The late Wes Craven, the legendary horror film director of A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), said that the genre remains popular because horror movies put “a load of people together in the cinema at the same place and the same time, having them all experience extreme fear and come out alive at the end. It’s an uplifting experience, and there’s a sense of elation.”
At their best, horror films are a shared experience where everyone feeds off the energy of the film and the reactions of the people around them. Horror has been compared to comedy: In the same way that jokes set up a situation and then deliver on (or subvert) audience expectations with a punchline, effective horror sequences establish a situation and then deliver on (or subvert) audience expectations with a scare. A build-up of anticipation followed by swift relief triggers the release of neurochemicals: adrenaline, endorphins, and dopamine, which together produce a natural high. In a theater full of people, everyone is experiencing the same chemical response. Though temporary, this can be a powerful connection. It’s part of why horror movies and stand-up comedy shows make wonderful dates.
Though he wasn’t aware of those specific details, director and producer William Castle (b. 1914, d. 1977) understood the odd allure of fear better than most. In his 1976 memoir, Step Right Up: I’m Gonna Scare the Pants Off America, Castle writes, “My life had been built on fear. I probably would never really find out why audiences loved to be frightened; I doubted that anyone actually knew. But I did know what scared them: something relatable, something real.”
Castle meant “real” literally. He was a showman who, like PT Barnum before him, knew the promotional power of a gimmick. He invented physical props and systems that invited theater audiences to have a shared horror experience that was also participatory. No longer bystanders watching horror happen to some poor person on the screen, audiences loved Castle’s films because they had a part in the action.
Moviemaking is an art, but it’s also a business, and Castle’s horror films broke records for ticket sales. It wasn’t always like that for him, though. Castle had to work long and hard to get there. “Film buffs who don’t live in Hollywood have a fantasy about what it’s like to be a director,” explained John Carpenter, director of the classic horror film Halloween (1979). “Movies and the people who make movies have such glamor associated with them. But the truth is, it’s not like that. It’s very different. It’s hard work.”
Some movies are set up to be winners. Others are made to grab a quick buck. Much of Castle’s career was spent cranking out movies he wasn’t passionate about; stuff that the studio didn’t care about. For decades in Hollywood, Castle dealt with daily struggles the average American worker today would find familiar. He had bad bosses, unfulfilling work, financial troubles, and issues with work-life balance. The prolific Castle directed 40 feature films between 1943 and 1956, taking frequent and extended international trips. His frustration was compounded by stifled creativity. He was forced to put his name on exploitative crap when, given the freedom to express his vision, he could do so much more. Finally, on his 41st film, Macabre (1958), he enjoyed full creative control.
Putting Butts in Seats
It’s surprising that it took so long. When Castle directed stage productions, he had control and achieved great success. Theater was also where he developed his flair for gimmicks. In 1939, Castle directed a play starring actress Ellen Schwannecke, “Das ist Nicht für Kinder.” Castle worried that this unknown play and unknown actress would fail, but before opening night Schwannecke, a German immigrant who despised the Nazis, received a telegram from a certain mustachioed dictator, inviting her back to Germany to perform for him. Castle publicly amplified her refusal and embellished Hitler’s outrage. Promoted as starring “The Girl Who Said No to Hitler,” Castle’s play sold out throughout its run. It got the attention of Columbia Pictures and landed Castle his first job in Hollywood.
For another play, 1945’s “Meet a Body,” Castle once again used gimmicks to save a critical flop from commercial failure. “Angry and frustrated,” he wrote, “I decided to fight back. Audiences would attend the play despite bad reviews, but I needed a gimmick — something special to bring them in.” Castle placed an ad in the obituary pages of New York newspapers, announcing that “two can be buried as cheaply as one.” Anyone who brought a date got a BOGO deal. Tickets were engraved in black and a funeral wreath was given to each free entrant. The play had a successful run on Broadway, exactly as Castle predicted.
In 1944, Castle urged Columbia to try a gimmick for The Whistler, noting the success he’d had using gimmicks in the theater. He reasoned that audience participation would add to the enjoyment of the movie. Columbia flatly refused, telling Castle his idea was ridiculous. In 1949, he predicted the 3-D craze, insisting that it was a multi-million dollar idea. Universal-International rejected his pitch, and a short time later, every studio was desperate for films in 3-D. These setbacks did not deter Castle: “Someday I’d use a gimmick for a picture. I knew audiences were ready for something different.”
A New Spin on Scary
For Macabre, Castle finally got his wish. Working with a budget of just $90,000, the finished film was scary, but Castle wanted “bloodcurdling.” The extra scare came in the form of a never-before-done insurance policy. Everyone who bought tickets to Macabre would name a beneficiary to a $1,000 Lloyd’s of London policy, payable in the event they died of fright during the movie.
Each screening opened on a countdown clock as Castle’s voice explained the policy. He established the movie as a potential hazard before the first second of footage rolled.
