The Lair of the White WormWho knew bagpipes could charm a snake? Apparently Scottish archaeologist Angus Flint (Peter Capaldi) made the connection with fortuitous timing, when confronted with a serpentine vampire, a thrall in the service of her ophidian majesty, Lady Sylvia Marsh (Amanda Donohoe). Set in the English countryside under the governance of the young, new Lord James d'Ampton (Hugh Grant), inheritor of the land and the legacy of his ancestor, who slew the mythical "d'Ampton Worm", The Lair of the White Worm is a story of slithering monsters with as much black comedy as startlingly vivid horror.
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The Lair of the White Worm unquestionably falls into the category of an old school monster movie, not unlike the kind of popcorn munchers of yesteryear, where creepy crawlies emerged from dank caves to prey upon unsuspecting virgins and those who do not peek over their shoulder on a dark night in the woods. As a matter of fact, the film was (very) loosely adapted from Bram Stoker's novel of the same name, although this film is set in modern times--and that is but the least of the differences. Directed in trademark fashion by Ken Russell, The Lair of the White Worm is rich with vivid and surreal displays of phantasmagoria, principally in scenes of hallucinations brought about by Sylvia's psychedelic venom, which fill the minds of her victims with shocking--and even blasphemous--imagery of pagan rituals, full of blood, sex, and fire; and snakes...lots of snakes. Following the recovery of an ancient skull by Angus from some reptilian creature--found buried for some two thousand years, among a temple mosaic of the pagan snake god, Dionin--Sylvia sets to protect her identity as an immortal demoness from discovery, stealing away the skull. Her heretical hatred of God prompts her to leave a venomous residue behind, which afflicts Eve Trent (Catherine Oxenberg) with the first in a series of intense displays of primal terror. Fortunate timing happens quite frequently in The Lair of the White Worm; just as Angus discovers the skull, it so happens that not only is James giving the annual celebration of his ancestral legacy in slaying the d'Ampton Worm, but Sylvia "returns" from abroad to infest her homestead at Temple Manor once again. When James comes to pay a visit to Sylvia, it would ordinarily be an amicable greeting between two British gentry. But with all the weird events during their encounter--and those prior--James becomes transfixed with the idea that something supernatural is amiss in his realm, and find himself drawn into the legend.
Sylvia is the quintessential "sexy vamp", clad in provocative outfits--from barely-there lingerie to skin-tight sequin dresses--and her dialogue is often filled with innuendo. Sylvia shocks both her victims and the audience when she suddenly sprouts fangs and goes on the attack, the lure of her sexuality meant to establish a false sense of comfort. Although not literally poisoned by Sylvia, James is stricken by a vivid dream following their encounter, where he imagines himself travelling into Stonerich Cavern, where his ancestor, John d'Ampton, was said to have chopped the white worm in twain. But moreover, he finds himself on an airplane--one which resembles a long, white cylinder--where Sylvia, Eve, and Eve's sister, Mary (Sammi Davis), are flight attendants, and even the Trent sisters' parents are present. The scene is filled with the logic of a dream, and metaphors which speak of the hidden fascinations of James and his interests in his legacy, which up to this point had seemed to have little genuine consideration in his life. It is a surprising scene for a monster movie, even more so than the striking hallucinations of extreme terror, which breaks up what would otherwise be a film with an abundance of false fangs and body paint. The Lair of the White Worm hints here and there at the original Roman occupation of the region in ages past by the "rebel emperor", Marcus Carausius, who actually did declare himself emperor in the third century, and minted coins like those which Angus finds among the skull. And while it is questionable if he worshiped a snake god, Angus is correct to observe that the Romans did absorb the cultures of those they conquered into their dominion. So for a film which is the kind of campy creature feature one expects to air on "up all night" programming, The Lair of the White Worm possesses a unique level of style and identity which differentiates it from its counterparts. But of course, there is a giant puppet snake demon lurking in the bottom of an ominously-lit crevasse, from which virgins are dangled like bait on a hook. What lair would be complete without it?
Recommended for: Fans of a silly yet charming adaptation--in the loosest sense--of a vampire story, where a slinky vampiress hams it up, where archaeologists expound on untold history which coincides with the plot, and where there's a jaunty song performed in honor of the albino wyrm--a slithery charmer of a B-movie flick.
Sylvia is the quintessential "sexy vamp", clad in provocative outfits--from barely-there lingerie to skin-tight sequin dresses--and her dialogue is often filled with innuendo. Sylvia shocks both her victims and the audience when she suddenly sprouts fangs and goes on the attack, the lure of her sexuality meant to establish a false sense of comfort. Although not literally poisoned by Sylvia, James is stricken by a vivid dream following their encounter, where he imagines himself travelling into Stonerich Cavern, where his ancestor, John d'Ampton, was said to have chopped the white worm in twain. But moreover, he finds himself on an airplane--one which resembles a long, white cylinder--where Sylvia, Eve, and Eve's sister, Mary (Sammi Davis), are flight attendants, and even the Trent sisters' parents are present. The scene is filled with the logic of a dream, and metaphors which speak of the hidden fascinations of James and his interests in his legacy, which up to this point had seemed to have little genuine consideration in his life. It is a surprising scene for a monster movie, even more so than the striking hallucinations of extreme terror, which breaks up what would otherwise be a film with an abundance of false fangs and body paint. The Lair of the White Worm hints here and there at the original Roman occupation of the region in ages past by the "rebel emperor", Marcus Carausius, who actually did declare himself emperor in the third century, and minted coins like those which Angus finds among the skull. And while it is questionable if he worshiped a snake god, Angus is correct to observe that the Romans did absorb the cultures of those they conquered into their dominion. So for a film which is the kind of campy creature feature one expects to air on "up all night" programming, The Lair of the White Worm possesses a unique level of style and identity which differentiates it from its counterparts. But of course, there is a giant puppet snake demon lurking in the bottom of an ominously-lit crevasse, from which virgins are dangled like bait on a hook. What lair would be complete without it?
Recommended for: Fans of a silly yet charming adaptation--in the loosest sense--of a vampire story, where a slinky vampiress hams it up, where archaeologists expound on untold history which coincides with the plot, and where there's a jaunty song performed in honor of the albino wyrm--a slithery charmer of a B-movie flick.