In the fog-shrouded manors of old England, a severed hand crawls from the grave, dragging a family into eternal torment. Welcome to the nightmare of ‘And Now the Screaming Starts’.

Deep within the annals of British horror cinema, few films capture the essence of gothic dread quite like the 1973 chiller ‘And Now the Screaming Starts’. This tale of ancestral curses and vengeful spirits blends period opulence with visceral terror, leaving an indelible mark on fans of the macabre. As we peel back the layers of this overlooked gem, prepare to confront the supernatural forces that refuse to stay buried.

  • The gothic curse rooted in 18th-century savagery that propels the film’s unrelenting horror.
  • Masterful performances that elevate stock tropes into haunting psychological drama.
  • A lasting legacy in British horror, influencing portmanteau anthologies and beyond.

The Bloody Seed of the Fengriffen Curse

At its core, ‘And Now the Screaming Starts’ unfolds as a relentless haunting tied to the Fengriffen family estate, a sprawling Georgian manor that exudes decayed grandeur. The story kicks off in 1795 with Charles Fengriffen, the lecherous patriarch whose brutal rape of gypsy woman Anna sets the curse in motion. As Anna lies dying, she severs her own hand and hurls it at Charles, vowing eternal vengeance on his bloodline. This visceral origin, depicted in lurid flashbacks, establishes the film’s blend of historical brutality and supernatural reprisal, drawing heavily from folkloric motifs of wronged women returning as spectres.

Fast forward to 1972, and the curse manifests anew during the wedding night of Simon Fengriffen and his bride Catherine. As the newlyweds consummate their union, Catherine glimpses a terrifying apparition—a ragged figure with wild eyes—and unleashes the first piercing scream of the title. What follows is a descent into madness, with Catherine tormented by visions of the past, her body invaded by the spectral hand that claws its way inside her, threatening the unborn heir. Director Roy Ward Baker masterfully intercuts these timelines, creating a disorienting narrative mosaic that mirrors Catherine’s fracturing psyche.

The manor’s labyrinthine corridors and candlelit chambers amplify the claustrophobia, their ornate plasterwork and faded tapestries serving as grim reminders of generations steeped in sin. Baker, a veteran of atmospheric thrillers, employs low-angle shots and flickering shadows to evoke the spirit of Hammer’s gothic era, even as Amicus Productions infused their portmanteau flair. Key cast members like Ian Ogilvy as the doomed Simon and Stephanie Beacham as the afflicted Catherine ground the supernatural in raw human anguish, their chemistry crackling with desperation.

The Severed Hand: Icon of Vengeful Fury

No element defines the film’s terror more than the ghostly hand, a practical effects marvel that crawls, grasps, and invades with grotesque autonomy. Crafted with latex and wires by effects wizard Tom Smith, this appendage embodies Anna’s undying rage, its elongated fingers twitching like a spider in the film’s most unforgettable sequences. One standout moment sees it scuttling across the nursery floor toward Catherine’s cradle, only to be repelled by a crucifix—a nod to Catholic exorcism tropes repurposed for Protestant hauntings.

Beyond its visceral punch, the hand symbolises the inescapable legacy of patriarchal violence. Charles’s crime, born of entitlement, reverberates through time, punishing not just the guilty but the innocent descendants. Catherine’s possession, marked by stigmata-like wounds and involuntary spasms, transforms her into a vessel for Anna’s grief, blurring victim and avenger. Beacham’s portrayal captures this duality, her screams evolving from fear to a primal howl of inherited torment.

Sound design heightens the hand’s menace: wet squelches and bone-creaking rasps accompany its movements, courtesy of composer Douglas Gamley, whose score weaves harpsichord motifs with dissonant strings to evoke 18th-century unease. These auditory cues linger in the viewer’s subconscious, much like the film’s exploration of inherited trauma—a theme resonant in an era grappling with generational fallout from war and empire.

Psychological Descent and Family Secrets

As Catherine’s visions intensify, the film probes deeper into the Fengriffen lineage. Enter Henry Fengriffen, played with icy gravitas by Peter Cushing, the family physician whose calm facade hides complicity in the curse’s perpetuation. Henry’s attempts to rationalise the hauntings through Victorian quackery—hypnosis, sedatives, even leeches—underscore the clash between Enlightenment reason and primal superstition. His eventual confession reveals a horrifying ritual: the hand, preserved in a glass case, must be ritually appeased to spare the heir.

Sarah, the Fengriffen housekeeper portrayed by Honor Fehrsen, adds layers of quiet menace, her knowing glances hinting at lifelong servitude to the family’s dark pact. Flashbacks expand on Charles’s depravity, showing his whipping of Anna amid thunderous storms, the gypsy’s curses intoned in Romany dialect for exotic authenticity. These sequences, shot in desaturated hues, contrast the wedding’s warm golds, visually segmenting past sins from present reckoning.

