HE KILLS NIGHT AFTER NIGHT
AFTER NIGHT (1969)
Directed by Lewis J. Force (aka
Lindsay Shonteff)
Monterey Home Video VHS
THE FILM
I once bought a copy of Peter &
Gordon's "In London For Tea"
LP. There was this song called "London
At Night," the kickoff track
on the A side. It painted a beautiful,
escapist portrait of being young
and living in London.
Tonight, I watched He Kills
Night After Night After Night,
a controversial UK sickie slasher
from indie director Lindsay Shonteff
(gimme Devil Doll!). Damn.
Peter and Gordon never mentioned
anything like this.
He Kills Night After Night After
Night (titled Night After
Night After Night during its
theatrical and UK video run) is
all about feelings. Sexual feelings.
When a rash of sex-tinged murders
overtakes London's Soho district,
it's up to Detective Inspector Bill
Rowan to weed through the suspects.
And what a list! There's mod swinger
Pete, a greaseball Don Juan with
a thing for doing it in the bushes
("I've banged every bird I
know."). Then we have Judge's
assistant Powell, a porn-obsessed,
misogynist twit that likes to frequent
strip clubs and dirty bookstores.
And what of Judge Lomax himself?
He seems to have a tack in his ass
each morning, spewing love-making
ice cubes towards his willing wife
and hating every evil doer that
appears before his court. When Rowan's
wife falls victim to the black leather
killer, his obsession grows. More
boobs fly towards the camera. You'll
know who the Beatles-wigged psycho
is after ten minutes or so, but
that's neither here nor there. I
love the Brits.
You wouldn't expect such a soiled
sexboiler to be so well made or
enjoyable, but here we are. While
He Kills Night After Night After
Night never gets overly explicit
(some blood, lots of leering nudity,
but little presented sexually),
the tone remains consistently grimy.
The nearly black-screened killings
even take place in the gutters!
Now that's dirty. Still, the film
pulls out the hot spots when it
comes to the technical side of things,
which adds insulation to the dingy
atmosphere. The outstanding acting,
particularly that of veteran Jack
May as the unbalanced Judge Lomax,
grabs you by the throat. Everyone
else embellishes their roles with
likable hooks, no matter how cookie
cutter the plot may seem. Sexploitation
cinematographer Douglas Hill offers
up some nicely composed shots, but
mostly plays it flat. He gets the
job done. As for the Perry Como
schmaltz soundtrack, it serves a
purpose: to alleviate a tone that
might get TOO smutty if the film
was backed with something more sinister.
Most likely an utterly bad decision
in 1969, but today, it works.
He Kills Night After Night After
Night is kind of like The
Phantom Of Soho in the
hands of Norman J. Warren. However,
unlike most of Warren's 70s output,
Shonteff had the foresight to hire
talented actors and keep it slightly
contained.
In the late 60s, London at night
wasn't as innocent as my pals Asher
and Waller were making it out to
be. I can't say I've been deterred.
I love the Brits.
AUDIO AND VIDEO
There was a steady rippling that
came and went at leisure. Sometimes,
a scene looked a little fuzzy. This
tape is an old fogy and very obscure,
so I'm sure the flubs are ingrained
at this point. Otherwise, the picture
was strong and colorful. The mono
sound was really loud.
EXTRAS
Turn it off after the end credits.
Monterey always stiffs us.
FINAL THOUGHTS
British exploitation gets it again.
He Kills Night After Night After
Night isn't a vital crumb in
the UK litter basket, but it's good.
Darn good. If you choose to seek
it out, expect a nice night in the
gutters of London. Who could ask
for anything more?
— Joseph A. Ziemba, 01.19.06 |
Does not fool around
Cocote subscriber
Knife in the bar
What's happened to Uncle?
|
