Phantasm (1979)

The first time we watched Phantasm was in the spring of 1979 at the flea-pit Eros cinema in Piccadilly Circus, a gloriously seedy establishment specialising in Russ Meyer films and every conceivable variety of sexploitation trash. It was, incidentally, the very cinema John Landis had in mind when shooting the “porn cinema” sequence in London for An American Werewolf in London. The Eros seemed to feature somewhere in the background of every grainy 1970s postcard shot or tourist photograph taken beneath the famous neon lights of Piccadilly Circus. Its main selling point was undoubtedly its location rather than comfort or refinement. Wedged beneath the bright lights of Shaftesbury Avenue in the heart of London’s theatre district, it lured unsuspecting tourists down into its less-than-immaculate basement depths like some cinematic Venus Fly Trap.

The place positively reeked of seediness, but that was half the attraction. Watching these sorts of films in spotless multiplexes simply wouldn’t have had the same flavour. The audience was often just as entertaining as the movie itself — a wonderful gathering of midnight cinema freaks, horror obsessives, weirdos and curious wanderers. Looking back, that particular screening was probably far more historic than anyone there realised at the time. I would wager good money that somewhere in that dingy little cinema sat future horror royalty such as Mark Kermode and Kim Newman.

The Eros probably seated little more than a hundred people, if even that. Despite being the film’s UK premiere and despite the considerable buzz it had already generated in America, this was hardly the sort of occasion to attract the established British media guns. I doubt the mainstream press was represented at all.

Phantasm arrived from across the Atlantic with a formidable reputation and one of the greatest horror posters ever created. The artwork perfectly captures the warped, hellish nightmare lurking within the film itself. Every element of the design radiates dread and surreal menace. Even now, decades later, it remains one of the finest horror posters ever produced.

Horror films were always the preferred cinematic diet in our household. When my brother turned up clutching an advert announcing a midnight screening of Phantasm, there was never the slightest doubt that this was an event we simply could not miss.

We arrived well in advance and joined a queue of eager horror devotees all desperate to sample this mysterious new entity that had already begun creating waves and ruffling feathers overseas. Despite its minuscule budget and complete lack of major stars, the film had somehow muscled its way into Variety’s box office charts. Like so many of the truly memorable horror films, its success was driven almost entirely by word of mouth.

The previous film to explode in this manner had been John Carpenter’s magnificent Halloween. That too had arrived quietly in Britain with little fanfare before slowly growing into a phenomenon through sheer audience reaction. Week after week, its box office climbed as more people spread the word about its mastery.

Phantasm followed a similar trajectory, even if not quite on the same commercial scale. Somehow this strange little non-entity transformed itself from just another low-budget horror flick into a film that has steadily evolved into a genuine cult classic of enormous stature.

The reaction on opening night was one of utter bewilderment. The audience collectively looked as though the rug had been yanked from beneath their feet. Nobody quite knew what they had just witnessed.

Attempting to describe the plot of Phantasm is rather like trying to explain one of those fever dreams brought on by strong medication. The film unfolds through vivid, disjointed fragments that individually make very little sense, yet somehow combine to create something deliriously surreal and hypnotic. Nearly half a century later, it still feels unlike anything that came before or after it.

And yet the film has endured magnificently. Its deranged allure has crossed generations, gathering devoted followers and spawning numerous sequels. Writer-director Don Coscarelli, astonishingly only twenty-two years old at the time, crafted something utterly singular within the horror genre — indeed within cinema itself. Confusing? Certainly. But unforgettable beyond words.

Armed with confidence and with the memory of last night’s restoration screening still fresh in my mind, perhaps the time has finally come to attempt to explain the plot. So here goes.

The story revolves around two brothers struggling to cope following the mysterious deaths of their parents several years earlier. The younger brother, Mike, fears above all else that his older brother Jody will eventually abandon him. Terrified of being left alone, Mike begins secretly following him everywhere.

The opening sequence introduces a romantic couple embracing in the cemetery surrounding the imposing mausoleum of Morningside. As the lovers reach the climax of their encounter, the beautiful blonde suddenly pulls out a dagger and brutally stabs poor Tommy to death.

We swiftly move to Tommy’s funeral, where Mike watches the proceedings from afar through binoculars. Once the mourners depart, he witnesses an impossibly tall and imposing undertaker — the legendary Angus Scrimm — effortlessly lift the coffin as though it weighed nothing before loading it single-handedly into a hearse.

Moments later, the Tall Man is seen striding ominously through the streets with perhaps the most magnificently menacing walk in horror cinema history. Nearby, strange growling noises echo through the graveyard while hooded figures lurk among the tombstones waiting to pounce. Terrified, Mike flees on his bicycle, only to crash spectacularly after locking eyes with the glowering Tall Man.

Later that night, while swigging beer and tinkering with the family car, Mike hears the strange growling once again and becomes convinced something monstrous is stalking him. Jody, naturally, thinks the kid has lost the plot.

Curiosity eventually gets the better of Mike and he sneaks into the cemetery after dark. Wandering through the endless, elongated corridors of the mausoleum, he suddenly finds himself pursued by a furious henchman resembling an especially enraged Donald Trump. Just as all seems lost, salvation arrives in the form of the legendary silver sphere — a gleaming metallic nightmare that rockets down the corridor before sprouting blades and drilling directly into the poor fellow’s forehead.

Jets of blood explode everywhere as chunks of rubbery flesh fly across the screen in glorious fashion. It remains one of the most iconic and unforgettable deaths in horror cinema.

Having survived this ordeal, Mike encounters the Tall Man himself and barely escapes after slamming a heavy metal door onto the villain’s hand, severing several fingers in the process. The detached digits ooze fluorescent yellow fluid and continue wriggling grotesquely like severed lizard tails. Thinking quickly, Mike traps one inside a wooden box and rushes home to finally prove to Jody that the Tall Man is real.

Naturally, things become even stranger when the finger mutates into a snarling spider-like creature that violently attempts to chew its way free. The brothers eventually destroy the monstrosity in the kitchen sink waste disposal unit during a sequence that is simultaneously terrifying, grotesque, hysterical and utterly bizarre.

Gradually, they uncover the horrifying truth. The Tall Man is murdering people, embalming their corpses, compressing them into dwarfish servants and transporting them through the mysterious “Gates of Hell” to a distant slave world where they serve his grand and ghastly designs.

Quite simply, there has never been anything remotely like Phantasm.