Color, 1976, 109m. / Directed by Pete Walker / Starring Lynne Frederick, John Leyton, Stephanie Beacham, John Fraser, Jack Watson / Salvation (US R1 NTSC) / WS (1.85:1) (16:9)
Pretty much devoid of the savage social commentary which characterized Pete Walker's previous horror films, this later shocker instead fits in more snugly with the increasingly bloody and violent British product unleashed in the wake of the giallo craze, epitomized by the sleazier (and far less artistic) output of Norman J. Warren. Blood and breasts figure prominently throughout (in some cases at the same time), though that beloved Walker pessimism still manages to rear its head during the nasty (and not terribly persuasive) finale, which of course features a big senseless twist and an ironically downbeat coda. Most critics tend to dismiss this film as a lesser Walker effort, but when taken in the right spirit, it's still a whole lot of fun with a highly non-PC attitude (just check out that opening monologue mis-defining schizophrenia!). The seance sequence alone is one of the creepiest things Walker ever put on the film, and the pulpy thrills come fast and furious from Frederick's naked-in-peril
Often censored during its theatrical release (with as much as 11 minutes shorn from its running time in some territories), Schizo has thankfully appeared in its intact, 109-minute version for most of its various video incarnations over the years, with only the cranky BBFC keeping it scissored down in the UK. The first no-frills DVD release from Image only stayed on the market for a few years and then began demanding stupid amounts of money from online sellers, so the American reissue courtesy of Salvation can only be considered a good thing. The transfer appears to be from the same source, an uncut British element using the Warner Brothers logo; it's still anamorphically enhanced (with identical framing) and features identical print damage (which is actually fairly minimal, but that was enough to tick off some critics the first time around). For some reason this edition looks a bit darker and softer, particularly during the opening exterior shots; that may or may not be beneficial considering the atmosphere of the film, as it certainly gives it a scuzzier ambience. The mono audio sounds fine. There still isn't much here extras-wise, though you do get a small stills gallery, a Walker filmography, and the usual Redemption promotional promos and book teaser.
Color, 1974, 83m. Directed by Pete Walker Starring Sheila Keith, Rupert Davies, Deborah Fairfax, Paul Greenwood, Kim Butcher, Leo Genn / Music by Stanley Myers / Cinematography by Peter Jessop / Written by David McGillivray / Media Blasters (US R1 NTSC), Anchor Bay (UK R0 PAL) / WS (1.85:1) (16:9), Image (US R1 NTSC)
In a black and white prologue, Dorothy Yates (Sheila Keith) is sentenced to rehabilitation in a psychiatric ward after her uncontrollable taste for human flesh is uncovered by the local police. Her spineless husband, Edmund (Rupert Davies), is sentenced along with her, leaving their daughter, Debbie (Kim Butcher) in the care of Jackie (Deborah Fairfax), Edmund's child from a previous marriage. Years later, both Dorothy and Edmund have been released and live an isolated life out in the country, where Dorothy passes the time by reading tarot cards.
While everyone involved in Frightmare
Frightmare first appeared on U.S. video under the title Frightmare II, to avoid confusion with a later unrelated American horror film. It was later reissued as Once Upon a Frightmare, and both transfers left quite a bit to be desired. The print used for all extant DVD editions is a marked improvement in every respect and actually looks quite colorful, a welcome change from the gray, blearly looking VHS editions. Note the beautiful saturation of the colors during the opening credits, which come as a visual shock after the lengthy monochromatic first few minutes. The open matte, full frame presentation on the Euroshock/Image disc reveals all of the visible film area, leaving a little more headroom than usual but aesthetic enough all the same. This being a '70s British film, grain and unstable blacks crop up here and there, along with some fleeting and minor instances of film scratches, but the pros far outweigh the cons here. The mono audio sounds fine, approximately the same as the earlier versions. The Media Blasters and Anchor Bay UK editions present the original theatrical matted edition and look very nice, also tossing in a Walker interview and commentary as well as trailers into the mix.
