What inspired casting! The libidinous Tallulah Bankhead as a drab, sober, religious zealot! That alone is worth the price of admission. Thanks to Bette and Joan, the 60s era of Grand Guignol brought some of our favorite glossy "middle-aged" legends back to the somewhat less glossy cinematic limelight. Debbie Reynolds, Shelley Winters, Olivia de Havilland, Geraldine Page, Agnes Moorehead, and Ruth Gordon all took the Gothic plunge. The prerequisites? Simple. Look like hell and act like a mad bull in a china shop. So why not grand ol' Tallulah, dahling?
Here, the "Alabama Foghorn," as Fred Mertz once called her when she guested (hilariously so) on an episode of "The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour," is called upon to play the prim, tight-lipped Mrs. Trefoile, a wacko bible-thumper whose only child died a short time before. When her dead son's fiancee (Stefanie Powers) comes to pay an overdue visit out of respect, she makes a big whoops and tells the old lady that she is about to marry another man. And now the fun begins...
Urged on by her Maker (of course) to exorcise the young girl's demons and restore her purity (she wears that blasphemous red lipstick, you see) and, oh yeah, also to punish her (of course)for her mortal wickedness and ultimate betrayal to her dead son, the old lady (of course) imprisons the young damsel in her medieval-styled lair for a week's worth of (naturally) bible verse and repentance. But then the old crackpot decides she'd be better served if she (you know) takes it up a notch and makes her (of course) a sacrificial lamb instead. See, Trefoile finds out that the girl is still a virgin so (of course) if the girl's still a virgin, her soul can still be (you know) saved and, at the same time, she can be reunited with Trafoile's dead son in heaven, which better serves his memory. You know, kill, I mean save, two birds with one stone.
Seeing Bankhead cavorting around as a dowdy, highly repressed teetotaler while spewing passages from Revelations is an admittedly sinful pleasure. What's even better is that the old girl gets away with it. As bizarre and campy as one could hope for, Bankhead's Mrs. Trefoile is still all prickly seriousness and deadly menace, possessing a convincingly firm, fervent gait. She doesn't really play the joke. Moreover, she manages to slightly stroke audience sympathy with human shadings of loneliness and utter despair. The atmosphere is appropriately claustrophobic and suspense is built up expertly too, with every Bankhead entrance punctuated by creepy, stringy harpsichord music.
Fun too is watching Bankhead's Addams Family-like household run amok, especially Donald Sutherland as a mute, dim-witted servant -- a role I'm sure he'd love to erase permanently from his resume. Poor bruised and bloodied Stefanie Powers does yeoman's work here, gaining our sympathy from the onset and making a wonderfully feisty "straight man" to the Bankhead histrionics.
And just wait until the skeletons come out of the closet. Like you knew they would! Bankhead's final curtain in the flick is a great wallow. And speaking of final curtains, this was regrettably her last feature film.
