I'd been waiting almost fifteen years now to see this rare British import, described by actor and author Mark Gatiss as part of the "folk horror" tradition of the late 1960s/early 1970s. And it was only by scouring the lowliest depths of the video store and rummaging through the most fetid shelves that I finally scored a sup-bar "formatted for television" VHS copy. While this prevented me from enjoying the film in its original grandeur, I was still allowed a rewarding glimpse at what is actually a surprising effort in picturesque country horror. The spectacle of ruined churches eaten by overgrown flora and kinky pagan rituals immediately reminded me of The Wicker Man (1973), but without Anthony Schaeffer's sharp wit. And although it is a lesser film, The Blood on Satan's Claw constitutes a nice companion to Robin Hardy's acclaimed masterpiece, as well as a prime example of British savoir-faire in the realm of genre filmmaking. The production is immaculate and the soundtrack is oozing a quaint charm befitting of the irresistible 18th century burg in which the story takes place. Vintage sex kitten Linda Hayden is memorable as the wicked antagonist with bushy eyebrows and stage actor Peter Wymark's extravagant headdress gives him an irresistible sense of anachronistic nobility. With plenty of intriguing pagan lore to boot, the film is a well-deserving, and surprisingly polished cult classic.
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| An impeccable introduction: the opening shot of the film showcases both the painterly quality of the photography and the elaborate art direction. |
The story begins as an unwitting farmhand discovers beastly bones buried in his master's field. Neither human, nor animal remains, these actually belong to Satan, prince of darkness. Momentarily freed from his underground prison, the Beast soon wreaks havoc on the local community, plaguing women with all sorts of furry and sharp appendages and turning honest townsfolk into frenzied cultists. As his unholy influence infectiously spreads and people start dying mysterious deaths, the local judge eventually steps up, donning his most elaborate feathered hat and leading a torch-bearing mob into the ruined church home to the cultists for a climactic battle with the Horned One.
The first things you'll notice in this film are the exquisite cinematography and impressive art direction, both of which perfectly vie to recapture the atmosphere of the British countryside from the early 18th century*. Following a series of surprisingly well-composed shots depicting the discovery of the beastly remnants, with the raggedy wheel of the farmhand's cart arduously making its way through uneven furrows and the glassy eye of the Beast evocatively peering through the recently plowed earth, the credits appear on elegant shots of darkened branches, ominously etched across the screen like the claws of some nefarious demon. Not only do these shots prefigure the film's later usage of rampant fauna as a means to imprison the characters, but it imbues the whole enterprise with a distinct sense of nobility absent from most genre productions of that era. The elaborate costumes and settings further contribute to the accomplished look of the ensemble by allowing director Piers Haggard to meticulously recreate the candlelit interiors and busy farmlands making up the town, hence providing not only a heightened sense of realism to the piece, but a proper anchor for such a folkloric tale of witchcraft.
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| Clever framing entraps players, and creates a metaphor for growing evil. |
By equating the rise of Satan with man's return to nature, Haggard further uses expert photography to depict the surrounding fauna as a full-fledged antagonistic force. Framing people and objects through ample foliage, the director constantly fills the screen with a sense of impending doom, making the film's exteriors equally oppressive as its stuffy interiors. As for the intricate quality of the foliage, it also creates a sense of disorientation that greatly heightens the efficiency of the many chase scenes involving unrepentant witches and candid young victims. Initially, it is the local church that is framed beyond a wall of leaves, the creeping nature of which hints at the erosion of the Christian faith in the burg. This contention is validated when the camera enters the building and showcases the uptight reverend as he hopelessly preaches to a flock of teenagers who would rather pass around the skeletal remnants plowed from the fields than indulge in their master's stern lecture. Thus, Satan's intrusion within the church is symbolized both by the presence of his actual claws inside the classroom, drawing the children's attention away from the minister's teachings, and that of his leafy claws clutching at the building, ominously drawing believers away from a life of hardship toward a life of unruly abandon.
Flora is later used to entrap young Cathy Vespers prior to her capture by a pair of charismatic young cultists. Creeping up from behind as she is picking flowers from a clearing, the two boys ominously close in, forcing her into an inextricable predicament. This is expressed graphically by the director through the use of floral patterns circling the frame, blocking the maiden's escape and foreshadowing her eventual fate (see above). The following shots depict the ensuing pursuit, making use of the surrounding outgrowths to create spatial disorientation and give the woods a labyrinthine feel befitting of Cathy's nerve-wracking experience. Symbolically, the film thus depicts Satan's growing influence over the burg through his outstretched floral limbs, reaching in all directions to entrap the townsfolk in their debilitating influence. Hence the equation of satanic influences and nature, understood as a return to humanity's primordial bloodlust and sexual urges, finds renewed relevance, especially in the latter parts of the scene in which church ruins tend to suggest the complete victory of nature over organized religion and all the privations that it implies.
