Blog-O-Ween 2025: The Nine Days of Nigel Kneale: Day Nine — Halloween III: Season of the Witch

Well, Blog-o-weeners, we done did it. We made it through another Spooky Season together — albeit a condensed version of Blog-o-weens past. For the previous eight days we have indulged in the creepy confectionary treat that is Nigel Kneale. We’ve read his short stories, listened to his radio programs, and watched his tv series (and the motion pictures based on them). It’s been, I hope, informative and entertaining in equal measure.

For today, the ninth and final day of The Nine Days of Nigel Kneale, I’ve scheduled a trick of sorts. You’ll forgive me for my little joke, but it’s that time of year, is it not? The time for tricks? Instead of talking about another of Kneale’s typewritten triumphs, I thought we would discuss something that he considered to be a failure, something of which he was so embarrassed that he had producers remove his name from the script. As we’ve come to realize from having read/listened to/watched Kneale’s previous works, however, the past doesn’t just go away when you tell it to. You may think you’ve gotten rid of it or covered it up, but if you scratch the surface — even just a little bit — you find that it’s still there, waiting to be released.

Such is the case with Nigel Kneale’s work on 1982’s Halloween III: Season of the Witch.

I’ve talked briefly about Kneale’s connection to Tommy Lee Wallace’s film before. Back on Silver Shamrock Day (23 October, don’cha know!), I gave as the reason for my creation of The Nine Days of Nigel Kneale the fact that he was the original scriptwriter on the movie. Hired by Joe Dante (who was to be the director of H3:SotW), Nigel Kneale turned in a first draft that was to take the franchise in a new and decidedly non-Michael Myers direction.

Dr. John Challis is called in to examine a patient who has just been brought into the hospital. This patient, Grimbridge, is very agitated, very disturbed. He seems capable only of muttering the word “Samhain” over and over again. Challis places Grimbridge under hypnosis to calm him and get him to explain what has happened to him. Instead, Grimbridge becomes the locus of poltergeist-like activity and dies from sheer fright.

Challis teams up with Grimbridge’s daughter to investigate her father’s death. Clues lead the duo to Sun Hills, an isolated, self-contained Irish society far from the city. The entire town works for a single toy company, Silver Shamrock, and its charismatic owner, Conal Corcoran. Indeed, Corcoran is treated like a king by the community. Challis discovers that Corcoran is an adherent to pre-historic Celtic ritualistic practices. Corcoran has designed the logo on each Silver Shamrock Halloween mask to be triggered by the company’s television advertisement. 

Triggered to do what and for what end? Well...that would be telling, wouldn’t it?

Fans of H3:SotW will recognize much (if not all) that I outlined above. Indeed, much of what made it to the screen under Tommy Lee Wallace’s direction (and script rewrite) is there in Kneale’s first draft. We can probably go further than that and say that H3:SotW is really a summation of everything that Kneale was concerned with in his writing: the conflict between science/technology and the supernatural (“You Must Listen”, The Stone Tape), ancient practices/places that have survived to the present (“Minuke”, “Murrain”, “Baby”, Quatermass and the Pit). Quatermass II’s Winnerden Flats seems to be echoed in the Sun Hills community. Halloween III: Season of the Witch was to be a capstone of sorts, the culmination of Kneale’s work as a scriptwriter.

So what happened? Why do we not see his name in the picture’s credits?

As is so often the case in Hollywood, production-by-committee style thinking prevailed in the end. John Carpenter (who was operating as the picture’s producer) considered Kneale’s first draft to be just that — a first draft. Changes were asked for. Kneale acquiesced at first, cutting his script nearly in half, but after awhile, as more changes were demanded, he was unwilling to do them. What had been a more measured, psychological approach to the story was changed to reflect the demands of audiences of the time: more jump scares, more gore. As Kneale himself said:

“I asked [co-producer] Debra Hill if she could sell something like Psycho today, and she said, ‘No, the kids wouldn’t wear it. [sic] You’ve got to shock them every two or three minutes with any irrelevant thing, it doesn’t matter what.’”

