Pete Walker 2

Even cult film aficionados could be excused for asking, “Who the hell is Pete Walker and why does he have his own collection?” The name doesn’t have the same buzz factor as Romero, Argento or even Ed Wood. But that’s part of what makes the horror genre so damn interesting: there’s always some clique that’s ripe for rediscovery and, potentially, a new addition to one’s collection.

In the case of Pete Walker, a British director who worked the seedier side cinema during the ‘70s, this would be his second introduction for North American audiences after Kino / Redemption released their first Pete Walker Collection on Blu-ray last year. And like that previous set, The Pete Walker Collection Volume 2 contains an eclectic mix of genres mixed with a pair of the director’s earliest double-bills.

For causing such a row in its native country, Frightmare (1974) is, like many British horror films of its era, rather polite about the sex, violence and cannibalism it presents onscreen. In fact, what’s beneath that veil of well-mannered cultural tradition is exactly what director Pete Walker exploits to such amusing affect in this story of a grandmotherly cannibal who prefers brains with her afternoon tea rather than biscuits.

Walker has always been upfront about the purely commercial motivations behind his films. Yet Frightmare is anything but another Texas Chainsaw imitator. The cannibal angle is slow to surface and all the more disturbing when it does. The character of Dorothy Yates (as played with spinsterly perfection by actress Sheila Keith) is the perfect dichotomy of British civility and pure evil, luring her victims with a sinister sense of opportunism. Her hapless husband (Edmund Yates) is left to clean up the mess and cover her tracks.

There’s a darkly comic satisfaction in watching Dorothy go about her murderous business. But the film also adds a not-so-subtle social message about mental illness and the state of psychiatric treatment, as if Walker himself were covering his tracks. That might have been necessary in ’74, but today Frightmare plays as an unapologetic, unpredictable psycho-shocker that makes fine use of that famous dry British sense of humor.

Produced two years earlier, The Flesh and Blood Show (1972) is another quirky genre effort from Walker set against a theatrical backdrop as a group of actors hired to rehearse a new production are picked off Ten Little Indians-style by an unseen madman.

Working in the style of Italian giallos like Deep Red, but with a more tongue in cheek approach, the film is part-thriller, part-spoof as it toys with the art of acting and illusion. As the title suggests, there’s plenty of flesh on display right from the get-go with every actress disrobing at one point or another. But very little blood is actually spilled after the opening credits. The censors might have dictated Walker’s approach, but it neuters some of the genre expectations.

House of Mortal Sin was Walker’s third consecutive collaboration with screenwriter David McGillivray, with the pair once again skewering social issues for some extra publicity. This time, the killer is a sexually frustrated priest, Father Meldrum (Anthony Sharp), who tapes the confession of a troubled woman (the cute-as-a-button Susan Penhaligon from Patrick) and uses it to lure her into one dangerous situation after another.

The film’s admirable attempt to humanize its characters actually backfires here, giving us too many insights into the Meldrum’s psychotic episodes and robbing the audience of any suspense. We actually begin to understand (if not completely sympathize) with the creep, which effectively neuters him as a villain. But the film does make clever use of several Roman Catholic tools of the trade turned into murder weapons, including rosary beads and poison holy wafers!

Home Before Midnight steps outside of the horror genre and into straight-up melodrama, with a dash of political commentary to boot. A songwriter picks up a pretty young hitchhiker…only to find she’s 14 and well underage for the sexual relationship they’re involved in. The legal wheels begin turning after the girl cries rape to avoid a punishment from her parents, leaving our songwriter at the mercy of a justice system that makes no exceptions for “love.”

What should play as a corny cable TV drama is much more entertaining than you’d expect, thanks in part to Walker’s insistence on including T & A scenes, even though they’re at odds with the film’s overall message. It’s probably the film that Walker’s fan base would have the least amount of interest in seeing up front, but it’s actually one of the biggest surprises of the set. Plus it co-stars Mick Jagger’s younger brother!

The big finale is a bonus Blu-ray disc that includes two of the director’s earliest projects: The Big Switch and Man of Violence. Both follow the same quick-and-dirty approach, mixing sex and violence on the cheap, designed to fill the second half of a double-bill. And both follow tough-guy-for-hire protagonists going up against vicious gangsters and femme fatales.

Neither, however, holds up very well as anything more then kitschy encapsulations of the era in which they were made. Walker crams in all the Swinging London clichés he can into a film noir format, which makes for some interesting scenery (mostly female) and one or two shocking bits the major studios wouldn’t dare include at the time (the playboy protagonist in Man of Violence actually sleeps with a man to get more information). But the plots have all the excitement of waiting to turn left at a traffic light…which we’re actually forced to sit and watch for thirty-seconds at one point!

Regardless of their replay value, the bonus disc is a real selling point for those looking to explore the origins of British exploitation. And The Pete Walker Collection treats it – and the rest of the films – as such, with a full slate of extras in support of each title. Walker contributes an on-camera interview for each film, plus audio commentaries on Frightmare and House of Mortal Sin. Not only that, but The Flesh and Blood Show features two 3D segments, presented in the old-fashioned anaglyph format and the new stereoscopic 3D TV system. Brilliant!