The Purple Death was always a little shy.
There’s little punch in The Masque Of The Red Death (1964), a Vincent Price vehicle and retelling of Poe’s classic story. Price is the mad, Satan-worshiping Prince Prospero, who has constructed and followed a logic consistent with Satan having won the battle with God, and now controlling the world. All those in his principality live in fear of his moods, his anger, his retribution; there is little left of the humanity of Prince Prospero, and thus little left to foster a connection to the audience. Likewise, his wife is also a Satanist, and the tension between the two could have been interesting – if either had much humanity left.
Into this mix are brought a young woman by the name of Francesca, who is from a village ravaged by the red death, as well as her fiancee and her father. Prospero constructs horrific scenarios in which the two men might kill each other for his amusement, leaving Francesca frantic, and unfortunately that’s about as far as she ever gets, even though she helps free the men for a brief period.
Prospero decrees a masque, at which various bits of horror take place; our lack of connection to the various party-goers leads to surprisingly little tension, even as one man, costumed as a pig, is hoisted in the air and burned to death. Is this not worth some horror?
Perhaps the problem is the lack of compelling story logic. Francesca appears to be little more than a victim, rather than a tool for goodness; the men are hammers in the forge of this plot, with nary a tic between them.
In any case, Prospero discovers that Satan is still subordinated to Death, and there’s little Satan can do about it for Prospero’s sake. Death is detached, ruthless, regretless, and Prospero’s master never appears to protect him. In the end, we are left with merely the sight of several Deaths, assembling for conversation and reportage, before resuming their duties as masters and slaves.
And, sadly, Price fails to burn this castle down.
