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By the time Roger Corman reached the third film in what became unofficially known as his “Poe Cycle”, the legendary director/producer was already well versed in slapping together addictively histrionic adaptations of Edgar Allan thanks to banging out the likes of House Of Usher and The Pit And The Pendulum at the exhaustive rate of one a year. What’s always fascinated me about the lion’s share of the Corman/Poe output is that, for all of its misty moors and musty crypts, precious few of them actually dealt with actual manifestations of the supernatural, and instead it was the existential fear and emotional malaise of the characters that often resulted them going stark raving mad and causing a bit of a scene.
Of these entries, it often seems that The Premature Burial gets lost in a shuffle that also includes The Masque Of The Red Death and The Raven; but rest assured, even though Corman/Poe regular, Vincent Price, was nowhere to be seen, to count out this third entry would be a pretty premature act itself.
Like most of those unfortunate enough to be the main character in a Poe tale, British aristocrat Guy Carrell suffers from a paralysing fear of being buried alive, and as we’re currently in the midst of the dark Victorian era, it’s not actually that rare a thing to be terrified of. For a start, his father suffered from catalepsy, an ailment which leaves it’s victim in a state of living death, and Carrell has long held the belief he was mistakenly entombed while still alive. If that wasn’t bad enough, Guy recently witness the exhuming of a grave that suggested the corpse also experienced the same, nightmarish ordeal before he croaked.
So stricken with fear is Guy, his melodramatic mood swings look like they’re going to interfere with his engagement to fiancée, Emily. But after weathering his panicked outbursts at anything that triggers him, she tries to get a grip on his nervous disposition to no avail. In an attempt to find a counter to every conceivable outcome to him succumbing to catalepsy, Guy builds a tricked-out crypt, equipped with such mod cons as escape hatches, tools, food and even an organ to play on to pass the time while waiting for rescue, but after Emily finally gives him an ultimatum, he diligently tries to put his fears behind him.
Incredibly, this seems to work and much to the relief of his wife Emily, his suspicious sister, Kate, and colleague Miles Archer, Guy starts to become most agreeable once more. However, after one last attempt to cure him of his fears ends in apparent disaster, it seems that Guy’s worst fear is actually going to come to pass – but is his grave (natch) misfortune the result of deeply ironic bad luck, or is their a most sinister hand at work here? Needless to say, no bad deed goes unpunished when the spectre of insanity takes hold…
I’ve always felt that the lack of Vincent Price’s arched eyebrow and velvet larynx has led The Premature Burial to be regarded as one of the lesser entries of Corman’s Poe Cycle, but while it does share a few similarities with House Of Usher (anxious drama queen of a lead character, a climactic cleaning of house due to a bout of deranged insanity), this third entry proves that Corman didn’t actually need Price to guarantee those classic camp chills. Another thing he didn’t need is ghosts, and once again, it’s worth noting that despite his cheesy, schlock producer reputation, the man managed to deliver multiple, gothic, psychological horror flicks that oozed creeps and atmosphere while rarely stepping into the realms of the supernatural and the arcane. Sure, there’s all the fog enshrouded moors and cobwebby crypts you’d expect to find in the like of a Hammer picture, but much like Poe himself, Corman endeavoured to tackle the horrors of mental instability and generational abuse, rather than vampires and ghouls.
In fact, despite its setting in the dark Victorian era, The Premature Burial touches on some rather recognisable themes of struggling with oppressive anxiety and existential obsession, as poor old Guy twists in the wind while being tormented by emotional demons medical science is yet unable to treat without doping him up on laudanum. Constantly snapping at his loved ones whenever he’s triggered by the spectre of being buried alive and shifting into full blown mania when he attempts to conquer his fears by playing Pimp My Crypt, Ray Milland may seem to be a bit too old to play the man stricken by his own mental state (and he certainly doesn’t milk his lines like Price), but he certainly manages to deliver a well calibrated performance as a man whose sanity is starting to strip like old wallpaper. It also helps that he’s surrounded by veterans of such gothic ventures, such as Hazel Court, Alan Napier and – of course – Dick Miller as a yellow-toothed grave digger.
However, while the performances continue to drive home the melancholy and haunted nature of Poe’s works, Corman shows that he’s got the mood down pat with a string of absurdly atmospheric scenes. Literally every single exterior scene may have blatantly been shot on an obvious soundstage, but despite the fact that the colourless sky is visibly painted, it not only adds to the gloom but it ensures every moment “outside” is literally coated in a sea mist that flows over everything like a flood. In fact, the dry ice budget alone must have caused the nortiously frugal Corman to splutter once or twice, but by God it’s worth it. Elsewhere, Corman even adds some ironic, dark chuckles by staging the reveal of Guy’s burial-proof crypt like Q smugly walking James Bond through some outlandish new gadgets – but pulls back from the absurdity of having a retractable rope ladder and an organ installed by revealing that if all else fails, a goblet of poison is his final way out. Such a drama queen.
Of course, things end in typical Corman/Poe fashion after our haunted lead finally suffers his greatest fear and promptly goes bugnuts after discovering that there’s been a conspiracy against him all along. His bloody rampage of revenge, while obviously tasteful by 60s standards, is still pretty hardcore, as a wild-eyed Guy spears, electrocutes and – yes – buries alive those responsibile until the tragic tale draws to a close. However, maybe because it’s been so long since I’d previously seen the film, but I was completely caught out by the twist, assuming that is was Guy’s – admittedly suspicious – sister who was pulling the devious strings. While maybe not prone to the famously colourful phantasmagoria of The Masque Of The Red Death, or out and out as iconic looking as The Pit And The Pendulum, that shouldn’t mean that The Premature Burial should be unfairly interred itself.
While missing some of the more famous iconography of other Corman/Poe collaborations, the lack of swinging pendulums and retina searing colours doesn’t mean that The Premature Burial fails to bring all the gothic ambiance, and collapsing sanity you’d want from such a film. In fact, I demand you head out to the nearest patch of fog-enshrouded moors and exhume it immediately. You dig?
