If you long for something that occurred at the perfect intersection between sanctimonious morality tale and harrowing existential horror, you’d probably find Roger Corman’s adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Masque of the Red Death delivers exactly what you’re looking for. To describe this film is to attempt to put a saddle on one of the most singularly mesmerizing, unquestionably absurd works of visual storytelling of the 1960s, a timeless work that traverses multiple genres while remaining quite steadfast in its intentions to be as boldly terrifying as it possibly can be. Corman didn’t amass his contradictory reputation for elegant poor taste or restrained excess for nothing – and there aren’t many films that consolidate his unique perspective on style and substance more than The Masque of the Red Death, which may be a relatively minor work in terms of his enormously prolific career, but stands as one of his most daring experiments, an achievement that manages to be provocative in how it explores the story (or rather, stories) it sets out to adapt, and the form it ultimately takes, with the merciless approach to representing this film through the starkest, unsettling visual palette is only matched by its apparent refusal to adhere to any of the conventions, whether fundamental of the filmmaking process or part and parcel of the specific genre(s) that Corman seeks to employ throughout. There’s a sense that this film is saying certain things that appear obvious and expected, but take on an entirely new meaning through the inventive use of both narrative structure and the more formal elements of film composition, resulting in a highly complex work of metafictional cinema that evades all pretentions by taking some bold steps towards being unflinchingly unique, even when working within the confines of an adaptation of a much older literary text.

There’s simply no feasible way to deny that what the director managed to put together with this film was definitive of his entire career – perhaps not standing as his most iconic work, or the one that has left the most lasting impression, The Masque of the Red Death is rather the kind of film that encompasses everything Corman stands for as a filmmaker. Not one to be confined to a particular set of conventions, or even someone who wishes to adopt a particular avenue within the industry, Corman’s reputation for making these thrillingly low-budget horror and exploitation films extends further than just a director seeking to produce a large body of work for the sake of financial gain. He’s not a director who appears to put any stock into the idea of abiding by conventions but also refuses to cheapen his own brand, or at least this was true for the earlier stages of his career (we can discuss how the phrase “Roger Corman presents” has become a major brand all on its own when tacked onto any cheap film in the last few decades, but that would miss the point of the present film). Corman didn’t pursue this line of directing for any reason other than the fact that he has some of the highest standards in the industry, which is why The Masque of the Red Death is such an extraordinary achievement – he takes on an entire genre that he had grown up on, and instead of redefining it, he created an entirely new sub-genre, to the point where his name became synonymous with this kind of film. His adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories were some of his finest work, not only because they lent themselves to his brand of inexpensive extravagance, but also spoke directly to his sensibilities as a filmmaker who consistently pushed the envelope further than many of his predecessors.

Ultimately, what makes The Masque of the Red Death such a worthwhile experiment, besides the fact that it is an impressive accomplishment that successfully challenges nearly every horror film convention that exists, is that it comes from a place of fundamental artistic integrity. Contrary to what many believe, Corman didn’t just churn these films out for the sake of satiating some production agreement (although this was part of it), but because he was genuinely interested in both the stories and the ways in which he could develop them into a cinematic format. There’s always a sense of heartfulness in these films, which is sometimes the exact method one needs to adopt when working from a text by Poe, whose dour and austere style would logically come into conflict with Corman’s more sumptuous, stylish sensibilities. Even at their most horrifying, the director’s films tend to harbour some kind of upbeat charm that makes them incredible examples of adapting a text to the point where it doesn’t lose the meaning imbued in it by the original artist, but takes on further meaning them siphoned through the vision of another. In short, The Masque of the Red Death is a gorgeous film that stands between darkly comical character-study, horrifyingly disconcerting medieval horror, and haunting religious epic, amalgamating many of these concepts until they’re almost inextricable to each other. Genre-based symbiosis has always been a distinctive feature of Corman’s work, and The Masque of the Red Death does very little differently, which only bolsters the fact that it is often an unexpectedly delightful work of horror filmmaking.

