A woman is possessed by the spirt of her husband's deceased first wife, turning her into a cold, scheming flirt who will stop at nothing to get what she wants. The woman's sister, husband and the sister's new boyfriend struggle with accepting what has happened, who has caused it and how to correct it, which soon brings them into contact with a coven of devil-worshippers and forces of the supernatural.
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Back from the Dead is kind of delightfully weird, a noirish, horrorish b-picture with sitcom-looking sets which sometimes feel like The Dick Van Dyke Show, or something, when a nice, suburban woman rushes through a door to answer a phone. Answer a phone while there's a possession going on, that is, which as far as I know is not something Laura Petrie ever had to deal with (though I have no doubt she would crush that challenge, was it ever put before her).
Within the first ten minutes of the film, a woman's (Peggie Castle as Mandy) experience, opinion, or words are disregarded three times, and her husband is told that he'll have to "make allowances" for her for a…
This one’s going out for Peggy Thomas Blair, aka Peggie Castle, born December 22, 1927.
“Before I knew about this house and what went on inside those dark walls, I refused to believe that such things existed, certainly not now, in the twentieth century, in America. But now I know they do exist and will always exist as long as there is evil in the world and those who prefer evil to good.”
What would happen if Rebecca returned from the dead and inhabited the body of the second Mrs. de Winter? It might look something like Back from the Dead, but if left up to Daphne du Maurier, I’m sure Daphers would come up with something better.
“I think…
Charles Marquis Warren's 𝘽𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙙 (1957) is hardly a horror film even by late 1950s standards, but it is very much a very excellent and interesting Film Noir in the spirit (intended pun) of Mark Robson's Film Noir supernatural masterpiece 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝 𝙑𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙢 (1943), with sisters and a devil cult. The direction and acting is quite good for it being produced for $125,000; it was released by 20th Century Fox. Raoul Kraushaar's soundtrack & Ernest Haller's direction of photography are both brilliant. More information on these two genii is included below.
"It is based on the 1952 novel The Other One by Catherine Turney, who also wrote the screenplay. The working title for the movie was also The Other…
The ritualistic Satanic cult in Back from the Dead was surprisingly creepy for something out of the late 1950s. A pregnant body hijacked by a resurrected spirit through blood sacrifice, only her sister is willing to pit herself against the evil magic thwarting her from exorcising the spirit back to hell where it belongs.
I made an accidental "woman possessed by a dead woman" double feature last night. Started with Woman Who Came Back (1945) and followed with 1957's Back from the Dead.
In Woman Who Came Back, Lorna (Nancy Kelly), is a scion of a small New England town's witch-hunting forebears, returning, somewhat mysteriourly, on a bus that crashes into a lake. She's slightly out of step with the society of the town and when she starts visualizing that she's the reembodiment of a 300 year old witch, she goes from oddity to public enemy.
Back from the Dead takes little time to possess Mandy (Peggie Castle), who goes from walk on the beach to seizure, miscarriage, and host of the spirit and…
Peggie Castle plays both of Arthur Franz’s wives in this quasi-occult horror movie. First, she’s the proper 50s housewife Mandy, until she miscarries and then wakes up as Felicia, his devil-worshiping former wife who died six years ago. There are two hilarious things that the film glosses right over: first, he never told his current wife that he was a widower, nor that he was ever married previously; second, both he and his previous wife were apparently involved in a satanic cult, but I guess he just moved on with his life?
At any rate, Felicia, unlike Mandy, lets Peggie Castle do her pinup girl routine, at one point coming down for drinks with one of their friends in lingerie.…
"Satanist coven and... but..." It's like a cheapo-1957 version ofThe Seventh Victim. Sorta. Really flat, featureless, tv-screen filmmaking; it does nothing to create atmosphere or generate mood -- to such an extent that its very blandness almost becomes a selling point.
Suburban Cult, Other Woman, Body Possession Noir joint, one that flaunts everything its got going for it, regardless of the budget and production constraints.
And with a title like that though, you could almost question if this jam does indeed deliver what it claims, but even if only half way, it sure makes up for everything else it brings to a beach house's altar of sacrifice, and its dark secret, marital arrangements.
The male/female power struggle dynamic scenario here, sure comes off entertaining as hell, and for a product of its time, I almost wanna say that its actually pushing a more Empowered Woman mission jam, camouflagued as 50's Satanic Panic, but that's more reading that this movie is prolly…
Kate Hazelton (Marsha Hunt) takes a trip to the coast to visit her sister, Mandy (Peggie Castle). Brother-in-law, Dick (Arthur Franz), is glad to have her there, but Mandy herself is preoccupied. Lately she's been hearing voices in her head. Strange mocking voices. One day at the beach, Mandy faints, and when she regains consciousness, insists that she's not really Mandy at all. In fact, she's Felicia. Who's Felicia, you ask? Well, Felicia is Dick's first wife – dead for five years now. Dick never ever told Mandy about Felicia, so how come she knows that name? And moreover, how come she can spout intimate details about their life together that only the real Felicia would know? Could it truly…
Une fois qu’on accepte le caractère cheap de l’entreprise, la résolution d’une légèreté à faire sourciller et les deux personnages masculins principaux dignes d’aucun iota d’intérêt (it comes with the territory), c’est un chic film. La tension entre candeur d’ère atomique « papa a raison » et le bouillonnement souterrain lugubre à l’européenne est délicieusement saugrenu.
Ça vaut le coup aussi pour la sensationnelle musique et la beauté des extérieurs comme des intérieurs.
Le prénom du mari est une source intarissable de petits rires crétins.
