Death Line

Gary Sherman wrote and directed a fascinating example of socially committed British horror that tips its hat to George Romero’s “oeuvre” while paving the way for Pete Walker’s.

Even as the monstrous offspring born of the blood of workers exploited in the name of progress live in the gloomy subterranean world beneath the British capital, an unrelenting class struggle lurks in the nooks and crannies of the above-ground social fabric (the clash between the working-class Pleasence and the upper-middle-class Lee is a striking example).

On a narrative level, the story is propelled via a continuous alternation in pacing: slow and anguished as the narrow, labyrinthine Underground passageways are explored (including an incredible tracking shot that’s nearly seven minutes long); deft and lively once the action reaches the surface and turns to the investigation conducted by a high-spirited Donald Pleasance who offers a totally enjoyable performance as the cynical, bellicose police inspector who hates tea bags (fishing them out of his tea and throwing them over his shoulder with abandon) and who generally demonstrates a rather unorthodox “modus operandi” (when he’s fed up with an annoying subordinate, he orders him to go arrest someone).

As for the cannibal, Hugh Armstrong’s intense performance emphasizes the character’s poignant aspects (the only words he’s capable of pronouncing are those heard daily on the subway loudspeaker). As the story progresses, we’re led to increasingly see him as an innocent, almost sympathetic victim of a cynical, heartless society.