The Snorkel

Today, we look at a Hammer film!  As the Halloween season ramps up, I develop a voracity for certain fixtures.  I want to see Christopher Lee caracoling around a deathly castle; Peter Cushing threatening chambermaids if they dare enter his laboratory; buxom babes...being buxom.  1958's The Snorkel is a Hammer production that doesn't beseem the horror genre.  It was a late B&W entry, one of the last paperback-style sticklers they issued before embracing test tubes and full moons.  And I fucking loved it!  Foremost, I do believe that The Snorkel would appeal to the majority of fangbangers.  At its core, this is a slasher with an oddball gimmick.

What struck me about the film is that it has a surprisingly mean-spirited streak cascading down its spine.  Normally, that can be a viewer paraquat* (I saw this word on the local news and had to find a place for it), but the bile is limited to one character.  I'm referring to the dude behind the snorkel.  It dovetails with logic for him to be a mean-spirited fuck.  He's the killer, after all.  Don't worry; that's not a spoiler.  This motion picture is not a whodunit.  From the first frame, we know who did it, but co-writers Peter Myers and Jimmy Sangster find other sources of ventricle-rattling, milk-curdling suspense.

Sangster is one of my favorite screenwriters of all time.  Not that I curate a list, but whenever I see his name in the credits, I know that I'm assured an intelligent script dressed in believable dialogue.  Such material probably gives way to better acting, no?  While I'm on the subject, the cast is tremendous.  Mandy Miller delivers a keen, smashing turn as Candy, a discerning orphan forced to live with her stepfather.  Man, her stepfather gives Terry O'Quinn a run for his money in the "domestic amorality" department.  A quick note, if I may; our lead is a teenager.  She is played...by a teenager.  Refreshing!  By the way, my use of the semi-colon is officially gratuitous.  It wasn't your imagination.

Peter van Eyck is a cold, yet circumspect heavy.  He could plot the end of civilization before your eyes and it would look like he was selling you insurance.  Earlier, I noted that he was a mean-spirited chap.  For evidence, I present a dead dog.  He kills a little girl's fucking dog!  Named Toto!  The Wicked Witch of the West would have at least hesitated or sermonized a final warning.  The fact that our villain is so deplorable just makes the final fifteen minutes that much more gripping.  Seriously, what a goddamn climax.  Post-coital, I had to ask myself, "How is this movie so obscure?"

Were there any components of The Snorkel that creased my quills?  Nope!  I can recommend it without any compunction.  As for how you can snatch up this breathing apparatus, I'm pretty sure that it's on a box set alongside auxiliary Hammer titles.  In addition, it may have been uploaded to a popular website that hosts user-submitted videos.  Perhaps.  I'm clearing my throat.

*It's an herbicide.  A repellent!  I guess it could also be slang for a paralyzed asshole.