So, Blog-o-weeners, it would seem that, like in Walt Kelly’s comic Pogo:

As more and more of his ideas were mutated, mangle, or just plain moved on, Kneale got more and more frustrated until finally he asked to have his name removed from the script. Representatives from the Writers’ Guild of America were confused. Normally, a writer will fight tooth and nail to have their name attached to a script — any script — and here was some old fool who wanted his taken off. “What it means is,” Kneale said, “you lose all the residuals, and people don’t like doing that. . .But I didn’t want this to have my name.”

So, in the end, Kneale’s name was taken off of the script and Tommy Lee Wallace’s was put on. Wallace himself has graciously said in many interviews that the final script was something like 60% Kneale and 40% him. It is not easy, however, to find where Kneale ends and Wallace begins. Indeed, what I would consider to be one of the most Knealean tropes in the final movie — the use of Stonehenge to power Silver Shamrock’s masks — is nowhere to be found in Kneale’s draft. Who knew?!

My favorite moment from H3:SotW comes when Cochran (as he is called in Wallace's film) lays out his plan to Challis (named Dan in the final script). The filmed version of Cochran’s monologue is chilling, but — as evident from this excerpt from Jack Martin’s (psuedonym of writer Dennis Etchison) novelization — there was much more to it. Here, perhaps, one can find more of what Kneale thought made Corcoran/Cochran tick:

“Children,” said Challis, his words slurring. “All the children...” 

“Yes,” hissed Cochran, “the children! A plague is on them. Now think of that in fifty million homes!” 

“Sacrifices,” said Challis. His cheeks were burning and his body quaked. Strong black-gloved hands restrained him. “To what pagan god, Cochran? For what purpose?” 

“God? What a quaint word! I am speaking to you of our way, the one way, the old way, as it was done long before your unshorn carpenter from Galilee chose to destroy himself on that rude cross. Do you know anything about Halloween, doctor?” 

“I do now,” said Challis. His arms nearly broke as he strained forward. 

“Tsk, tsk, my good man! Ignorance is such a convenient excuse for self-righteousness. No, of course you don't know. How could you? You've thought no further than that strange custom of letting your children dress themselves in morbid costumes and go begging for handouts.” 

... 

“It was the start of the new year in our old Celtic lands. We would wait in our houses made of turf. The barriers were down, you see, between the real and the unreal. The dead might look in, sit by our bit of fire. It was our glorious festival of Samhain. The last great one was three thousand years ago...” 

His eyes glazed with rapture, mirroring some previously unspoken memory. He continued in a faraway voice. 

“The hills ran with the blood of countless animals...and countless children...” 

“I don't want to hear this,” said Challis. 

“Oh, but you really should. It was part of our world, our craft.” 

“Witchcraft!” 

“Your term. To us it was a way of controlling our world. The only way. As it is once again.” 

Cochran glowered at the television equipment, the high-tech products which surrounded him. 

“All this has failed you and your kind, hasn't it, Doctor? You can't predict with certainty any event in your world, not even the rudimentary workings of your own bodies. Isn't that so?” 

“We try,” said Challis. “We're getting better at it all the time.” 

“But will time wait for you? I think not. Even my ancestors were left behind by the machinations of history. They had the power. But they lacked one ingredient: the harnessing and storing of that power. Which, ironically, is what you and yours have now provided. 

“Times have not really changed, my friend. The quest for control remains a constant. And now it's time again. In the end, we don't decide these things, you know. We are but a part of the great plan. Today the planets are in alignment, the moon is in syzygy, and it's time. That's all.” 

... 

“Tell me one thing first,” said Challis. “Why children?” 

“Do I need a reason? Oh, I could tell you that they are the easiest prey — and they are, you know. People nowadays no longer listen to them. They provide the easiest entry, the path of least resistance. What better reason, from a purely pragmatic view? But they are such irritating little creatures, don't you agree? You know that you do, deep down. They are as noisy as wretched sheep and twice as dirty, given to us from out of the filthiest part of woman. And you know what happens to dirty little lambs, don't you, Doctor? They are invariably given over to the slaughter.”

