There’s a fine line between devotion and derangement, and Fanatic (or Die! Die! My Darling!—a title that sounds like it was shouted by a drama teacher after too much sherry) tiptoes that line in Victorian ankle boots and a cloud of Bible-scented paranoia. This 1965 British horror-thriller gives us exactly what it promises: Tallulah Bankhead in her final film, scenery-chewing like a goat at a tablecloth convention, and poor Stefanie Powers regretting every life choice that led her to this murder cottage in the British countryside.
It’s not a great film, but by God, it’s never boring—like Sunday school with a butcher knife.
The Premise: Downton Abbey by Satan’s Grace
Patricia Carroll (Powers), a reasonably sensible American bride-to-be, decides to make a good-will stop to visit the mother of her dead ex-fiancé. This, of course, is already a fatal miscalculation. Mrs. Trefoile (Bankhead), the aforementioned mother, is not merely grieving—she’s grief-marinated and pickled in religious fervor. Her idea of hospitality? Locking guests in upstairs bedrooms, feeding them porridge and scripture, and attempting to cleanse their sins via psychological warfare and maybe some light stabbing.
Patricia’s real crime? Not being interested in marrying her dead ex. And for that, she must be saved—by being tied up, berated, and eventually nearly murdered by people who look like they crawled out of a Charles Dickens fever dream.
Tallulah Bankhead: Glamour and Gospel
Let’s talk about Bankhead, because everything else in the film revolves around her and her eyeliner. Playing Mrs. Trefoile as a cross between Miss Havisham and the Bride of Frankenstein’s prudish aunt, she preaches fire-and-brimstone Christianity while gliding about in dowdy black lace and fire-hardened cheekbones. Her performance is so over-the-top it climbs the Tower of Babel, tumbles back down, and then starts again with a megaphone.
And somehow—it works. Bankhead makes Mrs. Trefoile unforgettable: terrifying, pathetic, and campy in equal measure. She doesn’t so much act as incinerate. You don’t just watch her; you try not to flinch as she bares her soul and gums in every scene.
The Supporting Cast: Less Fanatic, More Frantic
Stefanie Powers gives a solid performance as Patricia, the world’s most polite hostage. She spends most of the movie pleading, crying, and enduring casual threats of damnation from a woman who probably thinks decaf is the Devil’s brew.
Peter Vaughan plays Harry, Mrs. Trefoile’s thuggish manservant, with the subtle menace of a guy who definitely calls the police “mate” while holding a shovel. Yootha Joyce is a standout as Anna, his equally amoral partner in holy crime. And in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-him role, there’s a young Donald Sutherland playing the gardener Joseph, though he looks more like he wandered in from another film involving turnips and misery.
Religious Trauma Meets Gothic Kitsch
Visually, Fanatic feels like Hammer Horror’s Protestant cousin. The cinematography is crisp, the manor is ominous without becoming parody, and the storm clouds seem to schedule their appearances with clockwork precision. The tone veers from slow-burn suspense to sudden shrieks of violence, though some of the pacing drags like Mrs. Trefoile’s skirt hem through wet cemetery grass.
And let’s not forget the real horror: the porridge. Patricia is fed what looks like wallpaper paste while being lectured on fornication. The film dares to ask, “What if breakfast itself was a crime against God?”
Die! Die! My Sanity!
Despite its title (which sounds like a mixtape for serial killers), Fanatic doesn’t rely on blood or jump scares. Its violence is more psychological than physical—until it isn’t. When the knife finally comes out, it’s oddly cathartic, like watching a Puritanical Karen get taken down by her own logic.
The final scene, with Mrs. Trefoile getting a taste of her own divine justice, is both satisfying and slightly sad. It’s the cinematic equivalent of watching a wicked Sunday school teacher accidentally sit on a hornet’s nest: you want to cheer, but there’s also a part of you wondering how she ever got this far unmedicated.
Final Verdict: Sinfully Camp, Righteously Unhinged
Fanatic isn’t quite a classic, but it’s a glorious relic of mid-‘60s British horror—too smart to be trash, too weird to be mainstream, and just deranged enough to be unforgettable. It’s What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? meets The Exorcist’smaiden aunt.
If you like your thrillers with a side of unhinged religiosity, tea-cup tension, and Old Testament revenge served in a country manor—this is your jam. But if you’re looking for nuance or pacing tighter than a Victorian corset, best to move along.
★★★☆☆ – Three stars for Tallulah, trauma, and that terrifying bowl of porridge.
After all, it’s not every day a woman screams “Harlot!” while quoting Psalms and trying to kill you with the Lord’s cutlery.
