In Africa, a hunter kills a great lion. The animal turns out to be sacred to a local tribe of voodoo worshipers, and when the hunter returns to England, he finds himself seeing strange ... See full summary »
A "Leatherface" type murderer who wears other people's faces, kills at an all-night horrorthon at an old theatre put on by a bunch of film students. Maggie, the lead character, believes ... See full summary »
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For the most part, this is a black and white cheapie lensed in 1965 in England and based on a tired play "The Obi" by Jon Manchip White. A more exploitive title was tacked on "Naked Evil", but don't expect any nudity here. The story revolves around an English hamlet populated with several Jamaicans, some of whom are the usual ruffians you'd find at your local 7 - 11 mini mart while the others are an atypical crowd of Jamaican science students who live at the voodoo infested school hostel. Somehow, never very well explained, these two groups are at war with each other. Trapped in the middle of all this, is a stuffy school hostel headmaster who is almost always drunk. Also skulking through the badly lit hallways is an ancient Jamaican janitor who may or may not be making the dread "Obi" -- death objects made of old bottles stuffed with graveyard dirt and chicken feathers. As one can imagine, the goings on in this nest of unsavory types are breathtaking in their complexity. And for 75 of its 85 minute running time, nothing actually happens. In the last 10 minutes something actually does take place and those last 10 minutes are almost worth staying awake for.
After doing nothing at the box office, this stinker was picked up by an American releasing outfit and was pastiched together with a color opening, mid section and conclusion starring the immortal screen legend Lawrence Tierney. The rest of the British film with a few minutes excised and strangely tinted were stuck together and re-released upon a public who in its wisdom still refused to watch. Now the thing was retitled and probably did some business in Texas where B movies go to die.
In conclusion, I must say, this is the finest film of the long and cherished career of Jamaican thespian Brylo Forde; without him this pastiche would have been intolerable, indeed. As it stands now, it is merely worthless.
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