The Devil Rides Out

If you're fan of the horror film output of Britain's Hammer Studios then you tend to have to make a few allowances for elements that the passing of time has rendered a little old-hat, from the blaring brass crescendos that accompany shock moments to the parade of now over-familiar classical monsters. The films themselves tend to rely on sometimes well-worn motifs and narrative arcs, and viewed from a modern perspective are no longer all that scary. There are a couple of notable exceptions, both made in the late 60s. The first was the 1967 Quatermass and the Pit, which was followed in 1968 by what was once hoped would be the first of a series of adaptations of novels by author Denis Wheatley featuring the character of the Duc de Richleau, The Devil Rides Out. Unfortunately (and mysteriously), the film flopped in the US, killing any plans for further de Richleau films. Which is a big damned shame, as while time has dulled the edge of some of the studio's output, The Devil Rides Out continues to shine as one of its very finest films.

Now it's quite possible that some younger viewers will not be familiar with the works of Mr. Wheatley. Although the author of over 70 books, many of them thrillers or adventure stories, it is his occult novels for which he remains most famous. In their day they were chart-topping best sellers, tales of the black arts written with an almost scholarly eye for detail and authenticity. Parents doubtless worried about the harmful effects they might have on their children, who frankly lapped them up. This, for most of us, was our first exposure to the whole concept of Satanism and the occult, and as written in Wheatley's books it seemed both plausible and frightening, a long way from the more fantasy-based monsters of much of Hammer's late 60s output.

The story here unfolds with impressive economy. Arriving from America, Rex Van Ryn (Leon Greene, but with Patrick Allen's voice) is met by his old friend the Duc de Richleau (Christopher Lee) for their annual reunion. Missing from the party is the younger Simon Aron (Patrick Mower), who has recently broken off contact with de Richleau and acquired a large and secluded manor house. The pair drive to his home and find him in the company of guests and preparing for an unspecified evening event. In the course of exploring the upstairs observatory, Richleau uncovers evidence that Simon has become involved in black magic and is soon to be baptised as a disciple of Satan. Fearing for their friend's safety, de Richleau and Rex kidnap Simon and flee the house, but the covenant leader Mocata has no intention of letting his newest recruit escape his grasp.

Tightly scripted by Richard Matheson and thrillingly directed by Terence Fisher, The Devil Rides Out hits the ground running and rarely pauses for breath. Two of the lead characters are introduced in the first minute of screen time and key information about the third is concisely outlined as they make their way to his home. Information is dispensed on the move and we are encouraged to read as much from what we see as what we hear: the striking international diversity of Simon's guests; the snippets of conversation overhead as de Richleau tours the room; one guest's concern there are more than thirteen present; the suggestively demonic design of the observatory's marble floor; de Richleau's alarm at the discovery of black and white cockerels concealed in a wicker basket. As de Richleau and Rex make their escape with the unconscious Simon, the pace is further accelerated by James Bernard's racy score, Arthur Grant's sometimes kinetic camerawork (the camera actually shakes when the manservant who tried to stop them is sent crashing through a table, as if physically responding to the violence of the action) and Spencer Reeve's scalpel-sharp editing (Reeve also cut Quatermass and the Pit and the "Chimes of Big Ben" episode of The Prisoner).

With next to no build-up and the need to explain the details of devil worship to an audience for whom this was virgin territory (no pun intended), a fair amount of exposition is perhaps to be expected. But by keeping it brief and crucial to narrative progression, it never for a second plays like shoehorned-in explanation. It helps no end that de Richleau is played by Christopher Lee at his commanding and persuasive best, and that he delivers every line with the authority and urgency of a man who is utterly convinced of the truth and importance of his every word.

And it just doesn't let up. As soon as one problem is resolved, another arises, adding to the sense that our trio – who later expand to include unbaptized circle member Tanith (played by French actress Nike Arrighi) and de Richleau's friends Marie and Richard Eaton (Sarah Lawson and the instantly recognisable Paul Eddington) – really are under relentless attack from diabolical forces. If the first half has a climactic scene, it's the open-air ceremony at which Simon and Tanith are due to receive their satanic baptism, which although toned down by censorial restrictions – wild naked orgies were still a film no-no in 1968 British cinema – is realised on a surprisingly large scale. It also features one of the most memorable cinematic incarnations of The Devil, here in the shape of The Goat of Mendes (aka Baphometh for those with an interest in such things), a horned humanoid goat creature so impressive that all he has to do is sit on a rock and look regal to appear threatening.

Marshalling the dark forces is the all-powerful Mocata, a gorgeously judged performance of smiling malevolence from Charles Gray, who infuses even gentlemanly politeness with unspeakable menace. In one of the film's most compellingly staged scenes, he visits and hypnotises Marie Eaton (a sequence in which neither of the two blue-eyed performers blink even once) to force her to reveal the location of Simon and Tanith, both of whom – in a superbly suggestive high-angle shot – he then silently commands to murder their unwary protectors. When his efforts are disrupted by the sudden arrival of Marie's daughter Peggy, he is shown smartly to the door, where he delivers what could be the best implicit threat in horror film history: "I shall not be back," he casually assures Marie with a confident smile. "But something will."

Astonishingly, this incident and action-driven first hour plays almost like a warm-up for a gripping third act in which de Richleau and his companions do battle with the forces of darkness from within a chalked circle in the Eatons' home, while Rex holds up in a barn with Tanith to prevent Mocata attacking the group through her. It's a relentless assault on the group's collective resolve that is shown exclusively from their viewpoint, which has the effect of trapping us in the circle with them, where we share their apprehension at a drop in the light level and their fear at the arrival of a giant spider and the winged Angel of Death. The special effects may not be as convincingly slick as top flight CG, but there is still something nicely organic about the results here, and the urgency of pace makes it hard to care too much about the odd flaw in the matte work. Only a thankfully brief shot in which the rearing horse of the Angel of Death is ping-ponged back and forth comes close to shattering the illusion, a curious decision whose artificiality borders on the comical.

But this is a minor blip in an otherwise fabulous concoction that showcases the inspired partnership of Hammer, Fisher and Lee at the absolute top of their game. The effects, religious reverence and the scary-eyed African aside, it has also aged handsomely and is as fast-paced and incident-packed as any modern day horror work and a whole lot classier than most. Even the black magic rituals and Latin incantations having a consistently authentic ring, being the result of historical research rather than fanciful imaginings. Despite some stiff competition, The Devil Rides Out is probably my favourite film from a studio whose output fed my developing teenage love-affair with cinematic horror, and it remains one of only a handful of Hammer films that have been afforded classic status.  (Slarek, CineOutsider)