Moreover, when adapting a work by a particular historically-resonant artist, you’d logically strive to get the best interpreters of that artist’s oeuvre to involve themselves in the production. Vincent Price occupies a very similar position to Corman, insofar as his style as an actor is so distinct and unabashedly his own, but attempting to get a handle of the depths of his talents, or the extents to which he would go for a role, is a fruitless endeavour since Price simply never failed to surprise audiences throughout the entirety of his career, which is often most notable in his forays into Poe, a writer who he came to be increasingly familiar with through his frequent casting in various projects derived from his stories or poems (his reading of “The Raven” is simultaneously the most entertaining and chilling version of the classic work). It also helps immensely that Price was extremely adept at playing truly despicable characters, such as the vile Prince Prospero, who is far too intent on his own gain and the preservation of his own small empire (as well as his sacred beliefs) that he stands in firm refusal of absolutely anyone who dares defy him. Poe, Price and Corman were a trio matched by some serendipitous miracle, as Poe’s stories came to life when Corman interpreted them, and working alongside Price, who never fails to be a dastardly charming rascal, even when playing a malicious demonic worshipper, gave new meaning to these works that had remained in artistic dormancy since their creator’s demise, often being revisited, but never with the animated energy or dedication that Corman and Price brought to them in their efforts to revive them. The Masque of the Red Death is one of several collaborations between the actor and the director, and is certainly one of their most revered, even if for the simple fact that there’s a lot more at work here, based both on the story they’re telling, and the methods they’re employing to tell it.

On a purely technical level, The Masque of the Red Death is a marvel in and of itself. Corman’s style has often lent itself to very abstract portrayals of the gothic, and this is certainly one of the best realizations of his penchant for unconventional, but nonetheless fascinating, visual compositions. The creativity with which this film is constructed is truly impressive – the effort put into it evokes the idea that this isn’t just some cheap, run-of-the-mill horror picture, but rather a gorgeous, visceral gothic psychodrama that creates an atmosphere of dread and despair through some of the most underhanded means. As much as we tend to view Corman as someone whose career was defined by more low-budget sensibilities, he was notoriously resourceful and manages to create compositions that could rival the work of absolutely any auteur with triple his budget, putting together a wildly compelling horror that does exceptionally well with what it is given. There’s a certain admirable quality that goes into the making of these films, a kind of rugged charm that bolsters them, giving them a sense of buoyancy and immunity against the more cynical opinions that these films are somehow less-worthy since they apparently lack the prestige and artistic integrity that more mainstream projects tend to have. This viewpoint is easily overcome when we realize how audiences flocked to this film more than they would to the apparently more prestigious major productions, many of which have subsequently suffered the fate of being entirely forgotten, or being hopelessly dated, while The Masque of the Red Death is just as fresh and exciting today as it was in the 1960s.

The Masque of the Red Death gives Corman free-reign to do whatever he deems necessary, and his notoriously liberal adaptations of Poe’s works seem to come into their own with this film, combining various fragments of not only the main story, but also elements of the writer’s other pieces, and channelling them through a bold and ambitious approach to the idea of constructing a religious horror that is neither overwrought nor particularly enamoured with one specific viewpoint (it does tend to be quite liberal for a film about the dangers of deviating from decorum), but rather a sweeping gothic odyssey that combines memorable characters (and some terrific actors, with the incredible Vincent Price holding court and commanding the screen throughout, joined by the perpetual scene-stealer Patrick Magee, who was always brilliant, and the insatiably innocent Jane Asher, who is wonderful here), an absolutely stunning visual scope that is simultaneously epic and intimate, and a general sense of demented humour that never resorts to cheap humour, but rather employs a more perverted perspective on what is already quite an absurd story. Surreal in a very grounded way, and frequently terrifying, there’s a lot of merit in The Masque of the Red Death, a film that encapsulates everything about Roger Corman and his career that has made him into such an iconoclast in an industry that initially rejected him, but yet owes so much to him as a result of his steadfast defiance against conventions, all of which goes into making this particular film something of a minor masterpiece.