In this exchange, one can hear the echoes of Mr. Beeley, pig farmer and believer of the old ways, and Mr. Crich, veterinarian and deliver in modern science, from “Murrain”:

Beeley: All this talk! You’re tryin’ to prove there’s no such thing. Well, you won’t prove it to us. We know there is. They got you trained to thinking nothing’s true if you can’t find it in books or shove it in a bottle and analyze it! You work out the rules, and what the rule don’t fit, don’t happen! Then you find out you got the rules wrong!  

Crich: Then, we change the rules — 

Beeley: Oh, that’s handy! 

Crich: — for better rules. But we don’t go back! 

Chilling, absolutely chilling.

If you want to read more of Jack Martin’s novelization, you can find it here on the Internet Archive. You can also listen to this unofficial audiobook:

Halloween III: Season of the Witch is available on quite a few streaming platforms. You can also probably find it on the shelves of your local public library and — if you are so lucky — your friendly neighborhood video store. (They’re making a comeback, people!)

That’s all for this year’s Blog-o-ween festivities, kiddies. I hope you all enjoyed The Nine Days of Nigel Kneale, and I hope that you will seek out some more of his work. I didn’t cover everything — you have to leave some mystery in the world, after all.

In the meanwhile, until next time remember:

Oh...and one more thing...

Blog-O-Ween 2025: The Nine Days of Nigel Kneale: Day Eight — Quatermass

Here we are, Blog-o-weeners. It is day eight, the penultimate day of The Nine Days of Nigel Kneale. Only one more day to go. But it is much too early to be thinking about tomorrow’s entry. (And much too early to have written it!) We’ve got a lot to get through today first — and what a day it’s gonna be! There’s a lot of plates for us to keep spinning, so let’s just dive right in, huh?

We’ve been through a lot together this Blog-o-ween, have we not? We’ve followed Nigel Kneale all over England. He’s taken us to the seashore, to solicitor’s offices, to photography studios, into the woods, and onto farms. We’ve read his short stories, listened to his radio plays, and watched his tv shows. For all of the different stories and formats we’ve enjoyed over the past seven days, however, we have not touched upon the one creation for which he is best known. We have yet to enter the world of . . .Professor Bernard Quatermass.

Nineteen Fifty-Three seems incredibly far away to us now. What with Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay becoming the first men to ascend to the top of Mt. Everest (or Sagarmāthā as I am sure Mr. Norgay called it), Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation in Westminster Abbey being broadcast live to the nation, and Hungary beating the stuffing out of England at Wembley Stadium 3-6 (thus handing the so-called “world’s greatest football team” their first loss to a foreign team on home soil — not counting all those times Scotland, Ireland, and Wales beat them), one would be excused from thinking that 1953 was a time of great deeds done by great personages. Thankfully, the Drama Department of the BBC was there to remind us mere mortals that sometimes greatness is due to dumb luck, bad decisions, and being at the right place at the right time.

The boffins at the Beeb had a problem: they had nothing planned for broadcast Saturday nights at 8:30 p.m. between 18 July and 22 August. Who was doing their scheduling, for Pete’s sake? Weird Al?

As Nigel Kneale, who was on the BBC payroll at the time, recalls:

“They said, ‘For God’s sake write something, because the program is empty in the summer. Please, somebody think of something.’ So I did.”

What he thought up was a story that he originally called Bring Something Back. . .! It was a “locked room” sort of mystery thriller about a rocket ship that goes to space with three astronauts, but returns with only one. The instruments say the doors were never opened. How did they get out? Where did they go? The BBC liked it, approved it, and before Kneale had even finished the script for the final episode, it was on the air. They even liked the main character so much that they renamed the series after him: The Quatermass Experiment.

The series was a massive hit. Millions of people watched as Quatermass slowly began to realize that the surviving astronaut, Victor Carroon, was not himself, that he and the others on board the rocket ship had encountered something in space that infected them, merged them, and now was in the process of transforming the lone survivor into something monstrous. Kneale’s scripts were — as we’ve come to expect from the man by now, Blog-o-weeners — the perfect amalgam of science fiction and horror.