Not unlike the decors and costumes, the film's inspired screenplay also contributes to a realistic depiction of 18th century UK*. Featuring evocative dialogue throughout, the film is well served by a strong cast of dedicated performers, including Anthony Ainley (of Doctor Who fame) and irresistible stage actor Peter Wymark, who steals every scene as the skeptic, but concerned local lord. Oozing a distinct sense of nobility and displaying just the appropriate aristocratic sternness, Wymark comes across seamlessly opposite of various equally credible commoners. The film also features a colorful doctor character, whose antiquated practices and esoterical beliefs perfectly encompasses the iffy nature of olden medicine, culminating in a mesmerizing scene in which he removes a furry piece of skin from the leg of a possessed young woman.
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| Peter Wymark's judge wows viewers and commoners alike with his imposing headdress and stern demeanor. |
As for the classy orchestral soundtrack by composer Marc Wilkinson (who previously worked on Lindsay Anderson's If...), it is also a major contributor to the film's mood as it includes playful, but ominous arrangements, creating a partly whimsical, partly oppressive soundscape that gives the film a campy edge necessary to ease it into the pantheon of cult cinema. The main theme's languorous strings give it a sense of classical nobility befitting of the old burg and its strict Christian code of conduct, but that is perfectly counterbalanced by tooting brasses that seems to herald the advent of playful pagan rituals. Having such a distinguished score also counts as a rare production asset for what is essentially a rough exploitation film. Of course, it doesn't have the irresistible charm of the Wicker Man soundtrack, but it is evocative enough to appropriately complement the film's impeccable visuals.
Finally, the clash between the stern way of life of devout farmers and the playful exuberance of the wicked cultists results in numerous displays of enticing irreverence. Featuring a fair share of lovely nude maidens, the film stimulates our own lust by portraying the wanton activities of immoral pagans, putting us in the uneasy position of being simultaneously condemned and titillated. We are thus forced to recognize our sinful ways when leering at the supple breasts and undulating bodies of beautiful starlets, grasping Satan's outstretched hand with our filthy thoughts. In that regard, sex kitten Linda Hayden is quite memorable here as Angel Blake, head cultist and iconic flag-bearer of the film. Whether it is through her enticing figure, overgrown eyebrows, white ceremonial gown or staple crown of thorns, she remains a quintessential embodiment of the witch: seductive, but composed, almost druidic in some regards. In one early scene, she brazenly removes her clothes in a vain attempt to seduce the minister away from his flock, providing a classic example of exploitative indulgence. It may not seem much by today's standards, but such indiscretions were a rare treat for British audiences of the early 1970s, warranting the film an X rating upon its original release. And while Hayden's birthday suit contributed to that rating, it isn't nearly as lecherous as the climactic fireside dance or the perplexing rape scene in which Wendy Padbury's Cathy Vespers is stripped naked by a raucous group of cultists, then stabbed to death during sex. And thus, Satan succeeds once more where God has failed, namely in fulfilling our most profound desires, and spurring Piers Haggard to come up with this awesome film.
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| Linda Hayden's Angel Blake is a pagan icon of the early 1970s. |
There's a certain whimsical candor to The
Blood on Satan's Claw. It's bloody violence and sexual
imagery are certainly crude, but they stem from a playful, almost childish
irreverence that seemed right at home in the early 1970s. As mores were
evolving in liberal new ways, I guess that it was inevitable for the lure of
Satan to draw the devout citizens of the British Isles away from their stern
way of life and into the carefree world of nature. Released three years after If...
and two years before The Wicker Man, the
present film shares both their careful depiction of oppressive environments and
revolutionary exaltation of man's "natural" instincts. Here, the
claustrophobic farmhouse interiors, where spontaneous hospitality is sacrificed
on the back of rigid traditions, comes in stark contrast with the joyous
countryside where the lightly-clad cultists sing and dance with carefree abandon. A similar contrast is exploited in The Wicker Man as the stern, outdated antics of devout protagonist Howie are ridiculed by the joyous pagans of Summerisle who dance around phallic maypoles and jump naked over bonfires in yet another display of unrepentant freedom. And while the present film ends with the triumph of "good" over "evil", it reveals a rebellious undercurrent in contemporary British thought, and a lively product of the worldwide sexual revolution. As such, it is not merely an exploitation effort, but a true historical document that demands renewed appreciation.
* Many critics situate the story in the 17th century, but that is a falsity. Case in point is an early scene in which the judge toasts to "King James III" whom, while he never actually reigned over England, received that title after the death of his father in 1701, that is at the very beginning of the 18th century.
