were less familiar with the tall, dark, and handsome Brit. Lee began the 1970s on an incredibly busy note. The first year
of the decade would see ten films released featuring the actor— the busiest period of his career. There were the horror entries (SCREAM AND SCREAM AGAIN), oddball Jess Franco flicks (EUGENIE, BLOODY JUDGE), and no less than four appearances as Dracula, including an uncredited cameo in Jerry Lewis’s ONE MORE TIME. The one that could have truly broadened his reputation, however, flopped big time: Billy Wilder’s THE PRIVATE LIFE OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Playing the puffed-up, supercilious Mycroft Holmes, Lee cut an elegant figure as the famous detective’s spying brother. He was both persuasive and infuriating in the role, stepping out of the shadows as something other than a supernatural being, while still manifesting his deliciously dark, charming ways. After a disastrous preview, though, Wilder abandoned the picture, leaving the final editing job to others who “murdered it,” in the famous director’s own estimation. Little-seen during its initial release, THE PRIVATE LIFE OF SHERLOCK HOLMES played regularly in revival houses for a while and eventually became somewhat of a a critical darling. But it did little to widen Lee’s career prospects at the time. As he turned 50, he was dependably menacing in THE HOUSE THAT DRIPPED BLOOD, HORROR EXPRESS, THE CREEPING FLESH, and other genre exercises, yet the sense lingered that Lee’s full capabilities were not being tapped—and time was running out for him to make further appearances at the top of the marquee. Make no mistake: Lee always turned in top-flight performances,
even when it seemed that he was merely fulfilling contractual obligations (see sidebar on his final films for Hammer). Considering his bulging resumé, though, he was overdue to land a starring role as someone other than Dracula. Greater opportunities finally arose in Robin Hardy’s THE WICKER MAN, Richard Lester’s new version of THE THREE MUSKETEERS, and the James Bond adventure THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN. But things did not go exactly as might have been anticipated. British Lion, the distributor of THE WICKER MAN, had no
A
s Hammer entered its twilight years,
Christopher Lee was well-positioned to become a major movie star. He had a strikingly different “look,” a distinct persona, and in Dracula, a character he owned—albeit a historical bloodsucker who lived outside the mainstream. To make the leap to full-blown stardom, he needed
more vehicles to display his range as a personality, as
risky as that might be. Aſter all, straying too far from his horror roots might alienate his fan base and befuddle moviegoers who
faith in the film, insisting on cutting essential scenes before release and then burying it in the UK on the bottom half of a double feature, without any press screenings. Lee, believing it to be one of the best films in which he’d ever appeared—he later called it one of the top ten British films ever—personally contacted London film critics and begged them to see it, even offering to pay their admission fees. Reviews poured in, acknowledging THE WICKER MAN’s brilliance, even in its bowdlerized form. Roger Corman picked it up for U.S. distribution, and it became a cult hit, though without achieving the wider recognition it deserved. Lee is superb as Lord Summerisle, a magisterial sort who can
arrange for a young man to lose his virginity and then, inspired by the sight of snails, recite a poem by Walt Whitman—the latter being an idea that Hardy sprung on him at the last minute. He remains cool and calm, whether he is discoursing knowledgeably on the cultivation of apples or blithely blaspheming against the Christian God. He rules the island with a silk glove covering his iron fist, and he is absolutely chilling in the final scenes, convincing the doomed, righteous Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward) that he has no choice but to accept his fate. THE THREE MUSKETEERS showcased Lee as Rochefort, an elegant if subservient villain, the right-hand man and enforcer par
FAMOUS MONSTERS OF FILMLAND • MAR/APR 2012 23
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