually purging demons with their clinical methodology, or that church-appointed exorcists are relieving psychological problems through their benedictions. Believing in the literal presence of Satan in the young girl, Bishop Crimmings struggles to solidify the faith of Father Gregory, whose own interest in the field of psychoanalysis logically leads him to a less supernatural origin for Susan’s affliction.
The ambiguity of Susan’s illness is preserved throughout the story, with apparent psychological causes to her symptoms, although Gregory ultimately overcomes his own doubts to embrace his faith. Suspension of disbelief is a key artistic tenet, but since the novel invites the question, the application of existing rules of logic cannot be helped. How can any rational argument compete against the warped, self-affirming rationale—the lack of evidence against Satan is itself evidence that Satan is withholding evidence of his own existence—of true believers? Father Gregory ultimately offers his reductive version of the whole affair, “She was possessed of the Devil. They cast him out. She’s fine now.”
A few references to real-life exorcism cases and figures of Catholic psychoanalysis inform the details of Susan’s possession, intentionally blurring the line between fiction and reality. However, the author seems to finally side with the protagonist, descending into pure, unrepentant hokum in his epilogue, with an anecdote involving an inferred visit from the “Lord of the Flies” while writing the novel—ending with his typing the words, “Begone, Satan!“
Ira Levin | Dell Books | 1967 | 218 pages
“You look great. It’s that haircut that looks awful, if you want the truth, honey.”
Readers familiar with Roman Polanski’s remarkably faithful 1968 screen adaptation will no doubt recall some of the indelible images—and performances—from the film while turning the pages, but Ira Levin’s novel remains a singular classic that defines modern horror.
Struggling actor Guy Woodhouse and his wife Rosemary seem to be a sympathetic young couple, but from the start Guy exhibits a shallow narcissism. Following the simple vanity of “Christ, a pimple” upon viewing his reflection, Guy lies about a sudden job opportunity in order to break a newly signed lease. His deceit allows for a move into the Bramford, a gothic apartment building that, unbeknownst to them, harbors a dark history of murder, cannibalism, and devil worship.
Rosemary is complicit with Guy’s actions, determined to have her dream apartment that will provide a foundation for her future family, with “three children two years apart.” Even after a short retreat to a cabin (in one of the few scenes not included in the screenplay), Rosemary acknowledges Guy’s shortcomings as a husband and potential father, yet is determined to conceive a child.
Small indicators of the diabolical horrors to come are sprinkled throughout, from the black candles provided by neighbors, Roman and Minne Castavet, to the sounds of ritual music through the common walls of the apartment. A few current events also help define the general mood of the time. The Pope’s visit to New York City triggers a discussion with the Castavets on the hypocrisy of religion, and Rosemary reflects upon the infamous Time magazine cover, “Is God Dead?”
When Guy receives a new role due to the mysterious blinding of a rival actor, he is unfazed by the horrific circumstances, concerned only with his own good fortune. Rosemary also receives some shocking news about her friend, Hutch, when he slips into a coma. Yet, she acknowledges to herself that her concern lies more with not having anyone in her life to depend upon if he dies, rather than with Hutch’s health itself.
After receiving the news of her conception, events turn more overtly horrific. Rosemary’s sallow, wasted appearance contradicts her expectations of a happy, healthy pregnancy. Her constant abdominal pain leads to a reflection that “the baby kicked like a demon.” And above all, the suffocating helpfulness of the Castavets, with Minnie’s insistent schedule of herbal vitamin drinks.
Ira Levin’s lean and direct prose provides his occult apartment horror story a wealth of contextual readings, ranging from the isolation of modern life, to an exercise in paranoia, or to a study of the interpersonal dynamics of a marriage. But driving it all is the sinking feeling of despair that something sinister, and beyond all control, lies just beyond the cusp of understanding.
Yet, under the blanket of pessimism resulting from the ultimate triumph of evil, Rosemary reaches the perversely happy ending she so desires; her apartment, husband, and new family—with the single, however significant, caveat regarding the nature her baby.
A Howling in the Woods
Velda Johnston | Dell Books | 1968 | 157 pages
“Dear Eddy, I shall file for divorce very shortly. Since I don’t imagine you’ll contest, I shall make the grounds as mild as possible. Incompatibility, perhaps, or mental cruelty.”
Lisa Stanhope, a young model tiring of the Manhattan fashion scene, flees work and a failing marriage to the refuge of a shuttered hotel in rural Jericho, Nevada, an inheritance from an uncle she hardly knew. Mark Healy, her uncle’s hotel manager, seems surprised and dismissive when Lisa informs him of her decision to stay and run the business. She also receives a less-than-welcome reception from May Thornton, the edgy housekeeper, and her mentally challenged husband, Luke. But their lack of friendliness pales in comparison to the overtly hostile reaction Lisa’s appearance receives from the local townspeople.
Further deepening the atmosphere of dread, Lisa hears a mournful howling coming from the woods at night. Following a path outside the grounds of the hotel the next day, she discovers what appears to be a shallow grave in the underbrush. Seemingly uninterested in Lisa’s report, the local Justice of the Peace eventually investigates, reporting back later that only a deer carcass was found buried in the indicated plot. Walking in the woods that night, Lisa suffers–what appears to be–an animal attack. Still feeling ostracized by the community, Lisa learns from a young girl that the town has been inflicted with an unspoken tragedy, the recent unsolved murder of a child.