The stunt attracted substantial publicity and Castle’s first independent film became a smash hit that grossed $5 million at the box office. “I had always recognized the potency of showmanship. Now I had proof that it was pure gold, and I was determined to mine it over and over again.”
What followed were a string of low-budget independent horror films directed and produced by Castle. For his next film, House on Haunted Hill. (1959), Castle recruited an actor of note. Vincent Price was feeling washed up, but Castle opened up a whole new career for him. They became frequent collaborators as Price fully embraced the gimmicks, adding the kind of charming melodrama that only a classically trained actor can bring (consider anything Leslie Nielsen made with the Zucker brothers). Price’s work with Castle cemented him as a horror icon and made him Michael Jackson’s pick to record the spooky monologue for “Thriller.” “Darkness falls across the land…”
Each film had its own form of audience participation and each was given a catchy brand name by Castle. House on Haunted Hill dissolved Price’s character into a living skeleton that came out of the screen and soared above theater audiences. Castle dubbed this “Emergo.” In The Tingler (1959), the creepy, crawly creature, weak to screams, escaped into a crowded theater. The real screen went black and mechanisms in every seat buzzed as Price yelled, “It’s loose! Scream for your lives!” This gimmick was promoted as. “Percepto,” and its success earned Castle the moniker “King of the Gimmicks.” By this time, he had an active fan club of 250,000.
Castle pulled a lot from his bag of tricks for Homicidal (1961). When the film’s finale approached, the action paused for a “Fright Break.” At that point, anyone who was too scared could ask for a refund. Naturally, dishonest customers took advantage to get a free screening, but Castle responded with public humiliation. Anyone who wanted a refund had to follow a set of bright yellow footprints from the theater to the “Coward’s Corner,” where a nurse publicly administered a blood pressure test. Meanwhile, a recorded message repeated, “These cowards are too frightened to see the end of Homicidal! Watch them shiver in the Coward’s Corner! Coward! Coward! Coward!” Under these conditions, only 1% of viewers ever requested a refund.
13 Ghosts (1960) provided audiences with a ghost viewer, a set of cardboard glasses that let them see the titular ghosts on-screen. “Illusion-O” was yet another box office hit. While making Mr. Sardonicus (1961), where the audience had the chance to vote on the main character’s fate by holding up a card as the ending approached (Mercy or No Mercy — the “Punishment Poll”), Castle expressed a desire to succeed without gimmicks. Part of this was logistics: The devices that ran the gimmicks for House on Haunted Hill and The Tingler were complicated and expensive to design and install, and the ghost viewer took over 40 tries to get right. “Having to create a new, fresh gimmick for each picture was becoming tiresome, “ Castle admitted.
Another part was dissatisfaction: “Critics were now starting to attack, claiming the only reason my films were successful was the gimmicks, and I was unable to make an important thriller without one.” Castle wasn’t earning recognition from the audience he truly wanted. The majority of his fans and ticket-buyers were teens, and while low-budget movies made him and his contemporary, Roger Corman, famous with young audiences, Castle wanted to be among the great directors of Hollywood.
I think this passage reveals something important about Castle, whose life began with a series of tragedies — he lost both parents before he turned eleven. Castle wrote,
From the very beginning I craved recognition and applause. Constantly needing to prove myself to someone — anyone. I had now achieved all that and more, but I was still hungry…Never having had the luxury of a bigger star for my films, I had been forced to build my little empire on ingenious showmanship. Hollywood was a snobbish town, and important stars refused to associate themselves with my modest-budget exploitation pictures. So, after many years, I still have to prove myself; this time getting an important star — anyone.
Castle’s talent had been gained through experience. The horror years came after an incubation period that had produced a number of acclaimed films — no gimmicks needed. The Whistler (1944), When Strangers Marry (1944), Hollywood Story (1951), and Slaves of Babylon (1953) all displayed Castle’s directing chops and innovative ideas. These films created buzz around Hollywood and earned critical praise. They raised Castle’s profile, but not enough to break out of the exploitation film doldrums. To Hollywood, Castle’s failures outweighed his successes, but he blamed his flops on the studios, who had either ignored his best ideas or made unusual production demands.
Later, after his breakout success in horror, Thirteen Frightened Girls (1963) and Strait-Jacket (1964; starring popular actress Joan Crawford) capitalized on his elevated reputation and breached the mainstream, earning him more positive buzz among the elite. But Castle still hadn’t achieved his great success; “while the reviews on Strait-Jacket were mostly favorable, [critics] considered it another horror exploitation picture.” Once again, he felt like he had hit a creative dead end.
Castle’s Big Break
That’s when Castle was offered the rights to a highly anticipated novel, Rosemary’s Baby. Here was a project that stood tall on its own — a prestige attraction that would demand attention from the elite. With his family’s blessing, Castle risked everything, mortgaging their home to secure the exclusive rights to the novel. Suddenly, he was one of Hollywood’s most wanted, fielding calls from multiple studio heads interested in the IP.
