DVD review: Deathline (1972)
Mind the doors...!
In all likelihood you’ve probably heard - or even dispatched the following bit of wisdom - in regard to a recommended but very ‘out there’ movie: “Don’t watch this film alone” or “Imagine seeing this film whilst pissed/tripping/completely off yer ‘ead?” Wisdom indeed, as your humble reviewer ended up catching this very scary movie whilst transgressing such warnings! I won’t bore you with the finer details but in the late 80s, whilst squashed into a crowded post-party kip-over bedroom floor suffering from alcohol-induced sleep-preventing vertigo, I found myself the only one awake and mesmerisingly watching the most ‘out there’ of British films: Death Line. It freaked the living daylights out of me.
I did manage to video record a subsequent, but rare showing of this 1972 diamond of a film. The results were a bit fuzzy so I usually only replayed the initial credit sequence excitedly for a few mates, to highlight what a masterstroke it is. Viewing this newly released DVD of Deathline - an everyday tale of cannibalism on the tube - it quickly dawned on me that time hasn’t diminished my regard for it. Three features alone elevate this film above its generic contemporaries. The aforementioned opening with superior score, an astonishing extended panning shot of Charnel House Underground and the sympathy the film generates for its murderous inhabitant.
Credits roll and colours fade in and out of focus to reveal bowler-hatted city gent perusing and exiting various Soho sex shops and strip clubs. This is sleazed up to the max with an accompanying dirty sounding slab of percussion, strings and electronic keyboardery, swaggering along, matching and probably setting the film’s tone perfectly. The cast list continues whilst music and ‘bowler hat man’ wend their greasy way to the Russell Square tube station. The score comes courtesy of Jeremy Rose and Wil Malone, the latter - interestingly - was involved with 60s UK psych outfit ‘The Orange Bicycle’ and had considerable input into Massive Attack’s ‘Bittersweet Symphony‘. This heavy, heavy theme tune and later incidental work were released on a CD a few years back so I believe.
The plot then kicks in with a pair of students (David Ladd and Sharon Gurney) alerting the police to the disappearance of ‘BHM‘, matters not being helped by the fact he’s a government ‘big wig’. Police officers Calhoun and Rogers are on the case, delivering the film’s funniest lines throughout. Played by the ever-so-droll Donald Pleasence and Norman Rossington, they portray the class-obsessed cynical copper - so redolent of 70s Britain - to the hilt. Christopher Lee puts in a puzzlingly short but nonetheless menacing appearance as a shadowy MI5 agent. Cue one of Mr Pleasence’s acerbic asides when confronted by Mr Lee’s involvement:
“MI5 my arse…this is my manor!”
We are eventually treated to a long, languorous camera pan through a dank and miserable underground maze strewn with bloodied body parts, corpses and paraphernalia from a past age. An incessant dripping sound is intermittently paired up with a heartbeat, the odd violin stab or a barely human moan. Here, surprisingly, as we glimpse his grief our natural antipathy toward the creator of this chaos turns in on itself. Noises from the past haunt this place and the camera continues away from this sorry carnage, retreating down the tunnels to the world above. This scene is remarkable in that for seven minutes of the viewer’s valuable time in this lean and economical film, a dialogue-free tableau of pity and abject horror tells us more about the core of this story than anything else.
Watch the clip now at YouTube (18 certificate)
More deaths ensue, perpetrated in customary gaudy, grisly fashion and after jumps a-plenty, the plot develops rapidly and satisfyingly to a gripping conclusion. The horror works impressively on a visceral level and most importantly on a cerebral level, as the depths to which the protagonist has sunk and the glimmer of humanity still evident are almost heartbreaking. Judgement of his condition and actions aren’t called for, nor are expressed by any of the characters. This makes this a most enjoyable, thought- provoking, gut wrenching piece of cinema.
Stylistically, it brings to mind the work of Horrormeister Dario Argento and one can draw many comparisons to other tube-centered scare-a-thons: Quatermass And The Pit, An American Werewolf In London and the recently made Creep. The acting in Deathline, most notably that of Hugh Armstrong as the ‘Man’ is superb and the script is faultless. This is a much neglected, unique and classy film deserving more than cult status and in my mind is up there with other UK classics, The Wicker Man and Don’t Look Now.
Special features
A rather disappointing chapter selection only.
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