The Screaming Skull

Death by lily pond, a cranium in the geraniums, and soggy footsteps in the night... Someone’s getting Gaslighted (or are they?!) in the 1958 spook-fest, THE SCREAMING SKULL! 

A missing link between the Rebecca-style melodramas of the 1940s and the post-Psycho mind-warpers of the early 60s, this quirky quickie actually beat the similar (but more famous) output of director William Castle to the screen. Within its first few minutes, we’ve been assured our funeral costs will be covered by the film’s producers should we die of fright, heard an ominous extract from Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique decades before it was used in The Shining, and seen an actual screaming skull doing its thing. And, if that doesn’t impress you, well... the good news is there’s only sixty minutes remaining, so you might as well put the kettle on and make yourself a cup of cocoa. It’ll probably still be warm by the time this thing’s over. 

“It hardly seems fair using the living to bring back the dead, does it?” asks Mrs Snow, the reverend’s wife - not a leftover character from Clue, but the slightly nosy neighbour of newlyweds Eric and Jenni Whitlock. Eric is (still) mourning the death of his first wife, it transpires, and may have rushed into remarriage, while Jenni is fresh out of the sanatorium after witnessing the drowning of both parents in a boating accident. Jeez, let’s hope they’ve both finally managed to put the past behind them, find love and settle down for a quiet life in the country. 

NOPE, SORRY! Not today, true happiness. You see, this is the house where the first Mrs Whitlock met her slapstick demise, by slipping on a garden path, smacking her head on a wall, and falling face-first into a nearby pond - where it seems her (screaming) supernatural skull still resides, bobbing to the surface every once in a while for jump scares and vengeance. 

Jenni’s already slightly scanty sanity is soon put to the test as she finds herself beset by further horrible happenings at the old estate, not to mention reminders of dead wife #1 everywhere she turns, from a creepy painting to a monolithic gravestone that stands tastefully in the grounds. Even worse, long-serving gardener Micky is constantly prowling around the place in sinister fashion... and that treacherous pond-side path isn’t looking any drier. 

While it’s unlikely anyone will ever die of Screaming Skull-induced shock, the fact that the film does work is undeniable. Unlike the rest of its drive-in ilk, which were busy cashing in on dwindling crazes or resurrecting faded stars, this one seems to have its finger on the pulse of something. Appearing right at the top of the trend for gimmicky psycho-thrillers, it feels breezy and modern. Just a tad more style or thematic complexity might have nudged it into the realm of classics like 1962’s Carnival of Souls or even Night of the Living Dead. That said, I actually prefer it to Francis Ford Coppola’s Dementia 13. It may lack that film’s moodiness and gore but it’s certainly more entertaining. There are frights among the fripperies, too: in a borderline brilliant moment, the camera assumes the viewpoint of the skull itself, tossed out onto the lawn to look crookedly back at the house... only for this supposedly inanimate POV shot to right itself and crawl eerily back towards the front door. 

At the heart of the film is actress Peggy Webber, pregnant during production and paid just $1000 for bringing the terrified bride to life. In a slightly underwritten role she’s nevertheless genuinely likeable, which is one of the main reasons the whole thing is so watchable. When things really kick off in the final act, her response to a key revelation (a simple but confused “I... don’t... know!”) is really heartrending. If some of the horrors around her have grown goofy with age, they can’t detract from her performance. 

In the hands of William Castle, then, this probably would have become better remembered - but we would have lost something too: a slightly subtler shade of psychodrama with a hint of emotion and a truly giddy sense of the grotesque.

RATING: 🕸🕸🕸