Publicity poster for 'The Lair of
the White Worm' (© Ken Russell/White Lair/Vestron Pictures – reproduced here on
a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)
On 21 April 2020, I watched the
1988 British horror movie The Lair of the White Worm, directed by the
infamous Ken Russell (who also wrote its screenplay), and what a surreal,
hilarious romp it was. Loosely inspired by Dracula creator Bram Stoker's final,
same-titled novel (first published in 1911), it also drew even more heavily than
that latter novel did upon the famous northern England legend of the Lambton
Worm - a huge limbless serpent dragon laying waste to the countryside until it
was eventually slain by Lord Lambton. Indeed, in the movie version, Caswall,
the surname of the local aristocrat in Stoker's novel, has been changed to the
Lambton-soundalike surname D'Ampton. Set in rural Derbyshire, England, it stars
a young Hugh Grant as Lord James D'Ampton whose ancestor reputedly slew a huge
serpent dragon known in this area as the D'Ampton Worm; an also young Peter
Capaldi as visiting Scottish archaeology student Angus Flint who unearths a
giant snake-like skull during some local excavations; the regal Catherine
Oxenberg as Eve Trent, the co-owner (with her sister Mary) of a countryside
bed-and-breakfast hotel near to where the skull was found; and, above all others,
a fabulously OTT Amanda Donohoe as the serpentine (in more ways than one) and
seductively evil Lady Sylvia Marsh (changed from Lady Arabella March in the
novel).
Lady Arabella March, illustrated by
Pamela Colman Smith in the original 1911 edition of The Lair of the White Worm, published a year before Bram Stoker's
death (public domain)
In deliciously (forked)
tongue-in-cheek style, Donohoe plays the part of an immortal, sexually-charged
snake priestess, secretly serving a gigantic male ophidian deity named Dionin
who has been lurking unseen for untold ages within the vast underground cave
system not far from D'Ampton's castle and Marsh's stately home. Moreover, Lady
Marsh is capable of transforming into a blue-skinned, venom-fanged humanoid
snake whenever the need to ravish and abduct an unsuspecting local for
sacrificial purposes arises, which it does on a very regular basis throughout
this manic movie. And as if all of that wasn't enough, anyone bitten by her is
transformed, vampire-like, into a befanged snake-human themselves.
The White Worm rears up above the
forest, illustrated by Pamela Colman Smith in the original 1911 edition of The Lair of the White Worm (public
domain)
Yet another of the movie's
multitude of plot lines is that centuries earlier, in this very same location
and currently the subject of Angus's digs, a convent had been built upon the
site where in Roman times a pagan temple devoted to serpent worship had existed,
and this confrontation of religions is visualised very dramatically via a
series of hallucinations interspersed through the film, in which, as was his
wont, Russell left nothing to the imagination – intertwining and
juxtapositioning in shocking, eyeball-shattering fantasy sequences all manner
of Christian, ophiolatreian, and explicit sexual symbols and images in often
deeply disturbing, overtly offensive scenes. These aside, however, the film is
mostly played for laughs, strewn with the kind of saucy double entendres and
phallic allusions that would make a Carry On star blush, plus a neat twist at
the very end. The Lair of the White Worm is very much a cult classic and an absolute must for monster-movie buffs - click here to view an official trailer for it on YouTube, and you'll see what I mean.
My 1960 Arrow Books paperback
edition of The Lair of the White Worm, which I first read just a few years before the movie version was released
(public domain/Arrow Books)
But what was the story of
the Lambton Worm that so influenced this movie? I retold its legend in my book Dragons: A Natural History (1995), so
here, as a ShukerNature exclusive, is my never-before-seen original version of
that retelling, before it was edited down in order to fit the space allocated
to it in the published book.
Dragons: A Natural History (© Dr Karl Shuker/Aurum Press)
Curse of
the Lambton Worm
It was Easter Sunday morning in 1420, and everyone from the
village of Washington, close to the River Wear in County Durham, England, was
hurrying to church - everyone, that is, except for John Lambton, the young,
dissolute heir to Lambton Castle nearby.
Eschewing spiritual solace and observation of the Sabbath for
more material, disrespectful pleasures, he was fishing in the river, ignoring
the disapproving glances of churchgoers passing by. As the morning drew on with
not a single fish taking his bait, however, Lambton's mood darkened, and he
cursed aloud with blasphemous abandon at his ill-fortune.
As if bidden by this profane outburst, a sudden ripple shivered
across the river's surface. Moments later, Lambton felt something tug sharply
at his line, but it was not a fish. When he hauled it up out of the water, he
thought at first that it was some form of aquatic worm or leech, small yet very
elongate with black slimy skin. Then it raised its head, and looked at him - and
even the brash Lambton caught his breath in horror, for his unexpected catch
had the head of a dragon...and the face of a devil!
Its jaws were very slender, brimming with long needle-like
teeth, and evil-smelling fluid oozed from nine gill-like slits on either side
of its neck, but all that Lambton saw were its eyes. Like icy coals they
glittered, snaring his own in a glacial, mesmeric trance - and as he gazed
helplessly into them, all the sins of his misspent, wasted youth danced amid
their malevolent darkness like mocking, accursed wraiths.