Color, 1971, 96 mins. / Directed by Pete Walker/ Starring Susan George, Barry Evans, Leo Genn, Christopher Sanford, Judy Huxtable, Kenneth Hendel / Media Blasters (US R1 NTSC), Anchor Bay (UK R0 PAL) / WS (1.85:1) (16:9) / DD5.1, Image
Poor Marianne (Susan George) is on the run. Abandoning her job as a go go dancer in Portugal, she hitches a ride with sleazy Sebastian (Christopher Sanford), who asks her to marry him after they've been shacking up in London for two weeks. She reluctantly agrees but, due to a bizarre twist, winds up legally tied instead to Sebastian's more wholesome and handsome friend, Eli (late British sex comedy staple Barry Evans). It turns out Sebastian's motives have been less than honorable, as he's been scheming to return Marianne to her corrupt ex-judge father (A Lizard in a Woman's Skin's Leo Genn), who lives in exile in a Portuguese hacienda with Marianne's homicidal, incest-loving half sister, Hildegarde (Judy Huxtable). Marianne and Eli become lovers while Sebastian and Marianne's family scheme to get her back before her twenty-first birthday, at which time she will gain access to a mysterious bank account set up by her late mother.
The lurid title might lead Walker fans to expect a hyper-sleazy slice of sex and violence, but instead Die Screaming Marianne keeps events moving at a low boil rather than a fever pitch. The cast is great fun to watch, with Evans and George making a surprisingly engaging couple, and Walker regular Anthony Sharpe (who later took the reins in the magnificent The Confessional) pops as, of course, a minister. Only Genn's performance proves to be a major distraction, thanks to his annoying habit of incoherently mumbling his lines right down his chin. The first hour is the most enjoyable, thanks to the swinging London scenery, the jazzy score, and Walker's gaudy optical tricks, including split screen and bizarre wipes. The last half hour stumbles somewhat after everyone's motives have been exposed, leaving the bad guys to chase George around in circles until the 90 minute mark has been reached. The script also tries to gloss over a few nasty holes; in particular, George's escape from one near death situation is left annoyingly vague. Furthermore, Evans
Relatively speaking, the DVD from Image looks vastly superior to any past transfer of this film. The low budget and '70s film stock show through in some visible film grain and some bizarre splices which were apparently part of the original film assembly, but the clarity and intensity of the colors are quite satisfying. Just check out those saturated reds during George's memorable frenzied dance over the opening credits, which looked almost unwatchable on the Unicorn VHS version several years ago. Incidentally, this also marks the first appearance of the uncut version in the U.S.; the Unicorn tape bluntly dropped almost all of the third reel, including Sebastian's first dinner with the judge, rendering most of what follows nonsensical and barely running over 80 minutes in length. As usual, Walker shot the film open matte, and the split screen sequence clearly indicates compositions intended to be masked at 1.66:1. The extra information proves to be slightly distracting, as when George's bra is clearly visible while she's supposed to be taking a bubble bath. The correct framing can be found on the remastered Media Blasters and Anchor Bay editions, which also look a bit more vivid and toss in new Walker interview material; he's dry but interesting, and as with the other souped-up Walker reissues, the 5.1 audio remix is fine enough but not a huge difference over the original mono.
Color, 1972, 85 mins. / Directed by Pete Walker / Starring Tristan Rogers, Karen Boyer, Alan Curtis, Robin Askwith, Leena Skoog, Kenneth Hendel / Salvation (UK R0 PAL) On an airplane, dutiful German reporter Hans Wiemer (popular TV While the idea of 3-D sex films sounds too tawdry and surreal to resist, few films have actually made good use of the concept. Greta is no exception, with only a broken bottle and the occasional bare breast thrust into the camera during the four flashback scenes. Most of the 3-D footage looks more stagebound than the rest of the film, whose gaudy club scenes and abundant displays of frontal nudity would have been better chosen to come leaping out into the audience's lap. Fans of '70s kitsch will have a ball with the post-mod fashions, tons of hipster lingo, and the goofiest phony German accents ever recorded on film (and yes, that includes The Producers). The
As with Walker's other films, Greta was shot open matte with an eventual matting job between 1.78:1 and 1.85:1 planned for its theatrical presentation. The full frame DVD looks fine overall, though the print reveals some distracting battering and staining during the next to last reel. Colors are fairly dull throughout most of the film, but the occasional vivid splashes of red and blue lighting reveal this was probably intentional. The 3-D effects work about as well as most other DVD attempts; it's passable but not as effective as the theatrical experience. The glasses included in the box must be held in front of your eyes at all times and can't be propped, making one thankful for the relative brevity of the 3-D scenes. No extras apart from a filmography.