Unfortunately, we will have to take other people’s words for just how good it was. Outside of the first two episodes, the original broadcast does not exist on tape. These were the days of live television. Producer Rudolph Cartier asked that the series be telerecorded so that bits and pieces of the previous episodes could be used to sum up the action. You know the kind: voiceover narration would announce, “Previously on The Quartermass Experiment...” and then you’d get a montage of scenes and shots. Telerecording in 1953 amounted to pointing a sixteen millimeter camera at a television screen as the show was being broadcast. The BBC deemed the first two attempts to be of such poor quality that further recording was ditched.

Thankfully, the movies were paying attention. Hammer Film Productions, who in a few years would make their name synonymous with such cinematic monsters as Dracula and Frankenstein, purchased the film rights, and in 1955 The Quatermass Xperiment hit the screens of the nation. Note the spelling of “Xperiment.” Film censors thought that the final product of Hammer Studios and director Val Guest was too much for most filmgoers. Therefore, the film was given an X rating. Like any good film company, Hammer played up on this rating and made sure that the X was front and center.

The Quatermass Xperiment starred, not a British actor, but an American in the lead role. Brian Donlevy seems an odd choice to play a character that Kneale himself described as

“the sort of person you would trust. He was a decent sort; not ruthless, a good man, who found himself out of his depth again and again.”

Donlevy’s Quatermass rushes from scene to scene bullying everyone in his way. He’s gruff and short and maybe even a tad sadistic. This is not the good and decent man who, in the televised program, appeals to the human consciousness within the monster to kill itself before it destroys the world. Nope, Donlevy’s Quatermass electrocutes the monster, then heads off to shoot more men into space. He doesn’t seem to be affected by what he’s witnessed, nor does he seem to have learned anything. “Science must go on!” and all that rot.

Or as Patton Oswalt has said: “Science — all about coulda, never about shoulda."

Kneale didn’t have much time to dwell on his dissatisfactions with Hammer’s movie. Based on the popularity of the series and the film, the BBC asked for a follow-up. Quatermass II (the first sequel to use the numeric designation) hit the small screen in 1955 and created the same furor as the first installment of the good professor’s adventures.

Science fiction and horror are again expertly combined to tell the story of Winnerden Flats, a small countryside town that has seeming disappeared from the map. The cause, to Quatermass’s great shock, is that somehow his plans for a moon base have been brought to earth. Winnerden Flats is one giant industrial plant, but what are they making and what is. . .living. . .beneath the great domed buildings on the site?

Reginald Tate, the British actor who had brought the character of Quatermass to the small screen in the first series, had sadly passed away after agreeing to do the second. Quickly, John Robinson was put in his place and by all accounts was a distinguished, modest, and very nice man. Never comfortable with the technical jargon he had to learn, he applied himself and did his best.

Hammer Studios again bought up the film rights and again trundled Brian Donlevy in front of the camera as Quatermass. Here, though (in my opinion), his brusque portrayal comes off much better. The situation demands a “take charge” kind of character. There’s no negotiating with the creatures in Quatermass II, no reaching out and appealing to their better angels. Nope. Ya gotta fry ‘em and fry ‘em quick! That is what Donlevy is best at.

Four years later, Kneale and his creation were at it again. In 1959, Quartermass and the Pit was broadcast, and in the starring role was another actor: Andre Morrell. As this was my personal introduction to the character, Morrell is how I really imagine Professor Quatermass. He was how Kneale and Cartier had imagined him, too, as they admit that way back in 1953, he had been their first choice to play the character. Morrell had told them that he didn’t feel ready for such a role. Six years later, he doffed the tweed jacket with leather elbow patches with aplomb.

As with the other television series, Hammer Studios brought out a filmed adaptation. This time, however, nearly a decade passed before cinema audiences saw Andrew Keir portray Quatermass. Originally meant to be directed by Guest and star Donlevy, funding could not be secured in the early 1960s. It took until 1967 for Hammer, in association with Seven Arts Productions, Associated British Picture Corporation, and Twentieth Century Fox, to bring Quatermass and the Pit (aka Five Million Years to Earth) to the big screen.

