Sarah Davies spills the blood on the history of British horror.
One dark, dark night in the late 1950s the decaying corpse of British horror reached a gnarled hand from the grave and clawed its way up into the stormy evening air. From there, it rampaged unabated through our cinemas until the mid 1970s, stunningly aided by Hammer Horror, Amicus Films and AIP.
British horror had become a successful genre in its own right, influenced in part by a long tradition of popular gothic literature (Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, Bram Stoker's Dracula, to name but a few). Perhaps surprisingly, a boom in the popularity of the genre on television really set the corpse moving. The BBC's six part thriller series The Quatermass Experiment (1953) was a huge success, leading Hammer to buy the film rights and rework the idea in The Quatermass Xperiment (1955).
 A new era dawned for British horror, with Hammer firmly leading the way. Their exploration of the gothic genre lead them to produce such classic films as The Curse Of Frankenstein (1957) and The Horror of Dracula (1958), which made stars of Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing (a one-time Whitstable resident). Hammer went on to add multifarious werewolf, mummy and zombie myths to their repertoire, with The Mummy (1959), Brides of Dracula (1960) and The Curse Of The Werewolf (1961). Simultaneously, Amicus films produced the auspicious Tales From The Crypt series, whilst directors like Wolf Rilla focused on the burgeoning trend for psychologically chilling dramas; his Village Of The Damned (1960) is effectively disturbing.
Rigor mortis inevitably set in towards the mid 1970s, with Hammer's desperate attempts at thematic change including the introduction of some rather risqué lesbian vampires! Even this wasn't enough to keep the viewing public glued to their seats, however, and in the 1980s they turned instead to television with Hammer House of Horror (1980), and Hammer House Of Mystery (1984). Nicolas Roeg's Don't Look Now (1973) and Robin Hardy's The Wicker Man (1973) are considered by many to be the industry's swansong of the 1950-1975 period.
Fast forward to the present and something
strange has occurred. The zombies have risen again in their
multitudes, and this time they are scarier than ever. British
horror has once again screamed its way on to our screens,
enjoying success equal to the Quatermass days. Fresh new
blood pumps through the corpse's veins in the shape of
a new generation of skilful directors (Jonathon Glazer,
Danny Boyle, Lynne Ramsay et al) bringing sharp screenplays
and edgy directing to the genre. Horror allows young directors
ample room for manoeuvre, lending itself well to smaller
budgets coupled with talented players. Present British
horror leans towards psychological drama as opposed to
run-of-the-mill blood and gore (Deathwatch, 28 Days Later), focusing on mental torture as much as physical. Along with the recent catalogue of British horror films are many more projects in the pipeline, pointing to a tangible regeneration. Ramsay (Ratcatcher, Movern Callar) is currently working on the spooky The Lovely Bones, whilst Glazer (Sexy Beast) is focusing on Under
The Skin, an adaptation of Michael Faber's cult science-fiction story. Additionally, The Ministry Of Fear, a new studio led by producer Lizzie Francke, is exploring a Hitchcock influenced series of scripts. Meanwhile. Hammer films have been resurrected by art collector Charles Saatchi, and are now remaking their 1968 classic The Devil Rides Out.
 One of the most successful British horror films of the past three years is 28 Days Later (Danny Boyle, 2002), a box office success, which took nearly 5 million in its first 14 days, and was only knocked from the top spot by Harry Potter mania. Empire magazine even goes so far as to describe it as 'the best British horror movie of the last 30 years'. Whilst Boyle's vision of post-apocalyptic England is highly derivative (Wyndham's Day Of the Triffids comes immediately to mind), it marries a screenplay by Alex Garland (The Beach) to produce a fast paced, gory and disturbing thriller. This is Boyle's first venture shot on DV, lending an eerie documentary flavour well suited to the much-acclaimed chilling scenes of an entirely deserted London. The film follows a handful of characters struggling to survive after the 'rage' virus has struck the country, turning the populous in to psychotic zombies. A measure of criticism has been levelled upon the Hollywood-esque final scene, and at points the characterisation seems rather weak, but ultimately the plot is gruesomely disturbing, and the zombies are particularly well constructed, spitting and snarling and attacking with terrifying ferocity. The film is no less compelling for being made on a low budget, and succeeds in being genuinely frightening.
 Resident Evil (Paul W. S. Anderson, 2002) on the other hand fails on a number of levels. This adaptation of the popular video game features Milla Jovovich as a mysterious amnesiac sent to assist a team of scientists whose mission is to destroy zombies created by a virus in a secret underground lab. Any positive criticism has been almost entirely focused on the fact the Jovovich is able to slink around in skimpy red attire whilst pounding away at her oversized gun. Other than that, the plot is weak and the dialogue cringe-worthy. Owing to the film's 15 certificate, the representation of the zombies is lacking in the stunning gore factor of 28 Days Later, but their mutant dogs help to inject a measure of fear. Thank goodness they brought their pets with them, then. One suspects that playing the game is more pleasurable than watching the film, for at least then we can manipulate the characters to do something other than be a bit dull. A mindless action film with a few spooky scenes.
 In contrast, Deathwatch (Michael Bassett, 2002) contains plenty to frighten. A group of British solders (including Billy Elliot's Jamie Bell) are defending an abandoned German trench in 'the valley of death' on the sodden Western Front in 1915, when an altogether different enemy attacks them. The film is atmospherically striking; aided by a realistic representation of trenches which hints at the horrific debasement experienced within. Despite the restrictions of a small budget, director Bassett constructed a large system of trenches using tonnes of silt, and peppered them with effective dummy corpses. However, if the design and set-up earns Bassett top marks, it is in the execution of the story that he is sent to the back of the class. Whilst his direction is admirable, a weak storyline and poor dialogue make the idea of characters struggling against an unspecified force appear somewhat unsustainable for a 90 minute feature. A frightening aural landscape and startling images at least provide a chill and spur one to reflect upon the reality of the horrors of war.
 Neil Marshal's Dog Soldiers (2001) was made on a similarly small budget, and is a surprisingly successful werewolf movie, which has already spawned a (probably even more twisted) sequel. The premis is that a group of soldiers on a routine practice mission in a remote Scottish forest are forced to pit their (admittedly small) wits against a pack of bloodthirsty werewolves. It's pretty certain that things won't end happily, a fact emphasised by the film's humorous tagline 'six men, full moon, no chance'. The ludicrous plot features plenty of gore, gallops along at a relentless pace, and is perfectly juxtaposed with the darkly humorous streak running through the film. The beasts are never shown in their whole seven-foot-hairy entirety, and so become a menacing and unknown entity. Ultimately, Marshall's feature debut is a tongue-in-cheek nod to B-movies, which contains some very scary scenes (think Dusk Till Dawn) and has a lot of fun doing it.
The popularity of these films proves that British horror is far from buried. The corpse can be seen twitching in all its glory in a cinema near you soon.
Sarah Davies
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