DEAD OF NIGHT

Released onto DVD as part of the BFI's exciting "Gothic" season, DEAD OF NIGHT presents the surviving three episodes from the celebrated same-titled television series which was broadcast on BBC2 in 1972. The other four episodes of the fondly remembered series have, sadly, fallen foul to the perils of time.

What remains is indeed beguiling.

The first episode presented here was also the series' opening gambit, and was screened on Bonfire Night, 1972. It's entitled "The Exorcism" and plays as a socialist satire-cum-mannered class-divide drama, before escalating into a final act of sustained, subtle frights.

Edmund (Edward Petherbridge) and Rachel (Anna Cropper) have just bought a rural cottage - much to his socialist father's chagrin. They invite their friends, journalist Dan (Clive Swift) and his wife Margaret (Sylvia Kay), round for Christmas dinner and the evening starts off lightly as the women gush over the house and the men reason their rights to exist in bourgeois luxury.

As this foursome finally sit round the kitchen table to eat, a power cut threatens to destroy the night. Aiming to overcome it with candles and some fine wine provided by Dan, the festivities continue ... until Edmund takes a sip of his wine and tastes blood.

From there, the group sample Rachel's food and find that it causes them to burn up inside. Having cooled down, they then realise that all of their clocks and watches have halted on the same time - 5.30pm - and that the view from the windows has changed to absolute darkness. Despite Dan's efforts to rationalise anything and everything, it would seem the paranormal is at play here ... especially when our protagonists discover they are incapable of leaving their surroundings.

Echoes of THE EXTERMINATING ANGEL abound, while the early socio-political diatribe of Edmund and Dan also serves as a precursor to Saxon Logan's later SLEEPWALKER. While the class division theme and counter-culture aspects may be rather heavy-handed for some tastes, they don't override the ensuing terror as Rachel is possessed by the spirit of the house's former matriarch and the reason for their haunting becomes clear. Indeed, the motivation behind the vengeful goings-on here is strictly in keeping with the highly political (perhaps a little too broadly written?) set-up.

It's fun seeing Swift, best-known as the long-suffering husband in TV sitcom "Keeping Up Appearances", here playing a rather arrogant and sarcastic young man. Elsewhere, the strong cast is fronted by an amazing turn from Cropper. She really draws the viewer in during the final 20 minutes.

Unsettling rather than downright terrifying, "The Exorcism" is nevertheless an engaging and unexpectedly downbeat beginning. Don Taylor's economic direction is wonderfully restrained; Herbert Chappell's score manages to creep its viewer out in an almost insidious manner.

The next instalment, "Return Flight", was originally broadcast the following week.

It tells of Hamish (Peter Barkworth), a recently bereaved widower who has chosen to dive straight back into his job as a pilot of chartered flights that run back and forth between Britain and Germany. On one such flight, he claims to have seen an unscheduled plane, and swerved to avoid a collision with it.

His German bosses need convincing - cue some casually racist dialogue that you'd only find in the 1970s - but, ultimately, all remains well. Until Hamish next takes the mantle on one of the firm's flights...

What is it that compels Hamish to deviate from his route?

Although enticingly ambiguous for the most part, "Return Flight" is less fulfilling than the preceding offering. Perhaps this is because it relies more on psychological disarray instead of the supernatural. Or it may simply be that it's quite dated in its depiction of pipe-smoking tweed-wearing Britons who tend to talk with frightfully jolly plums in their mouth.

The third and final episode on offer here is "A Woman Sobbing", which originally aired on 17th December 1972.

Daringly for its time, this episode centres on bored housewife Jane (Anna Massey) and mother-of-two who clearly as hang-ups about her ailing sex life. Her husband Frank (Ronald Hines) is clearly more interesting in his advertising job than he is in servicing her needs.

Little wonder then that Jane begins to hear a woman sobbing in their attic at night. Only she hears these disturbing sounds and, upon investigation, can find no explanation for them. Is there a plot to drive her mad? Is Frank's answer of bringing in a blonde au pair really designed simply to alleviate her stress ... or tip her over the edge?

"A Woman Sobbing" is another psychological tale where the monster is the one within one's own head. But there's a minor twist and enough ambiguity here to keep things interesting, as well as some fine performances (though Hines must be the oldest-looking "41-year-old" ever?) and enough sexual sub-text to fill an entire Freudian thesis. Stylishly shot by Paul Ciappessoni, complete with jolting dream sequences, this feels contemporary but never loses sight of that innate early-70s charm.

All three episodes are 50 minutes in each in length, and presented here in their original 1.33:1 pillar-boxed aspect ratios. They look very good for the most part, having been transferred from original 1-inch video source materials. Some damage and vertical lines are present, most notably during the early moments of "Return Flight", but overall there is very little cause to complain here. Blacks, colours and detail are all very well-rendered throughout.

English 2.0 mono audio is also reliable for the duration, as are the well-written and easily-readable optional English subtitles which are provided.

The disc opens to a static main menu page. From there, you can choose to either watch the three episodes as one 150-minute whole or select individual episodes.

Extras begin with a couple of nice photo galleries which between them serve to illustrate what we're missing from a couple of other episodes which sadly having been preserved over time. "Bedtime" looks very dated; "Death Cancels All Debts" looks stylish and intriguing. Both galleries are admittedly brief.

Better by far is a 28-page colour booklet containing excellent liner notes on each episode from Lisa Kerrigan, along with complete credits and notes on the new transfers.

While it's obviously a shame that the complete series of DEAD OF NIGHT no longer exists, what does survive has been given a great release by the BFI here. It's an important release and it remains as entertaining as it does educational to this day - two of these episodes spell out what many, many British horror films and TV offerings of the time kept telling us: never, EVER buy a place in the country!!

Good stuff from the BFI, this release comes highly recommended.