1973 horror, dir. Douglas Hickox, Vincent Price, Diana Rigg:
IMDb /
allmovie. Edward Lionheart
was the greatest Shakespearean actor of his generation, in his own
mind. He killed himself after being laughed out of contention for a
critic's award. But now those critics are being bizarrely murdered.
And I like it, but there's less fun here than in Phibes. Where
Phibes was absurd, Lionheart is merely obsessed. No clockwork
musicians here. He doesn't take any joy in the killings; they're just
something he has to do. (Price, however, was persuaded to do this film
by the chance to perform Shakespearean soliloquies, which he'd never
had a chance at on the stage.)
But the enigmatic female sidekick is now played by Diana Rigg, and or
course she makes everything better.
Ian Hendry, something of a television and cinematic everyman, has the
lead among the good guys, as the senior of the critics who works out
what's going on; meanwhile Milo O'Shea as the policeman seems to have
wandered in from a different film.
The staging is gorgeous, because this was shot entirely on location;
the "Burbage Theatre", was the Putney Hippodrome, which was built in
1906, but had been vacant and dilapidated for more than ten years
before it was used in the film. (It was demolished in 1975 to make way
for housing.) Meanwhile Peregrine's flat on the Albert Embankment
belonged to Stanley Baker; now Jeffrey Archer owns it. If anyone
reading this buys it off him, I'll throw in a free exorcism.
I think the comic meths-drinking homeless people are a bit too
grotesque to work well. Especially since they seem entirely happy to
commit violence for Lionheart (or indeed for any reason). Why?
It has its moments, particularly as the third of the unofficial
Vincent Price Thematic Murder trilogy, but I don't love it.
I talk about this film further on
Ribbon of Memes.