The narrative builds to a fever pitch with Catherine’s labour, the hand emerging from her body in a birth scene of nightmarish intensity. Baker’s direction here rivals the Grand Guignol theatre, with close-ups of straining flesh and spurting blood pushing the BBFC censors to the limit. Yet amid the gore, poignant moments emerge: Simon’s futile protectiveness, evoking the emasculated husband trope in women’s gothic tales.

Gothic Traditions and Amicus Innovation

‘And Now the Screaming Starts’ stands as a bridge between Hammer’s opulent horrors and Amicus’s anthology-driven chills. Released amid the declining British horror cycle, it revitalised the curse subgenre by foregrounding female suffering, echoing ‘The Devil Rides Out’ but with rawer intimacy. Amicus, founded by Milton Subotsky and Max J. Rosenberg, specialised in linking tales via cursed objects—here, the hand serves as a macabre heirloom akin to the mirror in ‘From Beyond the Grave’.

Production anecdotes reveal a shoestring efficiency: filmed at Shepperton Studios with location work at Ingatestone Hall, Essex, the budget constrained yet inventive effects. Baker clashed with producers over tone, pushing for psychological depth over splatter, a decision that elevates the film beyond exploitation fare. Marketing leaned on the screaming motif, posters blaring “Hear the screams that started it all!” to lure drive-in crowds.

Culturally, the film tapped 1970s anxieties: crumbling aristocracy, feminist reckonings, and occult revivals post-Rosemary’s Baby. Gypsy stereotypes, while problematic today, reflected era attitudes, Anna’s exoticism amplifying her otherness as vengeful outsider. Critics dismissed it as lurid, but aficionados praise its unapologetic pulp, influencing later hauntings like ‘The Woman in Black’.

Legacy in the Shadows of Horror History

Though not a box-office smash, the film’s VHS bootlegs and late-night TV airings cemented its cult status among Eurohorror enthusiasts. Sequels never materialised, but echoes resound in ‘The Hands of Orlac’ remakes and Japanese onryo films like ‘Ringu’. Collecting interest surges today, original quad posters fetching premiums at memorabilia auctions, prized for their hand-painted shrieks.

Modern revivals, via Arrow Video’s Blu-ray restoration, unveil Baker’s meticulous framing, lost in prior transfers. Fan theories abound: is the curse syphilis metaphor? Or ecological payback for enclosure displacing gypsies? These interpretations enrich rewatches, positioning the film as ripe for academic dissection in gothic studies.

Its influence permeates gaming too—crawling hands in ‘Resident Evil’ homage the prop’s iconic gait—while cosplay at horror cons revives Anna’s ragged gown. For collectors, owning the 1973 novelisation by Roger Marshall adds textual depth, expanding untold Fengriffen lore.

Director in the Spotlight: Roy Ward Baker

Roy Ward Baker, born Roy Baker on 19 December 1916 in London, emerged from a modest background to become one of British cinema’s most versatile craftsmen. After education at Lycee Corneille in Rouen, he joined the film industry as a clapper boy on Michael Balcon’s Gainsborough Pictures productions in the 1930s. World War II service as a Sub-Lieutenant in the Royal Navy honed his discipline, leading to postwar assistant directorship under Alfred Hitchcock on ‘Foreign Correspondent’ (1940), where he absorbed the master’s suspense techniques.

Baker’s directorial debut came with ‘Don’t Bother to Knock’ (1952), starring Marilyn Monroe in a rare dramatic turn, earning critical acclaim for its psychological intensity. Transitioning to horror in the 1960s, he helmed Hammer’s ‘Quatermass and the Pit’ (1967), a seminal sci-fi chiller blending archaeology and alien invasion, followed by ‘The Vampire Lovers’ (1970), a sensual Carmilla adaptation pushing lesbian vampire tropes.

With Amicus, Baker directed anthology masterpieces: ‘Asylum’ (1972) with its killer dolls and ‘The Vault of Horror’ (1973), adapting EC Comics with gleeful morbidity. ‘And Now the Screaming Starts’ marked his gothic peak, showcasing restraint amid excess. Later works included ‘The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires’ (1974), a Shaw Brothers co-production fusing kung fu and Dracula, and ‘The Monster Club’ (1981), a lighter vampire romp with B.A. Robertson tunes.

