The Snorkel

Sometimes a single scene can prove a movie’s undoing. Such is the case with The Snorkel, a thriller from Hammer Film Productions.

Made just as the studio was finding success with its gothic horrors filmed at Bray Studios with a stock cast of performers, this entry stands out as a contemporary story with immersive location photography and fresh cast. Indeed, said photography and Peter van Eyck’s arresting performance almost gloss over the script’s gaping deficiencies. And they would have, too, if it weren’t for a single scene. To discuss this scene, however, I must reveal the ending, so be warned, spoilers follow.

The film opens with a wordless sequence that sees Van Eyck lock himself inside a well-furnished room. After sealing the doors with tape, he opens a concealed trapdoor leading to the crawlspace beneath the room. He enters carrying two long rubber tubes, which he attaches to an outside vent. He re-emerges and we realize he’s not alone. A woman lies unconscious on the settee. Van Eyck gives her a quick glance, then extinguishes the gas lights. Then he opens the gas valves, walks over to a chair and dons the titular snorkel, having attached the air hoses. As the room fills with gas, killing the woman, he breathes easy.

The opening titles appear over a close up of Van Eyck. After, he retreats to the crawlspace where he remains as the housekeepers discover the woman’s body, the police arrive, and the body is removed. Then Van Eyck emerges and leaves via the back door. In between, we learn the woman was his wife. She was rich; he was not. Everyone has bought his ruse except his stepdaughter, played by Mandy Miller, who insists Van Eyck killed her mother, despite no evidence.

From here, the film settles into a battle of wits between Van Eyck and Miller. She seeks evidence to incriminate him; he seeks to cast her as mentally unstable.

Van Eyck proffers a villain worthy of Hitchcock. His mask of affable charm concealing a cold detachment commands our attention. We get a crackling scene set at the beach which maximizes the location setting by having Van Eyck attempt to drown Miller in the ocean, a scene framed looking at the shore, contrasting the lazing sunbathers with the life-and-death struggle.

Indeed, the filming shines throughout. Director Guy Green came up as a cinematographer, and it shows. But despite his firm grasp of the visual language, he lacks a master’s sense of tone. The script by Hammer stalwart Jimmy Sangster builds toward a dark ending which was softened in the final draft. This change proves fatal, rendering the film’s tone uneven.

Last warning for spoilers.

The ending sees Van Eyck attempt to kill Miller using the same scheme he did in the film’s open. Unfortunately for him, help arrives, forcing him to flee into the crawlspace. When Miller awakens, she insists Van Eyck tried to kill her, but, having burst into a locked room, her rescuers are doubtful. They insist it’s all in her imagination. She insists they search the room, which they do, but find nothing. Dejected, she leaves after looking at the settee where her mother died and whispering, “Sorry mommy, I tried my best.”

After they’re gone, Van Eyck attempts to re-emerge from the crawlspace only to discover a large bookcase, moved as part of the search, has blocked his exit. Trapped, he panics and tries in vain to budge the door. Meanwhile, Miller returns to the room insisting she needs a last look. Van Eyck hears her and begs her to let him out. “It’s all in my imagination,” she says in reply, then turns and leaves, closing the door behind her.

Sangster’s original script ended here, but Hammer mandated a change, so an epilogue sequence was added where Miller tells the police where to find Van Eyck.

This single scene undoes the film by rendering it tonally uneven.

Earlier, Van Eyck had killed Miller’s dog because of its insistence on fetching Van Eyck’s snorkel. It’s a shocking, dark turn that only works when married with the darker ending.

The same with Miller’s stilted performance. She borders on cloying throughout, weeping from the start that Van Eyck killed her mommy. The script affords her no agency and casts her as something of a dimwit. This works with the darker ending, where she finally seizes her agency in condemning Van Eyck to death and thus changes as a character. The forced epilogue robs her character of this change, leaving her with no arc.

The original ending also distracts from the script’s gaping plot hole, namely that Van Eyck had no reason to kill Miller. He’d won. She had nothing on him and was set to leave for America, where she’d likely end up in an institution. Why would anyone believe her now, especially since she’s already claimed to have seen Van Eyck murder her father? Why risk killing her?

The answer, of course, is so the Sangster could execute his EC Comics style ending. He was, above all, a pragmatic screenwriter who titled his autobiography, Do You Want it Good, or Tuesday? He knew his story had a hole, but like a magician executing a bit of misdirection, counted on the dark ending to distract us. Without it, the illusion collapses.