Robert Redford was interested in the male lead, which ultimately went to John Cassavetes, and Mia Farrow poured her soul into the part of Rosemary. Finally, stars were lining up to be in a William Castle film, but Paramount Pictures didn’t want Castle as director. Decades of reliable work, all of his success — his name was top-billed on marquees for the better part of a decade — and the studio demanded that he hand his dream job over to a young upstart director, Roman Polanski. Castle was once again pushed to the background.
There’s no doubt that Polanski’s direction is brilliant. Rosemary’s Baby (1968) feels ahead of its time. Every shot is gorgeous, the casting is exceptional, the performances are memorable, and the editing is precise. Polanski’s perfectionism resulted in a classic horror film. The director’s insistence on multi-day location shoots in Manhattan and repeated takes drove up costs and took too much time, vexing Castle. His memoir reveals that he would have done the film quicker and cheaper, but he admitted Polanski’s vision was superior to what his would have been. With access to more resources, would a version directed by Castle have been an evolution of his most popular horror work, or just another in a line of scary schlock? Polanski’s vision is so compelling that it’s hard to imagine Rosemary’s Baby any other way.
When the movie begins, the first credit on screen is “A William Castle Production,” so it could be argued that Castle got exactly what he wanted: conspicuous recognition for a beloved Hollywood film. But the gossip at the time placed the credit for Rosemary’s Baby squarely on the visionary director, Polanski, and his script, which was nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay at the 1969 Academy Awards. Noted film critic Pauline Kael said that, in Rosemary’s Baby, “the queasy and the grisly are mixed with its entertaining hipness” (Polanski insisted on making a “new wave” film, overcoming Castle’s objections). Variety said simply, “Writer-director Roman Polanski has triumphed in his first US-made pic.” Castle was not mentioned in either review, or any contemporary review I could find. That’s not uncommon for producers, but unlike most, Castle had his own standout horror brand.
To this day, Castle’s contributions are downplayed. As producer, Castle recognized the potency of Polanski’s ideas and gave the young director near-total creative control. In a business where many movie failures are blamed on “executive meddling,” it could be argued that the way Castle supported and advocated for Polanski’s vision, protecting the production from studio interference, was a vital contribution that was uniquely his.
Castle’s (often negative) experience with studio filmmaking taught him to navigate their expectations, and his time as King of the Gimmicks helped him discern what would put butts in seats. Further, Castle had a record of successfully adapting horror novels to film; his first major hit, Macabre, was such an adaptation. He was uniquely positioned to ensure Polanski’s vision would make it to theaters and qualified to recognize its potential for success. He knew that giving the young director control was his best chance to “scare the pants off America.” We may be too focused on the thought experiment, “What if Castle had directed instead of Polanski?” Perhaps an equally interesting question is, “What if another producer had been in Castle’s position?” Would they have allowed a 32-year-old director so much creative control, or demanded that they compromise, weakening the film?
Castle never got to capitalize on the success of Rosemary’s Baby. He barely got to enjoy it. Like others associated with the supposedly cursed production, he was severely ill for months after the film’s release and came close to death. Anonymous hate mail and threats poured in from across America from people offended by the film. Castle’s enthusiastic fan club had been replaced with a sizable contingent of unknown enemies.
There was no high-profile follow-up film. Castle’s career fizzled out, ending with a return to form as he toured the country with the giant “man-eating,” “fire-breathing” cockroach star of Bug (1975), his answer to Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975). In true Castle style, Hercules the roach was insured against death on tour, a widely-publicized fact. Not long after the tour, Castle died at home, survived by his two daughters and wife of 30 years.
The Case for Castle
In retrospect, it’s ironic that Paramount wanted Polanski to be the face of Rosemary’s Baby and not Castle, given Polanski’s disturbing crimes less than a decade later. In 2024, he remains a fugitive from the American justice system while Castle’s reputation is unmarred. If anything, his influence has grown. Many popular directors credit him as an inspiration. Perhaps a Castle-directed Rosemary’s Baby wouldn’t have had the same cultural impact in 1968, but would have been rediscovered as a horror classic decades later like House on Haunted Hill. In my opinion, Castle earned the chance to direct and was unfairly denied.
Whether directing or producing, Castle has a legacy of providing delight and fright. He approached the moviemaking business with an earnestness I appreciate. He loved making friends and repaying favors. He was pragmatic and hardworking, but longed to make successful movies the William Castle way — not Columbia’s, not Universal-International’s, and not Paramount’s. He never achieved his dream, but did build a catalog of work that showed astonishing range and creativity.
If the true measure of a horror film is the audience experience, the King of Gimmicks must be placed on a list of the all-time greats.
If you liked this review, please consider giving a clap and sending it to a friend who you think would enjoy it, too! Happy Halloween!
