"Why should you be afraid to die? Your soul has been dead for a long time."
Beneath Roger Corman's B Movie hucksterism lie a genuinely talented filmmaker; given a decent story and (more rarely) a good budget, he showed significant skill. The Masque of the Red Death (1964) is one of his eight loose Edgar Allan Poe movies; more darkly humorous than genuinely scary, it's nonetheless an engaging, stylish chiller featuring the always-delightful Vincent Price.Prince Prospero (Vincent Price) rules over a kingdom in medieval Italy, indulging in debauched partying and Satanism on the side. When the Red Death, a virulent, instantly-fatal plague strikes his kingdom, Prospero and his nobles take refuge within the Prince's castle, partying while their subjects die. For added fun, he kidnaps peasant girl Francesca (Jane Asher), holding her lover (David Weston) and father (Nigel Green) hostage to woo her towards Satanism. But it's only a matter of time until the Red Death strikes.
Like Corman's other Poe adaptations, Masque uses Poe's rather sparse story as a jumping off point for a more expanded universe. Corman relishes the extremes of Prospero's hedonism: Prospero compelling his companions to crawl like pigs or donkeys, his mistress Juliana Hazel Court) branding her breast with an inverted cross, his treacherous aide Alfredo (Patrick Magee) leering at a dwarf dancer (Verina Greenlaw). The latter triggers a subplot taken from another Poe story, "Hop-Toad," with an aggrieved dwarf (Skip Martin) seeking vengeance on Alfredo. Communion with the Devil seems the logical extension of this decadence, which wouldn't be out of place in a Ken Russell or Luchino Visconti flick.
Yet Corman and writers Charles Beaumont and R. Wright Campbell allow Prospero to eloquently state his case. For all his gratuitous violence and wanton pleasure-seeking, Prospero shows disgust with Christian hypocrisy, noting that his torture chambers once belonged to a Catholic inquisition. His debates with Francesca over the merits of God and Satan are the film's weakest, most tedious segments, yet they do allow some degree of sympathy for Prospero: confronted with a debauched, hypocritical world, why not at least embrace Evil honestly? Yet the Red Death reminds Prospero that for all his communions with the Dark World, he's not ready to join it himself.
The story shows some ragged edges (why would the Red Death annihilate entire villages then decide to help Francesca?) but Corman's direction overcomes any quibbles. One striking scene involves Juliana's Satanic sacrifice, culminating in a bizarre dream sequence where she's ravaged by all manner of elemental demons (prefiguring Rosemary's Baby). Even more impressive is the climax, where the Red Death turns Prospero's guests into suppurating zombies, surrounding Prospero with the very death he'd sought to avoid. Filmed by a young Nicolas Roeg, Masque takes brilliant advantage of these set pieces, along with the starkly colored antechambers and sets borrowed from Becket.
Vincent Price plays Prospero with his usual unrestrained glee. He relishes Corman's aureate monologues and indulges fully in Prospero's flamboyant mannerisms, casual violence and level-headed debauchery. Price provides such off-kilter charm and self-effacing glee we're almost cheering for Satan to win the day! Certainly his stiff costars (even Groggy favorite Nigel Green's reduced to a handful of lines and a brief swordfight) can't hope to compete.
The Masque of the Red Death is such a fun experience that its meager budget and incongruities don't matter. Too often, Roger Corman settled for simple, exploitative silliness. When he really put his mind to filmmaking, he was as talented as anyone.