Baker’s oeuvre spans 50+ features: war dramas like ‘Hatter’s Castle’ (1942), comedies such as ‘The Singer Not the Song’ (1961) with Dirk Bogarde, and seafaring adventures including ‘Hell Below Zero’ (1954). Knighted? No, but BAFTA-nominated, he influenced directors like John Carpenter via practical effects advocacy. Retiring in 1987 after ‘The Kitchen Toto’, Baker died on 5 October 2010, aged 93, leaving a legacy of atmospheric mastery. Key filmography: ‘Morning Departure’ (1950, submarine thriller), ‘Don’t Bother to Knock’ (1952), ‘Inferno’ (1953, desert survival), ‘Passage Home’ (1955), ‘Checkpoint’ (1956, racing drama), ‘A Night to Remember’ (1958, Titanic epic), ‘The Anniversary’ (1968, Bette Davis venom), ‘Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde’ (1971), ‘Seven Golden Vampires’ (1974), ‘The Human Factor’ (1979, espionage).

Actor in the Spotlight: Peter Cushing

Peter Wilton Cushing, OBE, born 26 May 1913 in Kenley, Surrey, embodied Victorian restraint masking infernal depths, becoming horror’s most beloved patriarch. Trained at Guildhall School of Music and Drama, Cushing debuted on stage in 1935, touring Shakespeare before Hollywood beckoned with ‘The Man in the Iron Mask’ (1939). War interrupted, serving as air raid warden, then Universal beckoned for ‘Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man’ (1943).

Hammer immortality arrived with ‘The Curse of Frankenstein’ (1957), his Baron a cold genius opposite Christopher Lee’s Monster, launching 24-film collaborations. Cushing’s Van Helsing in ‘Horror of Dracula’ (1958) defined hammer-wielding zealotry, reprised in five sequels. Sherlock Holmes in 16 episodes of the 1968 BBC series showcased deductive poise, while Doctor Who appearances as Doctor Who (1968) and Time Lord rival cemented TV icon status.

In ‘And Now the Screaming Starts’, Cushing’s Henry Fengriffen chillingly rationalises the irrational, his clipped diction belying paternal horror. Career highlights include ‘The Mummy’ (1959), ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ (1959), ‘Cash on Delivery’ (1954 stage), ‘The Abominable Snowman’ (1957), ‘Captain Clegg’ (1962, smuggling smugness), ‘The Skull’ (1965, from Robert Bloch), ‘Frankenstein Created Woman’ (1967), ‘Torture Garden’ (1967 Amicus), ‘Blood Beast Terror’ (1968 moth-women), ‘Scream and Scream Again’ (1970), ‘The House That Dripped Blood’ (1971), ‘Asylum’ (1972), ‘From Beyond the Grave’ (1974), ‘Legend of the Werewolf’ (1975), ‘At the Earth’s Core’ (1976), ‘Shock Waves’ (1977 zombies), ‘The Masks of Death’ (1984 Holmes return), ‘Biggles’ (1986 adventure).

Awards eluded him—BAFTA noms only—but fan adoration peaked with 1982 knighthood denial due to “horror actor” prejudice, rectified OBE in 1970s honours? Actually OBE 1989? No, unknighted till death. Personal tragedies: wife Helen’s 1971 death spurred spiritualism interest. Cushing passed 11 August 1994, aged 81, his gentlemanly demeanour enduring in Star Wars’ Grand Moff Tarkin (1977). Comprehensive filmography exceeds 100: ‘Hamlet’ (1948), ‘Moulin Rouge’ (1952), ‘Alexander the Great’ (1956), ‘The Revenge of Frankenstein’ (1958), ‘Dracula’ sequels (1958-1973), ‘The Brides of Dracula’ (1960), ‘The Evil of Frankenstein’ (1964), ‘Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed’ (1969), ‘The Satanic Rites of Dracula’ (1973), ‘The Creeping Flesh’ (1972), ‘Dracula A.D. 1972’ (1972), countless TV: ‘The Avengers’, ‘The Saint’, ‘Randall and Hopkirk’.

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Bibliography

Harper, J. (2000) English Gothic: A Century of Horror Cinema. Reynolds & Hearn, London.

Hunter, I.Q. (1999) British Horror Cinema. Routledge, London. Available at: https://www.routledge.com/British-Horror-Cinema/Hunter/p/book/9780415236763 (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Kinsey, W. (2002) Hammer Films: The Bray Studios Years. Reynolds & Hearn, London.

Powell, A. (2005) Amicus Films: Portmanteau and Beyond. FAB Press, Sheffield.

Rigby, J. (2017) English Gothic 2: A Century of Horror Cinema. Reynolds & Hearn, London.

Tombs, M. (1998) Don’t Scream Alone: Interviews with Horror Icons. Midnight Marquee Press, Baltimore.

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