The Lair of the White Worm (1988)

"You're a vegetable, metaphorically speaking of course, but then God is not a vegetarian..."

‘Ken Russell: celluloid Marmite…’

And now for The Lair of the White Worm (1988), a flick I've been itching to write about for some time. Admittedly, Ken Russell is, of course, celluloid Marmite. Not everybody's cup of P. G. Tips. You get him, or you don't. But I’m a huge fan of Marmite.

Like the Loch Monster, the British Isles is awash with tales of strange and curious beasts. In East Anglia, 'Black Shuck', a terrifying hound with fiery eyes, stalks the fens; in 1984, locals spotted a huge black griffin (“like a dog with wings”) over the rooftops of Brentford, of all places, a suburb to the west of London. In the Isle of Wight, the 'Gooseberry Wife', a ginormous, hairy, supernatural creepy-crawly protects crops against marauding children. This sort of thing is lovingly recorded in the Reader's Digest Folklore, Myths & Legends, published in 1974 — a book which rather surprisingly, now fetches significant sums on the internet. But following the commercial success of Gothic (1986), Ken Russell was given, more or less, carte blanche to come up with another horror film, and as a fan of Bram Stoker, Ken went for The Lair of the White Worm, Stoker’s lesser known novel of 1911. It’s based on the old legend of the Lambton Worm (i.e. in Old English, dragon), transferred to Derbyshire from its native County Durham.

‘Heathfield’s finest, Catherine Oxenberg…’

Archaeologist, Angus Flint (Peter Capaldi), digs up a mysterious animal skull in the grounds of Stocks Farm, a hallowed film location used in The Adventures of Black Beauty (1972) and The Professionals (1977- 83), a rural idyll found on the outskirts of Watford, presumably, in this case, masquerading as darkest, deepest Derbyshire. Already we’re in Folk Horror territory, folks, for as with The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971), the discovery of an ancient skull unleashes weird, supernatural forces. The Trent sisters run a B & B. Mary (Sammi Davis), an appealing girl in Fair Isle jersey and peroxided Lady Di hairdo, and Eve, played by Heathfield’s finest, Catherine Oxenberg, an 80s party girl in virginal pink taffeta ball dress and cute Derbyshire accent (has she been dubbed?) Meanwhile, up at the four poster’d Hall, local toff Lord (James) D’Ampton (Hugh Grant) seems to be some sort of Morgan-driving Spitfire pilot, forty years too late. Or like a Rupert Brooke. Hughie-pops is, of course, marvellously plummy: so refreshing. Elocution matters. To speak proper, like.

‘Like a Rupert Brooke…’

Phallic imagery is everywhere. Party food (pickled earthworms), the collar badge on a policeman’s uniform, the game of Snakes & Ladders. Even Concorde! How on earth did Ken manage to track down one of those? Next, enter slinky, sophisticated, vampiric sexpot Lady Sylvia Marsh, played by a deliciously blasé She-Who-Can-Do-No-Wrong, Amanda Donohoe. In a phallic Jaguar E Type. Amanda steals the show. She’s hilarious. I mean, that bit when she picks up Kev, the gormless Boy Scout, is to die for. Has me on the floor doubled up, in stitches. Literally.

‘Slinky, sophisticated Vampiric sexpot, Lady Sylvia Marsh…’

And I love Lady Sylvia’s manor, Temple House, with it’s sparse, very 80s interiors, polished bleached floorboards, cream walls, burning logs, Art Deco nick-nacks and 80s sunbed. It’s all terribly mannered, as indeed, is the screenplay — Lady Sylvia’s witty quips in the manner of Noel Coward or Oscar Wilde: “Do you have children?” “Only when no men are around…” Not, of course, that The Lair of the White Worm is exactly Hay Fever: Ken Russell — being Ken Russell — can’t resist a bit of surrealist blasphemy, Catholic imagery juxtaposed with over-the-top sex and violence, designed (presumably) to shock, which some viewers, especially those of a religious persuasion, might find not only outrageous, but distressing. So you’ve been warned. And Lady Sylvia turns out to be not only a vampire, but a worshipper of the pagan snake-god, Dionin — and all that comes with it.

“God, Kevin. You do have the most appalling B. O.”

But despite Russell’s Catholicism, The Lair of the White Worm (1988) is desperately English, in a cosy way. Antique longcase clocks tick away: in farmhouse kitchens à la Beatrix Potter, the local Bobbies drive Morris Minors in Duck Egg Blue; there are Guernseys and Gumboots. Plus the local antiquarian stuff. And enthusiastic amateur lunatics who go potholing on a Saturday afternoon (I can’t think of anything worse). For the eccentric black humour is not only bonkers, it’s refreshingly different. It’s great fun. Even if the critics don’t seem to get it. Some of them (especially on the net) find the script ‘clumsy’ when, in my opinion, Lord Copper, it’s actually rather amusing and witty, for the ironic comedy of the thing seems to have passed them by. I mean, the tantalising sight of Ms. Oxenberg writhing around in spotless Marks & Sparks underwear (or like an advertisement for Playtex) before a monster snake, is a tribute to rubber and plasticine — set in a fibre-glass cave (as if from Star Trek or Doctor Who). It’s not exactly the stuff of Oscars, is it?

But so much for the better. I adore The Lair of the White Worm (1988). It’s one of my all-time favourite feel-good flicks. The perfect antidote for a depressing week. And, I suspect, just like Gothic (1986), you’re either going to love it or loathe it.

‘Art Deco nick-nacks and an 80s sunbed…’

I watched The Lair of the White Worm (1988) on DVD. It’s also available on DailyMotion Video (which you can watch for free) and in a special Collector’s Edition on Blu-ray. On Amazon Prime Video it seems to be available via something called Shudder, which most annoyingly, you seem to have to sign up to as an extra.

Okay. Let’s have another recap. That was film no. 128, a worthy addition to the WEEKEND FLICKS. archive. WEEKEND FLICKS. was inspired, initially, by the old LWT ident, which used to get shown on Friday afternoons, when earnest, but worthy Thames Television, handed over to the racier London Weekend — a feel-good moment, if there ever was. And in the same way, my bright idea (which like all the best ideas, came to me in the bath) was to reintroduce favourite old films to a new readership. Films which used to get shown on Bank Holiday Mondays, or late on a Saturday night. But now don’t. It’s very much a personal view, often observed from an historical perspective: I don’t see myself as some sort of earnest, hyper-intellectual film critic. I just want to share the fun.

Two options: ‘Paid for subscribers’ (£5 a month or £50 a year) get an extra post on Friday mornings. They can read the whole shooting match well past the PayWall (even if I’m deliberately generous with the freebie intro paragraph). Paid Subscribers also get access to the entire archive, which currently stands at 128 films. And then everybody and anybody (including the ‘free’ subscribers) gets a film recommendation on Sunday mornings. I will be back on Friday with a post for the ‘paids’. No idea, as yet, what it’s going to be. I need to get my thinking cap on. Until then, ciao… And The Lair of the White Worm? Bloody Marys for this one.