Iceland is a country of only 323,002 people. This is about half of the population of Boston. And it's a whole country. In the 1980s, there was only one television station, the public one, RÚV. Theoretically, most of the programs were supposed to be educational, but in the mid-1980s, Icelandic filmmaker Vidar Vikingsson made two horror movies for public television that featured, by eighties standards, generous helpings of violence and titillation. These films, Draugasaga, and Tilbury, were only shown on television a few times in the Nordic countries, and Ireland, albeit in variously edited forms. These films (especially Tilbury) should have become cult classics, but neither were ever released on VHS or DVD, and eventually forgotten. Until this past month, thanks to the wonders of file sharing, it was next to impossible to see these. Now that they have finally surfaced from the cinematic abyss, perhaps they can receive the recognition they deserve.
Filmed on location in the RÚV studios, Draugasaga is a rather uncanny take on the classic ghost story. The new night watchman, referred to in the credits as "Sunny Boy", falls for the wily charms of the unnamed makeup girl, who has a fascination with vintage lingerie and likes to play dress-up in her long-missing grandmother's clothing. Supposedly the television studio is haunted by the ghost of a beautiful redheaded woman (possibly the grandmother), and the two devise a plan to scare the other employees, only to take things too far. We are never certain if any actual ghosts show up here, but Vikingsson makes clever use of the television studio to create an atmosphere of uncertainty. He brings out the hidden malice that lurks beneath the everyday while occasionally veering into more fantastical realms with two stylized dream sequences. If anything, though, Draugasaga is more of a tongue-in-cheek dark comedy, and it is at its best when it is at its most playful. When it moves into more of pure horror, it does not work as well.
But Vikingsson would find a perfect synthesis with the second horror movie he made for RÚVin 1987, Tilbury. Based on an Icelandic folktale about a beast made by witches to steal milk, Tilbury takes place during the British occupation of Iceland during WWII. A young swimming champion moves to Reykjavik to further his training, but also to track down his childhood love, the daughter of the local priest. He discovers that she has become the lover of a British officer who is something less than human. Running at just under an hour, Tilbury is a film chock-full of surreal and bizarre sequences. It has an almost Lynchian vibe to it, but is more restrained, and saves its surprises for the right moment and maximum effect. However, Tilbury really owes more of a debt to the likes of Val Newton. Every frame is filled with a stomach-churning unease. It is one of those films that you come out of feeling as if you have been on some kind of journey, and watching it, you are constantly wondering where things are heading, and what weird twist will come next. It approaches so many times that kind of "pure cinema" that the "art house" critics like to think exists in every film they watch, but so rarely exists. I try to avoid making such broad statements such as "this is one of the greatest horror films ever made", but I can say that it is one of my favorites.
Vikingsson continued to make films, but Tilbury marked his last entry in the horror genre. He tried to make a new feature in 2001 called Clayman, but the Icelandic film foundation declined to fund it. Perhaps it is too much to ask that the appearance of these films online will lead to some cult fandom that would be willing to crowdfund such a film, but at least they are finally available.
But Vikingsson would find a perfect synthesis with the second horror movie he made for RÚVin 1987, Tilbury. Based on an Icelandic folktale about a beast made by witches to steal milk, Tilbury takes place during the British occupation of Iceland during WWII. A young swimming champion moves to Reykjavik to further his training, but also to track down his childhood love, the daughter of the local priest. He discovers that she has become the lover of a British officer who is something less than human. Running at just under an hour, Tilbury is a film chock-full of surreal and bizarre sequences. It has an almost Lynchian vibe to it, but is more restrained, and saves its surprises for the right moment and maximum effect. However, Tilbury really owes more of a debt to the likes of Val Newton. Every frame is filled with a stomach-churning unease. It is one of those films that you come out of feeling as if you have been on some kind of journey, and watching it, you are constantly wondering where things are heading, and what weird twist will come next. It approaches so many times that kind of "pure cinema" that the "art house" critics like to think exists in every film they watch, but so rarely exists. I try to avoid making such broad statements such as "this is one of the greatest horror films ever made", but I can say that it is one of my favorites.
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