They say give the devil his due, and given how often Old Nick has turned up in horror films over the years, I can only assume they mean royalties. From Rosemary’s Baby, to The Exorcist, Prince of Darkness, The Blood on Satan’s Claw, to cult-trash oddities, and outright wastes of fucking time like Antrum, there’s certainly no shortage of films about the Adversary. Which is hardly surprising considering the devil is America’s other red menace.
And if you were making a Satanic horror film in the late ’80s, you might as well go all the way. Forget subtle temptation and moral corruption; Prime Evil gives us a centuries-old cult of devil-worshipping monks living in New York, sacrificing members of their own bloodline every thirteen years in exchange for longevity, wealth and power. Because apparently the secret to eternal life isn’t exercise, a balanced diet or drinking enough water. It’s murdering your granddaughter in a Satanic ritual.
Directed by Roberta Findlay, Prime Evil comes from a filmmaker whose career had already taken her through sexploitation, pornography, and low-budget horror, so she’s hardly approaching Satanism from a position of restraint. Findlay also handles the cinematography and editing here, giving the whole thing the feel of a grubby late-night VHS discovery. It’s cheap, it’s strange, it’s occasionally sleazy, and it has the distinct feeling that nobody involved was particularly interested in whether they were making a good film.
The story begins in the Middle Ages, where Thomas Seaton (William Beckwith) and a group of disillusioned monks turn their backs on God and pledge themselves to Satan. Six centuries later, Seaton is still around, now leading his cult from modern-day New York, where another thirteen-year cycle is coming to an end. This time, the intended sacrifice is Alexandra Parkman (Christine Moore), whose grandfather George (Max Jacobs) is himself a member of the cult. Alexandra’s boyfriend Bill (Tim Gail) becomes suspicious, while Sister Angela (Mavis Harris), a nun who infiltrates the organisation, attempts to uncover exactly what the hell is going on.
It’s a wonderfully stupid premise, and I mean that affectionately. There’s something inherently entertaining about the idea of a bunch of Satanic monks managing to survive for centuries by periodically murdering their relatives, all while maintaining a secret operation in New York. You’d think somebody might have noticed. Six hundred years is a hell of a long time to keep a cult off the radar. Mind you, aside from a bit of routine familicide, the cult’s day-to-day activities seem to consist largely of abducting women for Seaton to bang. Because, in the words of Mark Corrigan from Peep Show, a lot of organisations got started to bag pussy for their leaders.
The film has a wonderfully odd mixture of tones. For long stretches it’s a fairly straight occult thriller, with Alexandra gradually becoming entangled in the cult’s plans while Sister Angela attempts to infiltrate it. Then you’ll get a sudden burst of sleaze, a bit of nudity, some blood, and George Krause bumbling around as the serial killer/abductor Ben, looking permanently like he’s either about to commit another murder or have a wank. Probably both. Then there are the detectives, aka Hall and Oates, who seem to have wandered in from an entirely different, much sillier film. Their goofy presence sits rather strangely alongside the more serious Satanic material, but it gives Prime Evil an oddly entertaining tonal inconsistency. One minute you’re watching an earnest occult conspiracy unfold, and the next you’re following a pair of cops stumbling around trying to work out what the fuck is going on.
And while all of this is going on, William Beckwith is easily the standout. As Thomas Seaton, he has exactly the right face for this sort of thing: gaunt, intense and permanently on the verge of either delivering a sermon or ordering somebody’s murder. He plays Seaton completely straight, which is essential because the character is ridiculous enough without the actor reminding us of it. There’s something oddly compelling about watching this ancient bastard stroll around New York as though being an immortal servant of Lucifer is just another nine-to-five job. One minute he’s giving lectures on theology, the next he’s snacking on some buxom babe, or calling Ben a dickhead after Ben tries to bludgeon him with a hammer, and he stays at exactly the same gear throughout.
Christine Moore is also good as Alexandra, giving the film a sympathetic centre, while Mavis Harris brings a quieter presence to Sister Angela. Max Jacobs is particularly enjoyable as George, whose relationship with Seaton adds another layer to the cult’s internal politics and comes across as exactly who I imagine all rich old white people actually are. The film isn’t exactly overflowing with nuanced characterisation, but there is more going on beneath the surface than the lurid premise might suggest.
And then there’s the dialogue. It’s magnificent in that very particular way only low-budget horror dialogue can be. You get grand declarations about Satan, eternal life and the coming darkness, followed by someone saying “Cut the crap, fart breath.” Elsewhere, there’s the wonderfully blunt “Don’t you want to get poked?” It doesn’t sound like anyone in the real world has ever spoken these words, but that’s precisely why they’re so memorable. The cast deliver it all with such conviction that you can’t even be annoyed by it.
The film’s sleaze is equally entertaining. Given Findlay’s background, it would be stranger if Prime Evil were entirely restrained, and there are plenty of opportunities for nudity and exploitation-style titillation. It isn’t particularly nasty about it, though. It’s just part of the film’s general grubby atmosphere, sitting alongside the Satanic rituals and cheap gore as another reminder that you’re watching something made for the video-store crowd.
Visually, the has a strange charm. The New York locations give the film an urban occult quality that separates it from the rural Satanic cult movies that were common around the same period, while the underground chambers and religious imagery provide the appropriate atmosphere. Findlay’s cinematography isn’t exactly beautiful, but there’s something pleasingly flat and murky about it. It looks like a film that was always destined to be discovered on a late night cable channel at two in the morning.
The effects are a mixed bag, although the blood is reasonably effective considering the budget. The real highlight is the final appearance of the demonic creature, which is less terrifying manifestation of Satan and more something that looks like it was assembled from the contents of a particularly ambitious Halloween shop. I don’t know about you, but I can’t take something seriously if I know that, just out of shot, there’s some jobbing puppeteer with their hand up its arse. It isn’t convincing, but by that point you’ve become invested enough in the film’s low rent grubbiness that you wouldn’t want it to look any other way.
The biggest problem is that Prime Evil simply isn’t as exciting as its premise promises. A film about immortal Satanic monks sacrificing their descendants should be complete schlock. Instead, it’s surprisingly restrained for long stretches, with investigations and conversations slowing things down considerably. The story has enough material for something much nastier and more chaotic, but Findlay seems content to let the conspiracy unfold at its own pace.
That’s not necessarily a bad thing. There’s something quite refreshing about the fact that Prime Evil doesn’t constantly try to impress you. It has its bizarre moments, its sleazy moments and its ridiculous moments, but it mostly plays things straight. The result is less of an all-out Satanic gorefest and more of an oddly atmospheric occult thriller that occasionally remembers it’s supposed to be exploitation cinema. And that’s ultimately why I enjoyed it.
Prime Evil is rough around the edges, occasionally slow and frequently ridiculous, but it’s also packed with the sort of eccentricity that makes digging through forgotten ’80s horror worthwhile. It has William Beckwith glaring at people like he’s been personally appointed by Lucifer to ruin their afternoon, Roberta Findlay throwing sexploitation and Satanism into the same pot, a surprisingly sincere religious subplot, some decent practical effects and dialogue that sounds as though it was written by a group of twelve-year-olds.
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