Lambton
Worm illustration by John Dickson Batten, from More English Fairy Tales (1894) (public domain)
Lambton
had initially planned to keep whatever he caught, but
all that he wanted to do now was to rid himself of this loathsome
creature, and
he lost no time in casting it down into a nearby well. From that moment
on he
was a changed person, seeking redemption and salvation for his former
misdeeds,
a mission that led him a few years later to set out as a crusader - some
say in the Hussite Crusade, others say in the Middle East. And so
he left Lambton Castle far behind - but he also left behind a monstrous
manifestation of his former wickedness.
Unbeknownst to Lambton, his vermiform captive had thrived within
the well's gloomy confines, growing steadily and stealthily larger, and ever
more powerful. One morning, some Washington villagers spied a strange trail
glistening with acidic slime, leading from the well to a hill close by.
Intrigued, they followed the trail – and a terrible sight met their eyes.
So huge that its snake-like body had enfolded it nine times
within its mighty coils, a hideous limbless dragon of the type known as a worm
or orm lay basking upon the hill. Livid slime seared the grass beneath its
body, and poisonous vapour spiralling out of its mouth withered the leaves of
the surrounding trees.
Thus began the Lambton Worm's grisly reign of terror - during
which it laid waste to Washington's once-verdant countryside, devoured
livestock and even small children with impunity, and turned the villagers into
captives within their homes, frightened to set foot outside their door for fear
of encountering their land's deadly despoiler. In desperation, they attempted
to pacify the monster with an offering of milk - an ancient, customary gesture
when faced with a marauding dragon - and so a huge trough was filled with fresh
milk and placed in Lambton Castle's courtyard where it could be readily seen by
the worm.
Coloured
vintage illustration of Lambton doing battle in his spike-bearing armour with his virulent namesake (public
domain)
As anticipated, the creature rapidly slithered forth, and
gleefully lapped up the creamy offering with its viperine tongue. For the rest
of that day and all through the night, it remained passively wrapped around its
chosen hillside retreat - but when no further milk was forthcoming on the
following morning, it rampaged in fury, with the terrified villagers cowering
in their houses. So from that day on, every village cow was milked exclusively
to provide a sufficient daily tribute to satisfy the worm.
Every so often, one or more brave villagers attempted to
dispatch their serpentine enslaver with sword or lance, but even if they
succeeded in slicing the beast in half, the halves immediately joined together
again - yielding a fully-intact, highly-irascible worm that rarely gave its
attackers the opportunity either to repeat their ploy or to flee the fray.
Years passed by, until at last John Lambton returned home from
the Crusades, and was horrified to discover the worm's baneful presence.
Determined to rid his land of this animate evil that had been inflicted upon it
by his own youthful decadence, he sought the advice of a wise old witch. She
informed him that he would only succeed in killing the monster if he wore a
special suit of armour surfaced in sharp blades, and if he confronted it in the
middle of the river where he had originally caught it.
There was, however, a price to pay for success. After slaying
the worm, he must also slay whoever was first to meet him afterwards. If he
failed to do this, the Lambton lineage would be cursed, and for nine
generations no Lambton heir would die in his own bed.
Lambton Worm
illustration by CE Brock, from English
Fairy and Other Folk Tales (1890), edited by Edwin S Hartland (public
domain)
Heeding all that the witch told him, Lambton arranged for the
spike-adorned armour to be prepared at once, and promptly set forth in it to
engage in battle with his dreadful foe. By swift and subtle sword-play, Lambton
enticed the worm into the fast-flowing water of the River Wear. Once there,
however, the worm seized him in its coils - but the more that it sought to
crush him, the more severely his suit's razor-sharp blades pierced its body.
Aided by his own sword's ready thrusts, the blades eventually sliced the worm
into several segments - and before they could recombine, the river's swift
current bore them away. Thus was the fearsome Lambton Worm destroyed.
Joyfully, John Lambton returned home to his castle - but
although he had vanquished the worm, its curse lingered on. His old father,
ecstatic to see that his son had survived his formidable encounter, was the
very first living thing to run out and greet him. At this, Lambton became pale
with fear, knowing that if he were to secure the safety of his descendants he
must kill his own father - but he simply couldn't do so. Instead, he killed his
most faithful dog, in the hope that this sacrifice would be sufficient - but it
was not.
For the next nine generations, every heir to Lambton Castle met
a tragic end. The worm had gone, but for ever afterwards the legend of this
terrible serpent dragon would be irrevocably intertwined with the name of
Lambton.
For further details regarding the Lambton Worm, be sure to check out Paul
Screeton's comprehensive coverage in his book Whisht Lads and Haad Yor Gobs: The Lambton Worm and Other
Northumbrian Dragon Legends (1998), for which I was delighted to write a foreword. Its main title is a line
from a famous folk song retelling the Lambton Worm legend – click here to listen to ex-Animals
member Alan Price singing it on YouTube, with its full lyrics provided below
the video.
Finally: to view a complete listing of all of my
Shuker In MovieLand blog's other film reviews and articles (each one instantly
accessible via a direct clickable link), please click HERE!
Whisht
Lads and Haad Yor Gobs (© Paul Screeton/Northeast Press
Ltd)
No comments:
Post a Comment