Color, 1974, 101 mins. / Directed by Pete Walker / Starring Ann Michelle, Penny Irving, Robert Tayman, Patrick Barr, Sheila Keith, Ivor Salter, Karen David / Media Blaster (US R1 NTSC), Anchor Bay (UK R0 PAL) / WS (1.78:1) (16:9), Image (US R1 NTSC) Ann Michelle (The Virgin Witch), a very naive young French girl exploring the swinging scene in London, hooks up with a charming, slightly sinister young man named Mark E. DeSade. Even after Mark asks her to close her eyes, then tells her he's holding a knife to her face and swipes an ice cube across her cheek, she doesn't seem to grasp that he might not be such a wholesome character. Sure enough, Mark whisks her away to a remote estate where his mother is part of a band of concerned folks disillusioned with the British court system. Thanks to a makeshift prison ruled over by sadistic warden Sheila Keith (a wonderful Pete Walker regular), these bitter folks have managed to imprison those they deem impure or corrupt. A doddering old former judge presides over each victim, and the young girls are punished by whip for their indiscretions and escape attempts. However, our protagonist's disappearance is noticed, and her friends begin the difficult process of tracking her down. According to filmmakers like Tobe Hooper and Wes Craven, one necessity for a horror director is convincing The first DVD presentation of House of Whipcord from Image looks better than the awful VHS presentations over the years, usually from Monterey Video. The film bears a disturbing brown and yellow color scheme, and the DVD looks watchable enough. However, fans will certainly prefer the later upgrades from Media Blasters and Anchor Bay (sourced from the same anamorphic transfer). Shot cheaply on substandard stock, the image has always been plagued with grain, a problem exacerbated by some muddy day for night process shots (the opening, for example). These flaws become even more obvious on DVD, but this is due to the source material. Like other British horror films of the period (Vampyres springs immediately to mind), Walker's film will never look like a million bucks but deserves a DVD release all the same. Sound quality, featuring an early, austere score by the late Stanley Myers, is fine considering the limitations of the original mono mix, and the packaging includes a reproduction of the original theatrical poster.
In "North-East England, June 18th," some crazy old guy in a red ski cap is planning to do something really, really nasty.
How do we know? Because he lives in a boarding house, makes crazy swirly scratches in the daily newspaper with a ballpoint pen, and packs a machete in his suitcase. Ah, yes, and as the opening title card screams out, he's SCHIZO! That's how things appear, anyway, as this released murderer proceeds to stalk pretty ice skater Samantha (played by the late Lynne Frederick, the last and most controversial Mrs. Peter Sellers), who's engaged to be married to the amiable and incredibly dull Alan Falconer (Leyton), with whom she lives in an apartment serviced by a particularly perverse interior decorator. Her best friend, Beth (Beacham), is a happy camper, too, which makes it all the more disturbing when Samantha realizes that the crazy SCHIZO -- who's prone to leaving bloody cutlery next to her wedding cake -- is in fact her mother's lunatic lover (Fraser), sent up the river years ago for brutally hacking up Sam's mom with a knife. Soon the bodies 
being piling up all around, and when visits to a psychiatrist and a psychic fail to pan out, Samantha must come face to face against her gruesome past and uncover the SCHIZO truth.
shower scene to a nasty close encounter between a knitting needle and an eye socket. The score by Stanley Myers isn't exactly subtle, either, as it ladles on the shrieking strings whenever Samantha starts to look a little nervous. It's not great art, but slasher fans will have a blast. Significantly, this marked the last collaboration between Walker and regular screenwriter David McGillivray, who deserves just as much credit for established this style of '70s British horror. Both men continued to work on two separate horror projects each before moving off to other areas of interest, leaving behind a bloody legacy that still resonates with audiences today.
Arguably one of Pete Walker's best films, Frightmare turns the Anglo Saxon concept of the family unit upside down with a diabolical,
unflinching narrative that follows its doom-laden train of thought all the way to the bitter end. Using cannibalism as a destructive force that cuts through generations both old and young, this is horror at its most dangerous and unsettling.
