The Lair of the White Worm [1988] Ken Russell

http://bayimg.com/MAIFiaAdj The Lair of the White Worm (1988) http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0095488/ The Lair of the White Worm is a 1988 film based loosely on the novel by Bram Stoker of the same name and drawing upon the English myth of the Lambton Worm. The film was written and directed by Ken Russell and stars Amanda Donohoe and Hugh Grant. Amanda Donohoe ... Lady Sylvia Marsh Hugh Grant ... Lord James D'Ampton Catherine Oxenberg ... Eve Trent Peter Capaldi ... Angus Flint Sammi Davis ... Mary Trent Stratford Johns ... Peters Paul Brooke ... P.C. Erny Imogen Claire ... Dorothy Trent Chris Pitt ... Kevin Gina McKee ... Nurse Gladwell Christopher Gable ... Joe Trent Lloyd Peters ... Jesus Christ Miranda Coe ... Maids / Nuns Linzi Drew ... Maids / Nuns Caron Anne Kelly ... Maids / Nuns The one word that immediately comes to mind to describe Ken Russell’s The Lair of the White Worm is “fun.” It’s not an important movie, or a really scary one, or even a particularly well-crafted technical effort. But everyone involved seems to be having a great time romping through this neo-Gothic, hyper-eroticized playground. Amanda Donohoe is the engine that keeps the flick rolling along its kinky, demented path. She’s sexy, slinky, witty and hammy, in equal parts. Whether spitting venom on a crucifix, trading double entendres with Hugh Grant over a snifter of brandy in her bathrobe, or sacrificing a virgin to a pagan snake god with an enormous sharp horn strapped to her pelvis, she vamps her way across the screen with an obvious delight in her power to tempt men into perdition. She’s simultaneously every boy scout’s wettest dream and direst nightmare, just as sexy when she’s showing the top of her stockings while shifting her sports car as when she’s tramping about a cave in blue-green body paint and plastic fangs. The story’s framework follows the standard creature feature formula–weird occurrences, investigation, confrontation and triumph over evil, and coda suggesting the peril may rise again–and comes complete with plot holes. By either ignoring, or accepting at face value, Russell’s flights of delirious fancy, Lair could be enjoyed as a straightforward horror movie. Strings swell ominously to warn the viewer something mysterious is going on as each plot point is plucked: the discovery of the skull, the tale of the legendary worm, revelations of missing villagers, the reappearance of the mysterious Lady Marsh, and so on. By the time the finale clicks into place, Hugh Grant is running around bisecting snake-people with his ancestral broadsword and the Scotsman is fighting off vampires with his bagpipe, all while the bound virgin is menaced by the naked pagan priestess and her slithery monster rising slowly from its pit. Any standard AIP or Hammer horror of yesteryear could take us to the same ridiculous climax, but Russell drives us there not only with phantasmagorical excess, but also with considerable wit. Certain characters (Donohoe and Stratford) overplay their roles with gleeful campiness, while our young quartet of heroes underplay theirs with the sincere cluelessness necessary to keep the plot moving. Besides the constant undercurrent of subtle parody, deliberately absurd comic touches abound. When a minor character briefly breaks into a rhapsody on his harmonica, the suddenly hypnotized (and quite annoyed) Lady Marsh involuntarily places her hands above her head and begins dancing to the strains. Dialogue sparkles with unanticipated wit: the innocent Do you have children, Lady Marsh? is answered with the wicked Only when there are no men around. Of course, it’s not the horror, hallucinations and chuckles alone that have won this film its devoted cult following. The film is about sex, and fear of sex. Even the title suggests Freudian implications: both the worm and its lair (a hole on a hillside) suggest genitalia. The abundant sex is never depicted without an undercurrent of horror, especially the threat of loss of sexual innocence. The separate courtships of Lord James and Eve and Angus and Mary are innocent and staidly Christian, and never go beyond chaste kissing (which is itself interrupted by ominous music and the appearance of danger). Although James appears more worldly than the others, he doesn’t abuse his lord’s right with the virgin Eve, and his dreams are filled with obvious sexual repression (he’s tied to a chair and forced to watch helplessly as two women fight over him). Lady Marsh, the embodiment of dangerous pagan sexuality, ostensibly intends to raise her dead, phallus-shaped god to rule the world, but she almost never appears anywhere without threatening to take away another character’s virginity. Like the common earthworm, she has hermaphroditic qualities, and her trusty horn is never far away should she need to deflower a female. She even has the power to defile the ultimate symbol of Christian chastity, the celibate nun (in dream sequences, at least). She’s the ultimate symbol of fearful desire; when her body is revealed nude, the natural sensuality of her skin is troubled by an alien blue pallor. Although the imagery occasionally veers towards outright pornography, when it does so Russell keeps it so brief that it’s almost subliminal. The scenes he lingers over are those that are merely titillating. Still, to avoid alcohol poisoning, it’s strongly advised never to play a drinking game based on taking a sip of beer whenever a phallic symbol appears onscreen. Of course, weird-freaks will want to tune in for the psycho set-pieces, of which there are four of note. The first is the elaborate and outrageous crucifixion tableau, where centurion rapists appear before the cross while the worm writhes over Jesus. A second venom-induced hallucination is briefer, but even more transgressive: impaled nuns in a sea of blood, while a topless Donohoe suggestively licks blood off the tip of a stake. The third is a compressed sequence in which Sammi Davis is menaced by a gaggle of sexy, spike-groined vampire snakes that emerge from Donohoe’s flaming, fanged mouth. The blue-screen backgrounds in these fantasy sequences are deliberately unreal; note the way that the appropriate shade of makeup if placed around Donohoe’s eyes so that the same crudely animated flames that burn in the background dance across her visage, as well. If these scenes aren’t enough to satisfy your lust for Russell weirdness, there’s also that delightfully absurd and humorous dream sequence where a bound Hugh Grant watches catfighting stewardesses while his red marker rises to attention. Russell’s previous works, like the medieval nunnery and religious corruption fable The Devils and the laudanum-inspired Gothic, feature the same obsessive, fantastical and perverse sexual imagery as Lair of the White Worm. The difference between those previous works and this one is that Russell presented those visions with a largely humorless solemnity, and tried to attach philosophical musings whose profundities didn’t quite measure up to the grandiosity of the visuals. The result frequently made this director look silly and pretentious in his self-importance, while at the same time his set pieces packed quite the effectively weird wallop. By tackling pure genre fare, recognizing the inherent absurdity of his vision, and embracing the silliness wholeheartedly, Russell created a self-aware, self-parodic comedy that’s much less guilty than the prior pleasures he offered.

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Icarus52 (2011-06-19)

Haven't touched this yet but the song D'Hampton W

Icarus52 (2011-06-19)

Sorry, P.I.C.N.I.C error on my first comment try. The song D'Hampton Worm...great stuff, foot stompin' and if that dinnae make you want be a Scot...

Mentaltown72 (2012-09-24)

Thanks. Been looking for this for awhile. BUT... gonna try to find a better copy. Picture is very fuzzy.
Audio = 9
Video = 6.5