Another decade passed before television audiences were to see Quatermass again. This time, his adventures would be broadcast over the airwaves of ITV. The BBC had intended to bring the series out earlier — in 1973 — but the rising costs of it brought the production to a halt. Kneale and Euston Films re-acquired the scripts and filming began in 1978, and the series was broadcast in October/November 1979.

Quatermass (aka Quatermass IV, aka The Quatermass Conclusion) is a product of its times. It is a downbeat, dour series. Set in a near future Britain that has been ravaged by societal collapse, Professor Quatermass (this time portrayed by John Mills) has essentially given up and lives in retirement in Scotland with his teenaged granddaughter. Large numbers of young people have dropped out of society and formed a loose group know as The Planet People. Quatermass’s granddaughter has joined these Neo-hippies as they travel across the countryside, visiting pre-historic megaliths in hopes that some cosmic force will deliver them to a better world. Unfortunately, that cosmic forces shows up, but whether the Planet People are being delivered anywhere but the four winds is something that only Quatermass can solve.

I said that Quatermass was a product of its times, but perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it was a product of the time it took to complete it. Begun in the 1960s, Kneale’s ideas about roving gangs of young people fed up with modern society made a bit more sense. By the time the 1980s were coming over the horizon, most of the young people Kneale had originally envisioned had traded in their bellbottoms for three-piece suits and their marijuana for cocaine. “Peace, Love, Dope” had become “Me, Me, Me.” Quatermass at times has the feel that it was written by an old man who was more than a little letdown by what the world had become. Which it was.

After Quatermass, the good professor was to make two more appearances — neither of which was in the form of anything brand new. In 1996, BBC Radio 3 brought out The Quatermass Memoirs. Ostensibly occurring just before Quatermass leaves his Scottish home to search for his granddaughter. The radio series mixed new segments of Andrew Keir as Quatermass being interviewed about his adventures, old clips from the Quatermass serials, and monologues by Nigel Kneale himself talking about the times in which Quatermass originally appeared. It’s a fun blend of formats, though it just makes you hungry for a fresh storyline.

Quatermass returned to live television with the turn of the century. Starring Jason Flemyng as the professor, BBC4 broadcast a re-make of The Quatermass Experiment in 2005. The original scripts for the six-part series were condensed to a single episode. This condensation and the actor’s nervousness with having to do this all live makes the proceedings feel like an amateur production. None of the actors feel like they belong in their roles and by the time the show is over everyone — including the audience — is relieved.

To take the bad taste of that failed televised experiment out of your mouth, Blog-o-weeners, I’d like to go back and spend a little time with the series that I feel best encapsulates the character of Quatermass. It also just makes sense discussing it given that its very nearly Halloween.

If the Quatermass series is the most successful blend of science fiction and horror, then Quatermass and the Pit is the very pinnacle of the sub-genre. Not only does it fuse the futuristic and the ancient into a new, terrifying whole, but it also manages to stir in a soupçon of a genre that hadn’t really even been invented yet: folk horror. Let’s take a look at how Nigel Kneale not only changed television, but also how he changed the sci-fi/horror genres.

Things are not going well for Prof. Quatermass. His control of the British Experimental Rocket Group is being wrested from him by the government and the military who see only the destructive potential of his work. Hoping to drown his sorrows at the local bar, Quatermass meets his old friend Dr. Matthew Roney (Cec Linder). Dr. Roney is having his own problems with bureaucratic inefficiencies. During a construction dig at Hobbs Lane (or should that be “Hobs Lane”...hmmm...), work came to a standstill when workers pulled human remains out of the ground. Dr. Roney has determined that these are not any old human remains. They are of a human ancestor more than five million years old, making humanity far older than scientists had hitherto thought. Hoping that Quatermass’s stats can help get public opinion soon his side and halt construction long enough to excavate the site, Roney asks Quatermass to the dig to lend a hand.

