If there's one rule, one law, one order you can hold onto in this sad and tragic little life, then it's the superiority of Vincent Price over all other horror actors. Never did he give a bored performance, never did he just appear and cash in his cheque. Or so I thought, before watching Reginald Le Borg's Diary Of A Madman, a film so full of indifference even the glorious Mister Price was infected by it.
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I happened to rewatch this film recently (sick kid = late night cable) and got the feeling that poor Mr. Price had tried at first to get Le Borg on board with doing it right but, when faced with the truth of Le Borg's inability to listen to suggestions, he just gave up and got it over with as quickly as possible.
Of course that's just speculation on my part but looking at Mr. Price throughout most of the film is gut wrenching. The poor guy looks like a kid at the doctor's office keeping a stiff upper lip for the immunization.
Ha, that's a beautiful description. I imagine all of Price's hopes breaking down once he realized he was the only one on set who knew how to pronounce his character's name.
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