Tragically, for many the term "British Horror" brings to mind the garish campery of the Hammer films, with their rickety sets, endless dreadful day-for-night shots of carriages rocketing across the utterly undisguised Essex countryside and isolated "taverns" peopled with unconvincing, ale-swilling "yokels" resting between episodes of Z Cars.
But there was a much more imaginative and, frankly terrifying, side to the genre in the '60s and '70s, and the grandaddy of them all, if being unnerved is our index for success, is The Wicker Man. It left some people, fans particularly, positively unhinged.
Allan Brown's book is a fascinating, meticulously researched account of the making of the movie and its subsequent troubled history, which draws on the almost permanently conflicting memories of the key players including director Robin Hardy and stars Edward Woodward, Christopher Lee and Britt Eckland.
It's a chaotic story, including among other nuggets of weirdness the fact that vital footage was allegedly lost and used as landfill during the building of the M3; Christopher Lee launching his own publicity campaign for the beleaguered film; and Rod Stewart allegedly offering to buy the negative and destroy it after he heard of then girlfriend Eckland's naked cavortings.
There are also accounts not only of a planned sequel and a mini travelogue, but also a compelling theory as to the continuing power of the movie. Brown argues, convincingly, that The Wicker Man (for the uninitiated a story of a Catholic copper investigating a suspected murder on the pagan island of Summerisle) has at its heart an unresolvable conflict between two equally self-contained belief systems: the policeman believes that he will go to an everlasting life after death; Lord Summerisle believes that by torching virgin coppers and a bunch of unfortunate chickens the apple harvest will be saved - and never the twain shall, as they say, meet.
But apart from its theological ponderings (and a very slightly irritating tendency to rubbish The Exorcist ), The Morbid Ingenuities is the definitive story of one of British horror's finest moments and, as it hints at the possibility of a release of the uncut version, leaves us long overdue for another appointment with The Man.