by John Harrison
With an incredibly prolific career that spans over six decades (and counting), American producer/director Roger Corman carved himself an impressive niche in many varied genres of low-budget, independent cinema. From black and white monster and rock & roll movies of the fifties, to violent biker and colourful psychedelic flicks of the sixties, to futuristic action and seedy Filipino jungle adventures of the seventies, to his Star Wars, Alien, and Mad Max/Road Warrior riffs of the early-eighties.
Corman had an innate ability to sense a coming trend in cinema, often capitalising on big studio hits long before any of his competitors. Conversely, he could also see when a trend was coming to an end, and his ability to effortlessly switch between genres, along with his own significant talent and skills, is no doubt what helped him survive and thrive over so many decades and seismic shifts in cinema.
He was also known for spotting promising young talent, and giving them important, early opportunities to write, direct, and act, even if they did it for little-to-no pay. Just some of the people that Corman provided early work to were: Francis Ford Coppola, Peter Bogdanovich, Martin Scorsese, Jonathan Demme, Jack Nicholson, James Cameron, Ron Howard, Gale Anne Hurd, and many more.
However, even against all of these monumental accomplishments, it’s the run of eight Edgar Allan Poe adaptations, which Corman produced and directed in the sixties, that stands tall as some of his most respected, accomplished, and successful work.
Corman would start his Poe series with House of Usher (1960), and then continue on through The Pit and the Pendulum (1961), The Premature Burial (1962), Tales of Terror (1962), The Raven (1963), The Haunted Palace (1963), The Masque of the Red Death (1964), and The Tomb of Ligeia (1964).
With screenplays penned by the likes of Richard Matheson, Charles Beaumont, and Robert Towne, the Corman/Poe films came along just at the right time, when interest in the 19th century American writer was experiencing a renaissance amongst younger readers, and Corman populated his adaptations with people like Vincent Price, Boris Karloff, Basil Rathbone, and Peter Lorre – the big surviving stars from horror’s golden yesteryear, who were still happy to work and were enjoying a new level of fame thanks in big part to their regular coverage in Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine.
The great Ray Milland added an extra touch of class to The Premature Burial, and the iconic Barbara Steele brought her usual ethereal presence to The Pit and the Pendulum.
The Poe films were beautifully atmospheric, often utilising stunning matte painting work, and they were not only scary, but darkly funny (often at the same time). The colour cinematography is so lush, the sets become so surreal and dreamy, almost psychedelic in places (Corman letting the ‘60s drug culture infiltrate his work again).
And now, to celebrate this remarkable series, Headpress have published Corman/Poe, an in-depth examination of the films by Chris Alexander, a noted writer, filmmaker, current editor of Delirium magazine, and former editor of Fangoria. Alexander is a man who knows his horror history, treating the subject with the respect and seriousness it deserves, while also retaining that exuberance and sense-of-wonder that make us fall in love with the genre as kids, first discovering the magic of cinema.
One of the great things about Alexander’s book is that it has a bit of just about everything you would want from a film study. Each of the Corman/Poe movies is given its own chapter, and each chapter follows a format: credits, followed by a synopsis, followed by a detailed discussion on that particular film between Corman and the author, and finished off with a couple of pages of critical analysis by Alexander.
Alexander became a devotee of the Corman/Poe films after staying up to watch The Raven on late-night TV as an eleven-year-old, years after his late father had first told him of the impact the film had had on him when he himself was a younger man in the early-seventies. The father/son connection make the films even all the more special to the author, though he does not let that get in the way of his critical thinking.
The chats with Corman regarding each film certainly form some of the highlights of the text, as the filmmaker remains a very engaging conversationalist with a memory filled with vivid detail. By giving Corman himself so much voice in the book (he also provides the introduction), and Alexander keeping his own (quite intelligent) analysis of each film to a couple of pages, it ensures that Corman/Poe remains accessible and not bogged down by too much academic over-thinking.
To complement its excellent text, Corman/Poe comes lavishly illustrated, in both colour and black & white, with an abundance of rare stills, behind-the-scenes production photos, and stunningly beautiful poster art.
Appendixes cover the censoring of The Masque of the Red Death, a gallery of foreign poster art, and a look at some of the related ephemera released at the time, such as paperback tie-ins and comic book adaptations.
Needless to say, it is a must for any fans of the two title subjects, but its readership should not be limited to that. This is a book that any lover of horror cinema, and sixties cult and independent filmmaking in general, will want to read, study, and refer back to. It’s a fitting testament to the unique talents of the filmmaker during this particularly creative period of his career.
Corman/Poe is published by the UK-based Headpress, and can be pre-ordered now on Amazon.
