Shanks

William Castle, the B-movie schlockmeister of the 1950s and '60s, aimed higher late in his career, coaxing famous French mime Marcel Marceau to star in his 1974 final directorial effort, an artful oddity described in the credits as a grim fairy tale. Marceau plays a double role as Malcolm Shanks, deaf-mute puppeteer, and Old Walker, a gray-haired scientist who hires Shanks as his assistant, teaching him the secret of raising the dead, Frankenstein-style—before Walker himself dies. Soon Shanks has transformed his shrewish sister and her brutal alcoholic husband (Tsilla Chelton, Philippe Clay) into stiff-limbed marionettes whose jerky movements he can control with what amounts to a remote. And he employs them—as well as the corpse of Walker, which rises from the grave—to defeat a motorcycle gang that invades the Walker mansion and kills the love of Shanks' life, a blonde girl who's always been a fan of his puppetry. Shanks is a macabre film, one that is silent for long stretches except for Alex North's busy, carnival-like, Oscar-nominated score. Although parts of the movie are awful—the last act, featuring bikers who look like middle-aged businessmen dressed in leather, rivals Ed Wood at his worst—Shanks is notable as the swan song of Barnum-esque showman Castle, who appears in a Hitchcockian cameo here as a local shopkeeper. Bowing on DVD and Blu-ray with an excellent anamorphic transfer, this is a strong optional purchase. (F. Swietek)