The eventual arrival of Lisa’s estranged husband, Eddie, completes the third leg of the obligatory love triangle, since she has developed feelings for the darkly handsome Mark—whose proposal to the not-yet-divorced Lisa comes out of nowhere. However, Eddy’s presence also undermines Lisa’s strength as a protagonist, as he assumes the lead into their investigation of the murky goings-on in Jericho. A key character ultimately breaks a little too easily from Eddy’s pressure, spilling all the incriminating details, and setting up a final claustrophobic showdown in the town’s abandoned mine.
As a variation on the town-harboring-a-dark-secret theme, A Howling in the Woods is modestly effective. The mystery surrounding the titular howling is revealed much too soon, and, sadly, there isn’t some kind of monster roaming the woods at night. However, its relevance to the murder(s) works out in due course. The ultimate source of Jericho’s troubles comes off as rather arbitrary and somewhat outlandish, but there is just enough of the who-can-you-trust-in-this town type of paranoia (although who NOT to trust should be readily apparent) to pull readers through to the end of the book’s relatively short page count.
A Howling in the Woods was adapted for television in 1971, starring Barbara Eden (and her exquisite fashion sense).
Once Upon a Tombstone
Elizabeth Salter | Ace Books | 1965 | 191 pages
Cryptic flashbacks, mysterious deaths surrounding a beautiful protagonist, and dangerous former Nazi agents still at large in the scenic Austrian Alps all fail to elevate this prosaic tale of romance, lost inheritance, and murder.
Stricken by a vivid case of déjà vu in a castle room during a trip abroad to Austria, young Madeleine (Del) Fisher returns home to Australia, only to be plagued by recurring night terrors. Although her family and fiancé, David, fear she has suffered an emotional breakdown, she is convinced that nightmare images of a blood-red chair and flashing silver light are repressed memories indicating a current pressing danger. Uncertain of how to handle Del’s worsening condition, David recruits the help of his uncle Mike Hornsley, a local police inspector.
A strange man who has seemingly been following Del drops off a signet ring—with the family crest of the Schloss in Austria where she had her episode—along with a request for a meeting. Arriving at the prescribed rendezvous point later that night, Del finds that the man has been murdered. Convinced that the death is connected to her mysterious visions, Del and the inspector travel back to Austria in an effort to trigger her memories and uncover the source of the nightmares.
In Austria, Del finds herself under the magnetic spell of Paul Hapner, who took control of the castle following the murder of his estranged family at the hands of the Nazis. Inspector Hornsley has reason to believe that Paul is hiding something, resisting any opportunity to trigger Del’s memories. Meanwhile at home, David and Del’s old friend, Marj, conduct an investigation of their own, uncovering evidence of a secret adoption.
Although some gothic genre trappings are in place–the brooding castle location, a dark history which still may be influencing the present, romantic intrigue with a man who may be untrustworthy, and covert scheming for a possible inheritance—Once Upon a Tombstone never quite gels into a compelling story. Del’s vision ultimately points to knowledge already uncovered, as does the discovery of a hidden painting whose subject bears a remarkable likeness to Del. Rather than creating a tantalizing mystery in regard to their location, the prospect of lost family diamonds is finally resolved in exposition relating to the reveal of the murderer.
The resolution to the question of whether or not a doll was buried in place of a child in the family plot offers another missed opportunity at building an atmosphere of gloom and melancholy, which is strange given the reference in the book’s title. Even the artifice of having all the characters snowbound in the castle with the soon-to-be-revealed murderer does little toward raising the level of suspense.
Readers are educated in some antiquated mid-century cultural standards, however, such as the fact that women of twenty-five are dangerously past their marriage prime, and all secretaries are secretly in love with their bosses.
Mansion of Evil
Caroline Farr | Signet Books | 1966 | 222 pages
Young private practice nurse Diane Montrose accepts a live-in caretaker position at Ravensnest, a rambling family estate on an isolated stretch of the Maine coast. Her charges are Robyn Warburton, a sickly child plagued by chronic illnesses following the mysterious drowning death of her mother, and Robyn’s grandmother, Martha, the cantankerous matriarch whose crippling arthritis confines her to a wheelchair. Robyn’s father, David, previously absent much of the time with the operation of the family business, seems genuinely concerned with his daughter’s care—and very interested in her new nurse.
However, Diane’s first order of business at Ravensnest does not pertain to the well-being of her clients. Mr. Prince, the Warburton family attorney who arranged the job for Diane, ushers her into the study to witness the signing of Martha’s new secret will. Following the conclusion of the legal matter, Diane finds herself being relentlessly questioned by Martha’s youngest son, Kerr, and step-brother, Clive, about what she read on the document, although the attorney carefully placed cover sheets over the passages of text to prevent her from discovering the identity of the new beneficiaries.
During her stay at Ravensnest, Diane becomes morbidly fascinated with the mansion’s secret room, a rough-hewn space cut out of the solid rock below the waterline. Used by the Warburton’s pirate ancestors, victims from scuttled ships were placed into the chamber at low tide, and drowned by the rising water. The bodies were subsequently flushed out to sea, where they were ultimately discovered as accidental drowning victims.
Diane wakes one night to the sound of violent spray on her window, as pressurized water forced out of the narrow shaft to the secret room vents against the side of the building. This nocturnal emission serves as a vivid reminder to the presence of the deadly negative space, while establishing the implication that someone or something is trapped within its confines.
Otherwise, strange bumps-in-the-night and prowlers precede the eventual murder and kidnapping in a rather prosaic inheritance mystery. Only the completely expected and virtually predestined confinement in the subterranean kill room adds a flash of claustrophobic terror to the proceedings, while the obligatory romance is undercut by the fundamental creepiness of an attraction based on the resemblance to a drowned spouse.