Meanwhile in London, Debbie has become an embittered juvenile delinquent, much to the dismay of Jackie and her doctor boyfriend, Graham (Paul Greenwood). Jackie has kept the truth hidden from Debbie and makes occasional trips to the country, where she delivers oddly wet packages of meat to her parents. Unfortunately Dorothy's bloodlust continues unabated, with many customers falling prey to her crafty work with power drills, pokers, and sharp kitchen implements. Although Jackie begins to suspect that her family may be crumbling around her, there are even darker, more terrifying secrets ready to erupt.
seems to be giving their best, this is unquestionably Sheila Keith's show all the way. This rare leading role for the Walker regular allows her to run the gamut from a tremulous and confused aging woman to a crazed, bloodthirsty maniac in the span of a few seconds, and her attacks are shocking, explicit, and intense, even by today's standards. Walker cleverly subverts expectations by pointing out that corruption stems not from the "free" swinging lifestyle shown at the beginning of the film, but rather from barbaric familial practices spread down from one generation to another and which fester right under the noses of polite society. From a technical standpoint this is also one of Walker's most accomplished 
features, with his usual knack for creating an oppressive atmosphere serving him well as he contrasts the bustling city life with the dark, damp, lonely country locations, all enhanced by a chilling Stanley Myers score. Just be warned that this is not a happy ride, and while one can almost always expect a downbeat ending for a Walker film, this one takes that expectation to new extremes.
Director Pete Walker's first departure from saucy sex comedies, Die Screaming Marianne in some ways prefigures his more bloodstained shockers to come but falls more into the Hitchcockian thriller category. Though devoid of nudity and containing only one quick instance of bloodshed, the film is a generally absorbing yarn, good for passing a slow afternoon
and particularly interesting for the basic ideas which would be fleshed out in Walker's later masterpieces.
Double crossing, murder, mayhem, and steam baths ensue.
expresses surprise no less than three times upon learning that the judge is George's father, for no good reason whatsoever. Structural problems aside, Walker at least manages to keep the story under control and, in his typical fashion, winds things up on a bitter, ironic note.
Before he briefly became Britain's most significant horror filmmaker in the 1970s, Pete Walker earned a decent living cranking out frothy sex comedies like Cool It Carol and School for Sex. More technically polished and elaborate than, say the British Confessions of... series, these films aren't particularly outstanding works of exploitation but do hold their own within their limited genre. One of the odder entires, Four Dimensions of Greta, threw in the added gimmick of four 3-D flashbacks (filmed in black and white with the old red and blue glasses routine), a device Walker used to more grisly effect the same year for the finale of The Flesh and Blood Show.
soap actor Tristan Rogers) pulls out a photograph of a beautiful blonde woman and ponders his current circumstances. Recruited by his publishing magnate boss over dinner for a "business trip" to London, Hans has actually been asked to track down the missing Greta, who has apparently been swallowed up without a trace by the swinging scene of London. Hans reluctantly leaves his idealistic girlfriend and, upon his arrival in the big city, promptly descends into a world of swinging underground clubs populated by topless dancers and easy girls willing to share their stories about the saucy, naughty Greta. The first tale, told by a chunky naked woman stuck to a piece of clear inflatable furniture, depicts Greta as a freewheeling slut who scared the other girls with her joie de vivre. Then the requisite savvy black swinger tells her own tale about working with Greta at a strip joint where the title character performed a bizarre nude routine involving lots of billowing white blankets. Then it's on to the maimed Roger (ubiquitous British sex comedy star Robin Askwith), Greta's purported boyfriend, who offers a much more loving, wholesame take on their relationship. Greta's "fourth 
dimension," according to one of her older acquaintances, was trading her charms (including massages) to tease men and provoke them into fistfights. Eventually Hans sorts out the truth, and with the help of Roger and a little tedious slapstick action all eventually becomes right with the world again.
music score ranges from an outrageously tacky theme song to a fairly decent instrumental score, though it never scales the delirious musical heights achieved by continental sex comedies around the same time in France and Italy. The extras, which can be a little daunted to track down, include a U.S. theatrical trailer (apparently, yes, it did play outside the U.K.) and a smattering of stills and theatrical posters.
For a marvelous, regrettably brief period, director Pete Walker and his crew made some of the most striking, disturbing horror films to come out of 1970s British cinema. Titles like The Confessional and Frightmare used luried exploitation devices to lure viewers in and then deal with the inherent hypocrisy of "civilized" foundations ranging from organized religion to the nuclear family unit.
In House of Whipcord, Walker set his sights on the judicial and penal systems, delivering a scathing and frightening view of what happens when individuals decide to mete out justice in their own backyard. 
the audience that the filmmaker himself might actually be insane. Pete Walker understood this all too well, and in his films, anyone can die -- any time, any place. House of Whipcord squarely follows this pattern, and while the ending is slightly more uplifting and closed than his usual denouements, the overall mood of the film is one of despair and depravity reigning supreme. Even the requisite nudity is of the Caged Heat variety, deglamorized to the point of discomfort for even watching the film. 