There are horror films, and there are horror films. Some have a bunch of teenagers being stalked by some nutjob with a mask and a big knife, and you have trouble remembering those the minute they're over. And some horror films have bigger ambitions, and less splatter, and the best of those can stay with you for a long time after they're over. The Medusa Touch, an almost forgotten gem from the 1970s, is one that might leave you with trouble sleeping if you watch it late at night.
The set-up is certainly eye-catching. John Morlar, a misanthropic writer played by Richard Burton, is a man who thinks he can create disasters. At the very least, people who annoy him have a funny way of dying - his parents, his teacher, the judge at a trial where Morlar was a lawyer. But that was in the past - now Morlar is thinking bigger, causing bigger and bigger disasters. Or at least, that's what he thinks. But is he really a man with devastating powers, or is he a deluded madman? In fact, although the movie leaves the question open in the early going, there's never much doubt as to what the answer is. The question becomes not so much what is he doing, as how he can be stopped. When you can't kill a man by smashing his skull in so badly that his brains ooze onto the carpet, can you stop him at all? I hadn't seen this movie for years until today, but I remembered enough of it from when I was a kid, hiding behind the sofa. Coming back to it as a grown-up, I had my doubts. It's a euro-production, with a couple of roles handed to French actors for no good reason. It was made by Lew Grade's notoriously cheap studios, known for wobbly special effects and ruthless editing to fit in with TV schedules. And most of all, the premise seemed a bit, well, silly.
I needn't have worried. The euro-actors acquit themselves well, especially Lino Ventura in what's effectively the lead role, the special effects are better than they have any right to be, and still stand up well. And as for the premise - yeah, it is a bit hokey. But as with any such mad sci-fi plot, everything depends on how the actors and the director play it. Here, they sell it, right to the bone - there's no smirking, no winks to the camera - and considering this is late-period Richard Burton, surprisingly little ham. Everyone is committed, and the result is that I was drawn in all over again, and I'll likely have nightmares all over again. That's OK, though. I just wish all my nightmares were as well-crafted as this one.
The set-up is certainly eye-catching. John Morlar, a misanthropic writer played by Richard Burton, is a man who thinks he can create disasters. At the very least, people who annoy him have a funny way of dying - his parents, his teacher, the judge at a trial where Morlar was a lawyer. But that was in the past - now Morlar is thinking bigger, causing bigger and bigger disasters. Or at least, that's what he thinks. But is he really a man with devastating powers, or is he a deluded madman? In fact, although the movie leaves the question open in the early going, there's never much doubt as to what the answer is. The question becomes not so much what is he doing, as how he can be stopped. When you can't kill a man by smashing his skull in so badly that his brains ooze onto the carpet, can you stop him at all? I hadn't seen this movie for years until today, but I remembered enough of it from when I was a kid, hiding behind the sofa. Coming back to it as a grown-up, I had my doubts. It's a euro-production, with a couple of roles handed to French actors for no good reason. It was made by Lew Grade's notoriously cheap studios, known for wobbly special effects and ruthless editing to fit in with TV schedules. And most of all, the premise seemed a bit, well, silly.
I needn't have worried. The euro-actors acquit themselves well, especially Lino Ventura in what's effectively the lead role, the special effects are better than they have any right to be, and still stand up well. And as for the premise - yeah, it is a bit hokey. But as with any such mad sci-fi plot, everything depends on how the actors and the director play it. Here, they sell it, right to the bone - there's no smirking, no winks to the camera - and considering this is late-period Richard Burton, surprisingly little ham. Everyone is committed, and the result is that I was drawn in all over again, and I'll likely have nightmares all over again. That's OK, though. I just wish all my nightmares were as well-crafted as this one.