Happy summer, loyal readers, and welcome to the first installment of a series I’ll be calling Throwback Thursdays! Every Thursday this summer (hopefully/ for the most part/ like pretty much) I will be publishing a review of a film that came out before the year 2000. Most of these reviews will be new, but this first one is something I wrote back in the fall that I think will be a fun way to kick off the summer and this series.
When I heard the premise of “Theatre of Blood,” I was skeptical that any film could possibly live up to such an incredible concept. Vincent Price? Shakespearean murder? Camp, pulp, and schlock? And best of all, satirical examination of a critic’s role in art? Sounds fun, I thought, but my expectations are already too high.
How glad I am to be so wrong! “Theatre of Blood,” directed by Douglas Hicox, is a deliciously bloody romp with a wry classical flourish. Vincent Price stars as Edward Lionheart, a poorly regarded actor who refuses to perform anything but Shakespeare. After being spurned by critics his entire career, Lionheart embarks on a mission to systematically slaughter his detractors one by one– and play by play. Each death is executed in the style of a Shakespearean demise, from Julius Caesar’s many stab wounds (carried out by Lionheart on the Ides of March) to the Plantagenet drowned in a barrel of wine á la “Richard III.” Lionheart plays the murders to the gallery, declaiming his lines rapturously as he exacts his righteous revenge. Even though the blood is candy-red and the death rattles approaching cartoonish, his violence is somehow seat-squirmingly menacing.
Lionheart is abetted by his worshipful daughter, Edwina (Diana Rigg), often decked out in fabulously over-the-top costumes just like her father. One particularly excellent disguise is her groovy ginger drag king getup, which you really have to see to believe. We first meet Edwina mournfully laying white lilies on her father’s grave, a hilariously severe and massive stone monument complete with a statue of him and an epitaph describing him as the greatest actor who ever lived. This is a surprising sight, given that at this point in the film we have already seen a very much alive Lionheart ending the life of his first victim. We come to learn that Lionheart attempted suicide in front of all the theater critics by throwing himself off a balcony after losing the Critic’s Circle Award, reciting Hamlet all the while, and everyone believes him to be dead (the shot of him jumping is immediately followed by a cut to someone dropping ice into his drink, probably the best match cut ever). He survived his fall, however, and was found by a group of muttering vagrants who now perform as his entourage. The popular notion of his death is what enabled him to go on this murderous rampage in the first place.
All of the murders are sufficiently grotesque, but Lionheart has the biggest plans for Devlin, the critic responsible for awarding the accolade he felt he so richly deserved. “He thought the award was coming to him; in fact, he had even risen to his feet to accept it,” Devlin recalls at one point. Though the primary course the film takes is a simple thrill ride from victim to gloriously executed victim, the existence of a primary target provides some additional narrative scaffolding and opportunity for emotional escalation. The first major face-off between Lionheart and Devlin takes place during a “Romeo and Juliet” homage, a fencing match in which Lionheart gets to whip off his mask and reveal himself. After a good maiming, Lionheart lets Devlin go, but not before denouncing the profession of criticism and explaining the motives behind his plan. This was a sufficiently dramatic scene in tone and dialogue, but for some reason it took place in a very plain gymnasium with overhead fluorescent lighting, significantly detracting from the glamor we had at that point come to expect from “Theatre of Blood.”
Ultimately, Lionheart is a failure as an actor because of his old-fashioned style and inability to grow or change. Devlin explains as much to Edwina, pointing out that someone who only ever performs plays that are hundreds of years old cannot be truly accomplished. Of course, his obsessive egotism doesn’t help. However, beyond those factors– or possibly in connection with them– Lionheart has basically no identity. He literally turns his life into theater, his actions always a performance. There is not a single moment we see him without a costume or a disguise of some kind. This inhibition was clearly passed down to his daughter as well; even when she appears in regular clothes, it is because she is playing the part of the grieving daughter for Devlin and the police. Their lives are a fascinating piece of theater indeed, and we as the audience are all but demanded to view them as such.
Full of winking musical cues and suggestively lingering shots, “Theatre of Blood” is at no point aiming for subtlety. Much like its protagonist, it is melodramatic, flashy, and laden with charming literary references. The most abundant source is, of course, Shakespeare, but I was particularly appreciative of a certain Poe reference you’ll probably be able to spot. The film is, put simply, an indulgence. It differs from its protagonist in that it never takes itself too seriously, leaning into its campy silliness. Sure, it’s not going to shake your intellectual foundations to their very core, but who needs that? Delightful through and through, “Theatre of Blood” practically sells itself. Why did you even read this review past the first paragraph? Do you really need me to tell you why this movie is awesome?