THE BFI’s Flipside imprint has thrown a light on to some of the darkest corners of British cinema history in the past decade. Established with the sole purpose of digging up long-forgotten cult gems and curios from the dusty vaults of film-makers found mostly on the outskirts of the mainstream and presenting them in the best possible blu-ray prints and with a respect they wouldn’t receive otherwise, it has been a cult collector’s dream.
Just last year the Flipside brand delivered such delicious oddball delights as Psychomania – a wildly unhinged biker/zombie/comedy hybrid from 1972 that teeters on the precipice of genius and idiocy like no other British B-movie before or since; Symptoms – a slow burning psychological thriller that was widely acclaimed on its release in 1974 before disappearing into cult limbo for 40 years; and Expresso Bongo – a brilliantly stark music biz satire from 1960 that provided the watching world with the unforgettable image of Sir Cliff Richard thumping his tubs as be-quiffed British rock star Bongo Herbert.
All three received their fair share of love and affection in this column at the time of their release.
The Orchard End Murder is the 35th offering from Flipside and their first of 2017 and, while it may not be the greatest thing they’re unearthed, it might just be the oddest.
Written and directed by Christian Marnham, it’s a dark, twisted supporting feature from 1981 that clocks in at just 50 minutes but manages to surprise and unsettle despite that limited running time. A violent, slightly seedy murder mystery, it’s fascinating and frustrating in equal measure.
Set in a picture postcard Kent village one summer’s day in the 1960s, this is the story of Pauline (Tracy Hyde), an attractive young woman who wanders off into the countryside when she gets bored watching her new boyfriend play cricket. There she meets a weird gnome-like stationmaster (Bill Wallis) who invites her in for tea and introduces her to his halfwitted railway worker friend Ewan (Clive Mantle). It’s no great spoiler to say that Pauline swiftly winds up dead and the film then focuses in on the odd duo and their attempts to cover up the nasty deed.
At times the still obscure Marnham delivers an arty and dreamlike film that is beautiful to look at. Such moments of visual beauty are juxtaposed with strange, jarring sequences that feel forced and poorly thought through. Flimsily drawn village characters waffle on at length and moments of real horror, such as the sequence where a live rabbit is skinned on camera, suddenly arrive without warning.
The camerawork of Pete Walker regular Peter Jessop prowls around the apple orchards and cricket fields of England with great style and there’s a sinister and unsettling quality that will leave you feeling creeped out despite the glaring plot holes and sometimes awkward acting.
Blu-ray and DVD extras including The Showman, another oddball short from 1970 that tackles the life of one of the last showmen to work the British fairgrounds.
