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Dis­cov­er the free­wheel­in’ mad­ness of this exploita­tion-era bik­er movie

27 Sep 2016

Words by Anton Bitel

A person wearing a black leather jacket, a cow-patterned mask, and standing in a grassy field.
A person wearing a black leather jacket, a cow-patterned mask, and standing in a grassy field.
Don Sharp’s Psy­cho­ma­nia is now avail­able on DVD and Blu-ray.

Through the mist, motor­cy­clists can be seen rid­ing in slow motion around an ancient stone cir­cle (in fact in Ave­bury) – and so the open­ing sequence of Psy­cho­ma­nia, direct­ed by Ham­mer jour­ney­man Don Sharp (The Kiss of the Vam­pire, Rasputin: The Mad Monk), imme­di­ate­ly estab­lish­es a link between ages Neolith­ic and Mod­ern. This sets the tone for a film in which pagan­ism and the occult ride pil­lion with a gang of delin­quent bik­ers, bring­ing two dif­fer­ent exploita­tion motifs into unusu­al prox­im­i­ty. The gang’s name, The Liv­ing Dead’, embla­zoned across the back of their leathers, sig­ni­fies this merg­er of nor­mal­ly sep­a­rate cin­e­mat­ic reg­is­ters – not des­tined to come togeth­er again until Mark Steven Johnson’s Ghost Rider.

Tom Lath­am (Nicky Hen­son) is a con­tra­dic­to­ry char­ac­ter. As the youth­ful leader of The Liv­ing Dead’, he directs his fol­low­ers on anti­so­cial ram­pages, rep­re­sent­ing the (masked) face of ado­les­cent anti-estab­lish­ment atti­tudes from the ear­ly Sev­en­ties. Yet as his plum­my accent sug­gests, Tom is kick­ing, Oedi­pal­ly, against his own inher­i­tance. He lives in Lath­am Manor, the large and lux­u­ri­ous fam­i­ly estate where his father died 18 years ear­li­er in a room that has been locked ever since. His moth­er (Beryl Reid) is a prac­tis­ing medi­um, and lives with mys­te­ri­ous but­ler Shad­well (George Sanders). Why do you nev­er get any old­er?”, Tom asks Shad­well – a line now tinged with irony giv­en that this was Sanders’ last on-screen per­for­mance before his death in 1972.

Tom seeks from his moth­er and Shad­well the secret to return­ing from the dead. After spec­tac­u­lar­ly com­mit­ting sui­cide (he crash­es off a bridge after insti­gat­ing a police car chase), Tom is buried in the stone cir­cle, still mount­ed on his motor­bike like some lat­ter-day viking, while his friends, rather improb­a­bly, sing a folk bal­lad in his hon­our. Tom will come back, of course. Now immor­tal and unkil­l­able, but oth­er­wise unchanged in his atti­tudes, he rides out of the grave and has quick­ly left a trail of bod­ies in his wake.

Asked by his moth­er what he is going to do now, Tom replies, There’s lots to be done. For starters, do you know how many police­men there are, and judges, teach­ers, preach­ers, do-good­ers?” In oth­er words, Tom is an empow­ered rebel with a cause, deter­mined to res­ur­rect his gang of the liv­ing dead and to bring down the sys­tem with con­se­quence-free ter­ror and mur­der. His Achilles’ heel, how­ev­er, will turn out to be Abby (Mary Larkin), the bik­er girl­friend who does not share his death wish.

To the accom­pa­ni­ment of John Cameron’s funky score of elec­tric gui­tars, flute and organ, Psy­cho­ma­nia (also known var­i­ous­ly as The Death Wheel­ers and Death Wheel­ers Are… Psy­cho Mani­acs) is a col­li­sion of mythol­o­gy and mod­ernism, in which the spir­it of rebel­lious anar­chy is both cel­e­brat­ed and ulti­mate­ly, eeri­ly pun­ished. When Abby asks Tom, as his moth­er did ear­li­er, what he will do now, his response is telling: I’ve always fan­cied dri­ving through a brick wall.” These words might be con­strued as an expres­sion of icon­o­clas­tic recal­ci­trance, or else mere­ly as a sign of arbi­trar­i­ly destruc­tive ambi­tion. Either way, where Tom refus­es to recog­nise bound­aries, he will end up per­ma­nent­ly mark­ing them, as his youth­ful trans­gres­sions become just anoth­er part of the Eng­lish landscape.

Psy­cho­ma­nia is released in a Dual For­mat edi­tion (DVD and Blu-ray) as part of the BFI Flip­side series on 26 Sep­tem­ber 2016.

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