Once Upon a Midnight Dreary, Someone Lost the Script
There are films that entertain, films that terrify, and films that remind you of the fragile nature of reality. Evil Calls: The Raven (2011), also known by roughly forty-seven other titles (The Legend of Harrow Woods, Alone in the Dark, A Career Misstep: The Movie), fits squarely in the third category.
Written, produced, and directed by Richard Driscoll—Britain’s own cinematic chaos magician—this film took nearly a decade to finish. It began shooting in 2002, changed names more times than a witness protection client, and finally emerged blinking into the light of day in 2011. The miracle isn’t that it exists; the miracle is that it survived its own production.
The Plot (We Think)
The story—or at least something resembling one—follows a group of students venturing into Harrow Woods, a cursed forest in New England. Their goal: to investigate the disappearance of horror novelist George Carney and his family. Their fate: gruesome, confusing death by way of ancient witch curses, demonic trickery, and low-budget special effects.
We learn that in the 17th century, a witch named Lenore Selwyn was burned at the stake and cursed the forest with her dying breath. Naturally, as with all good British horror exports set in “America,” everyone sounds vaguely like they’re from Kent.
The students are led by their earnest lecturer Karl Mathers (Richard Waters), whose main qualifications appear to be “owns a flashlight” and “looks slightly more awake than the rest of the cast.” The psychic Anna (Kathryn Rooney) spends much of the film gasping at invisible presences, while website designer Gary (Jason Donovan) regrets not sticking to Neighbours reruns.
And somewhere in all this confusion, George Carney’s story plays out in flashbacks involving marital strife, murder, and what might be a ghost with an accent problem.
The Cast: A British Horror Dream Team on the Edge of Madness
Now, let’s address the elephant—or rather, the collection of national treasures—trapped in this cinematic séance.
Rik Mayall, the late, great comedic anarchist, plays Winston Llamata Jr., a malevolent spirit who convinces poor George Carney to commit murder. Mayall, ever the professional, filmed his scenes back in 2002 and somehow manages to inject genuine menace into the role, even though the editing makes him appear as though he’s haunting a completely different film. Watching him glower through soft-focus filters is both eerie and tragic—like seeing Bottom performed in purgatory.
Sir Norman Wisdom, then 86, makes a brief cameo as Winston Llamata Sr., a part so random it feels like a fever dream someone had after watching Carry On Screaming. Wisdom’s mere presence adds a layer of surreal melancholy, as though the film accidentally stumbled into being a requiem for British comedy.
Jason Donovan, our pop idol-turned-actor, is here as a “website designer,” which is apparently horror shorthand for “man who holds the camera nervously.” He delivers every line like he’s waiting for someone to tell him this is a prank show.
Robin Askwith, cult legend of the Confessions films, appears as Vincent, a sleazy brother having an affair with his sibling’s wife. You can almost smell the 1970s off him, and honestly, that’s part of the charm.
Eileen Daly, queen of low-budget British horror, struts through the chaos like she’s the only one aware she’s in a ghost film. She’s hypnotic, melodramatic, and delightfully camp—think Elvira after two espresso martinis and a tax audit.
And just when you think the cast list can’t get weirder: Christopher Walken voices a raven, and Marianne Faithfullnarrates. Yes, you read that right—Christopher Walken as a talking raven. It’s not clear whether he’s meant to be supernatural, symbolic, or just lost, but his presence elevates the film from “bad” to “transcendentally absurd.”
The Aesthetic: Gothic by Way of Public Access Television
Visually, Evil Calls is a marvel of misplaced ambition. It wants to look like Sleepy Hollow but ends up resembling a Halloween episode of EastEnders. The color palette alternates between “fog machine accident” and “PowerPoint transition.”
The editing is chaotic. Scenes dissolve into each other without warning, and the flashbacks often arrive like uninvited guests. The soundtrack, meanwhile, sounds like someone let a Casio keyboard fall down a staircase.
And yet, beneath the unintentional comedy, there’s a weird, endearing earnestness. You can feel Driscoll’s passion bleeding through every mismatched frame. He’s not making Evil Calls ironically—he’s making it because he loves horror, Poe, and possibly tax write-offs.
The Raven Speaks (And So Does Walken)
Let’s pause to appreciate the absolute gift that is Christopher Walken as a talking raven. His voice booms through the film like a confused deity trapped in a student film. Every time he says “Nevermore,” it’s less Poe and more “Please let me go home.”
But Walken’s cameo is a microcosm of Evil Calls itself: bizarre, unnecessary, and yet utterly mesmerizing. It’s as if the film exists on a wavelength where sincerity and absurdity have merged into one long scream echoing through the moors.
A Masterpiece of Mismanagement
To describe Evil Calls as a “bad film” misses the point. It’s so bad it transcends its failings, metamorphosing into something joyously weird. It’s like watching a séance conducted by people who forgot to bring the ghost.
The dialogue is melodramatic to the point of poetry. “The forest remembers the blood!” someone yells, probably. Characters die dramatically and then reappear later in flashbacks—or maybe just because the editor lost track of time. The witch’s curse is never fully explained, which is fine, because by that point you’ve stopped asking questions and started giggling every time someone says “Harrow Woods” in a fake New England accent.
Between Madness and Mayhem
Despite everything—or perhaps because of it—Evil Calls has an undeniable charm. It’s ambitious in the way only low-budget horror can be: wildly, unapologetically, earnestly ambitious. It wants to be spooky, sexy, philosophical, and tragic—all at once—and occasionally, for a few shining seconds, it almost is.
Rik Mayall’s ghostly smirk. Norman Wisdom’s cameo from beyond the grave. Christopher Walken growling at the moon. It’s like a séance conducted with celebrity cardboard cutouts and genuine affection.
The Curse of Harrow Woods (and Editing Software)
Watching Evil Calls feels like stepping into a cursed time capsule of early 2000s British filmmaking—one where every stylistic decision was made after consulting a haunted toaster. There’s CGI fire, cheap lightning effects, and what appears to be a 3D raven rendered on a Nokia.
But even as you laugh—and you will laugh—it’s impossible not to admire the sheer audacity of it all. Richard Driscoll didn’t just make a movie; he conjured an experience, a fever dream stitched together by ambition and sheer force of will.
Final Thoughts: Nevermore, Please, and Thank You
Evil Calls: The Raven is a film that defies logic, genre, and occasionally gravity. It’s part ghost story, part industry relic, and part performance art. It’s a glorious mess, a beautiful disaster, and—against all odds—a strangely enjoyable one.
It’s the cinematic equivalent of a séance conducted over dial-up internet, starring half of Britain’s B-list legends and a CGI raven voiced by Christopher Walken. It shouldn’t work. It doesn’t work. But somehow, it does.
If you love horror, bad decisions, or just want to witness what happens when a director’s ambition outweighs reality, Evil Calls is the cursed gem for you.
Verdict: ★★★★☆
A deliriously awful, gloriously entertaining slice of supernatural nonsense. Come for Rik Mayall and Christopher Walken’s raven; stay because the elevator to sanity stopped working around 2003.