Human remains aren’t the only surprise awaiting the scientists  at Hobbs Lane. (Or is it “Hobs”...or just plain “Hob”...but that doesn’t make any sense because “Hob” is the old name for Satan...oh, well! Never you mind!) The scientists also unearth what they at first believe is an unexploded Nazi V-rocket. But what is lies in the earth is isn’t a bomb at all. And inside it are more remains of those ancient human ancestors that Roney is so excited about, as well as some decidedly un-human remains.

What has been found in the earth at Hobbs/Hobs/Hob Lane? What does it have to do with human history? What does it have to do with the poltergeist activity that has plagued the area since time immemorial? What happens when the activity of the scientists, soldiers, and police at the site seem to “wake up” the artifact?

Quatermass and the Pit has got it all: folk tales, folk horror, evolutionary science, race memory, scientifictive technobabble and hooptedoodle, and government bureaucracy! Kneale blends all of these elements into a beautifully constructed story that just moves so well. Like a good mystery, each new discovery and clue — from the skull, to the spook stories plaguing the area, to the supposed bomb — is slowly dealt out to the viewer, allowing them to feel like they are working right alongside Quatermass and Co. On top of all this is the fact that the whole thing was performed live on the air. (Which really plays up the paucity of the 2005 production.) All of the actors hit their marks expertly, and the many special effects gags — including the auditory effects done by the BBC’s new Radiophonic Workshop — are stunning.

If you are new to the world of Quatermass and only have time this Spooky Season to watch one of the versions of his adventures, then Quatermass and the Pit is what you want.

Speaking of multiple versions of the good professor’s adventures...it’s time to line up links to all and sundry for your perusal...

If you are interested in seeing what survives of the first Quatermass serial, then you are going to want to hop over to the Internet Archive. Both episodes one and two are waiting for you...

If you want to watch Brian Donlevy barge around and yell at people like Donald Duck giving his nephews what-for, then you should go here.

Quatermass II survives as a complete television series. Book your trip to Winnerden Flats here at the Internet Archive.

Can’t get enough Brian Donlevy? Then check out the Hammer Studios version of Quatermass II here. I hope, like me, you’ll find Mr. Donlevy’s histrionics better suited to this film. (And I know it sounds like I’m just putting him down, but I actually like Donlevy in other films — check out his work for Preston Sturges in The Great McGinty. He is brilliant!)

One of my prized possessions!

Ready to get your hands dirty? Then it’s time to dig into the six-part serial of Quatermass and the Pit here at the Internet Archive.

The 1967 Hammer Studios film version of Q & the P can be found here. You can also enjoy an audio version of the story here adapted from the 1967 film.

If neither of these versions float your boat, please make do with this gif of the lovely Barbara Shelley as she uses Dr. Roney’s optic-encephalogram to record her race memories of life on Mars.

ITV’s Quatermass IV (aka just plain ol’ Quatermass) was originally broadcast as a four-part serial. You can watch it here on the Internet Archive. A condensed, feature-length version was released as The Quatermass Conclusion. (Sorry. I couldn't find a link to that version.)

The Quatermass Memoirs, the audio blending of Kneale’s own life, Quatermass’s adventures, and actual news programs, can be found here:

The 2005 rendition of The Quatermass Experiment exists. Somewhere. If you want to check it out in the spirit of Joe Gillis (William Holden) in Sunset Blvd — “Sometimes it's interesting to see just how bad bad writing can be. This promised to go the limit.” — then I suggest you look on your own. I’m no sadist. Just to show that I have no hard feelings, here's another picture Barbara Shelley. Feel better?

Welp. That’s all I got to say on the subject of Quatermass, Blog-o-weeners. I hope you’ll spend the weekend diving into all the professor’s permutations. Believe me, all of it is well worth your time. Tomorrow is Halloween. . .or as we are calling it this year: day nine of The Nine Days of Nigel Kneale. It’s gonna be a lot like the last day of school. There are no assignments, no tests, no homework due — we’re just gonna taker ’er easy and enjoy the work of Nigel Kneale for one last day.

In the meantime, while the British Experimental Rocket Group is sending men to the stars. . . and to their deaths. . . just know that the good ol’ U.S. of A. only asks one thing from you...