Christopher Lee’s eyes are one of the greatest gifts a filmmaker could possibly possess, a must-have as part of any world weary, era-ambiguous arsenal. One glance into those shrunken cheekbones, time stands still. Days move slower, whether you realise at first or not. Grisly creatures appear, as if from out of thin air. A lone bat cries out in the distance, her pain somewhat stifled still. Fangs grow, jagged and menacing, even as we’re told he’s the embodiment of good in this particular world.
And like that, a thick fog starts to rise, envelops the air and the mind alongside. Almost, as if to cloud your ability to think entirely, all logic and reason go out the window until *boom*. All that can remain is that last burning question you see flashing wide, before it’s time to bid farewell: If this man is our goodie... What-ever in fog-soaked Hell do the bad guys look like?