Ante Meridiem Theatre: “Alice, Sweet Alice”

Ante Meridiem Theatre is a new feature at the Cafe to focus on those movies that, years ago, would crop up on TV in the wee hours of the morning, when you were only partially awake, and right before the network turned to snow.
Twelve-year-old Alice (Paula Sheppard) resents her younger sister, Karen (Brooke Shields), envious of the attention she receives surrounding her First Communion: her new white dress and veil, and a crucifix given to her from their priest. On the day of Karen’s First Communion, it is Alice who kneels at the altar with the other girls, and a nun finds Karen’s body. Not surprisingly, the police suspect Alice of her sister’s murder, but her mother, Catherine (Linda Miller), and estranged father, Dom (Niles McMaster), refuse to believe that she is responsible. However, when Catherine’s sister, Annie (Jane Lowry), is ferociously stabbed on the stairwell in Catherine’s apartment building, she insists that the assailant, dressed in a yellow raincoat often sported by Alice and a smiling face mask that the girl would use to scare people, is her 12-year-old niece. And if the culprit isn’t Alice, then someone has blood on their mind and hands, and a giant knife for spilling more.

Alfred Sole’s Alice, Sweet Alice (1976) is an extraordinary film, but also unnerving. In spite of its mediocre budget, Sole shrouds the movie in a brooding atmosphere. Inside the apartment building are the dark cellar, the claustrophobic staircase, and the creepy, reclusive landlord, Mr. Alphonso (Alphonso DeNoble). But the outside world is one of gloom, drenched by the pouring rain and seemingly filled with abandoned buildings. Even a church is not safe from the atrocities, as the film’s first murder occurs in such a place. Perhaps the movie’s most noteworthy trait is that Sole provides unforgettable shocks and thrills: an early scene in which Alice scares Karen by wearing a mask (pulling aside said mask to reveal another one), and the attack on Annie, which is utterly terrifying. Though Annie survives the assault, her sister is helpless, and outside the rain disperses Annie’s blood in lieu of washing it away. There is no solace in the woman’s endurance, particularly as a tearful, pale Annie accuses Alice in her hospital bed.

Alice, Sweet Alice was filmed and released initially as Communion, a greater and more appropriate title. But due to the notoriety surrounding Pretty Baby in 1978, in which a very young Brooke Shields appeared in a movie about a brothel, Sole’s movie was re-released under the Alice title and focusing on Shields’ involvement. In 1981, after the actress had garnered even more fame with The Blue Lagoon (1980) and Endless Love (1981), the film was released a third time as Holy Terror. Though the director prefers his original title, the most accepted title among fans and perhaps the best known is Alice, Sweet Alice.
Actress Miller was the daughter of Jackie Gleason and had been married to Jason Miller, who played Father Damien in William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973). She and her former husband are also the parents of actor Jason Patric. Though she was portraying a 12-year-old girl, Sheppard, in her cinematic debut, was 19 at the time of filming.

Unfortunately, Sole directed only a handful of films, as he was unhappy with the lack of independence working in Hollywood, including his 1982 slasher film parody, Pandemonium. Since stepping away from the director’s chair, he has become a production designer (a job which he essentially handled in Alice, Sweet Alice) and is quite prolific, working on TV series such as Veronica Mars and the currently running Castle.
Sole has cited Alfred Hitchcock and Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now (1973) as inspiration for his 1976 film. Certainly there are visual connections to Don’t Look Now, as well as a subtle play on Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), but the richly textured Alice, Sweet Alice is entirely the work of Alfred Sole. He adds menace to a yellow raincoat, makes a 12-year-old girl’s playful ways ominous, and triggers a sense of dread when a character takes the stairs. He makes it abundantly clear that no one can hide, no one is safe, and no one can help. Sole offers the kind of film that doesn’t allow its viewers to alleviate their fears and unease by turning on all the lights.