dir. Jeff Burr
That Vincent Price wasn’t asked to narrate every movie from the fifties until his death is a crime every movie producer should be held accountable for. Yeah, I love the guy. It’s a testament to the guy’s screen presence/touched-by-the-gods voice-box that even the most run-of-the-mill movie turd was aromatic because of his association. Take From a Whisper to a Scream, the mid-eighties Creepshow-inspired horror anthology. No, the movie ain’t dire, and is saved by a few memorable moments, but were it not for Vincent Price’s turn as the framing device storyteller (sadly, he doesn’t narrate the stories), I likely would have dozed off, remembering naught from this picture.
As with all anthology films, From a Whisper to a Scream is a mixed bag. And unfortunately, as you can guess, the misses outnumber the hits. But that single hit sure is a doozy—and almost bizarre enough to justify the entire picture. Though all of the shorts traffic in the tragic irony and/or shitty-people-getting-done-in-by-their-character-flaws mishigas typical to the horror anthology, only one is ballsy enough to get truly crazy. Unsurprisingly, this is also the most unsettling of the bunch.
What I’m saying, Clu Gulager fucks a corpse and then gets offed by the demon offspring. So there’s that. Also, Vincent Price. Stay for Vincent Price.