FrightFest review part one

'Pan's Labyrinth', 'Frostbitten' and 'Hatchet' screened at the UK's premier horror film festival last week, and The TOMB witnessed tham all.

Thursday night’s charity screening proved something of departure for the 2006 festival, foregoing the usual slow-burn Friday build-up to opening night for a special launch screening of Chris Smith’s rather wicked 'Severance'. If another cheeky slasher contender bested it the following night, it was only by a wisp of severed tendon. Expertly exploiting, in full-bore fashion, some of Britain’s finest comedic talent (Tim McInnery and a riotous breakout Andy Nyman proving conspicuously splendid), Danny Dyer’s ‘unique’ presence and a mighty gaggle of sly genre subversions, writer James Moran and director Smith’s picture is a witty, wry and surprisingly affecting portrait of the office outing turned survival nightmare. One agonizingly misplaced rocket launcher gag aside, its blend of set-piece violence and laconic one-liners makes the British horror film proud for the first time since perhaps 'Deathline'. Or at least 'Shaun Of The Dead'.

Friday demurred from full tilt gore in favour of grand atmospherics past, courtesy of a Hammer tribute. Heading the pack, Terrence Fisher’s 'The Hound Of The Baskervilles' – introduced with gusto by The League Of Gentlemen’s effortlessly effervescent Mark Gattis – makes up for what it lacks in true Holmsian authenticity with a brooding, exquisitely rendered ambience that practically defines ‘gothic’. Featuring a legion of supporting players to die for, including the deliciously eccentric Miles Milleson, the picture is by turns thrilling, irreverent and boisterous entertainment that once again reaffirms Peter Cushing’s compelling mastery of prop-laden, multi-faceted acting.
It’s fair to say that Peter Sasdy’s 'Countess Dracula' is a good deal slower than one remembers, and perhaps a good deal less busty than many a boy would hope, given it and star Ingrid Pitt’s lascivious reputation over the years. Lacking the tragic finesse afforded his brilliant 'Hands Of The Ripper', Sasdy’s dry direction here perfunctorily portrays the last blood-soaked days of a thinly veiled Elizabeth Bathory. As she cuts a swathe through the village virgins in search of the sanguine elixir that turns her from crone to surprisingly coy hottie in one over-used camera move, it fails to mine its diabolical premise too deeply, instead focusing its main dilemma on a rather bland young military hero (who believes he is courting the Countess’ daughter) and his dire taste in hats.

Things perk up considerably - perk up four-fold if we’re being crass - with the ribald histrionics of John Hough’s 'Twins Of Evil'. Peter Cushing essays a swaggering incarnation of righteous indignation as Gustav Weil the leader of a witch-hunting brotherhood intent on banishing devilry and intemperance from his small village. Playboy Magazine’s first twin pin-ups, Mary and Madeleine Collinson are the ripe fruit of his extended family’s loins, whom Weil has sworn to deliver from their impious association with the dastardly Count Karnstein, a raging pantomime dame who may or may not be (but, seriously, he quite plainly is) a…wait for it…vampire! Baroque, maleficent and rollicking good fun.

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