In 1973’s Psychomania, Tom Latham (Nicky Henson) is the leader of The Living Dead, a motorcycle gang identified by their skull masks, their bad attitude, and their bizarre love of folk music. Under Tom’s leadership, the members of The Living Dead terrorize the small English town in which they live. They also spend a lot of time hanging out at the cemetery. Tom is death-obsessed. While talking to his girlfriend, Abby (Mary Larkin), Tom suggests that they should kill themselves. “Not that again, Tom,” Abby sighs.

One of the more clever aspects of Psychomania is that, for all of his attempts to be a nihilistic rebel who refuses to conform to the demands of society, Tom is actually a spoiled rich kid who is devoted to his mother (Beryl Reid) and who is still looked after by his butler, Shadwell (George Sanders). Tom’s followers may all be from the lower classes, but Tom most definitely is not. Instead, Tom is very much aware that his mother and Shadwell worship a toad god that can give its followers eternal life, but only if they kill themselves first. After Tom does kill himself, the members of The Living Dead bury him sitting on his motorcycle. He later bursts out of the ground on that same motorcycle and leads his followers on a rampage. Soon, nearly every member of The Living Dead has committed suicide and come back to life as an immortal. The only holdout is Abby.

Psychomania is an enjoyable, chaotic combination of genres. When they first appear, Tom and The Living Dead feel as if they came straight over from one of the many British films about the ’60s rivalry between the rockers and the mods. The Living Dead love their motorcycles and their leather jackets, and they’re not going to let anyone tell them what to do. They’re the type of characters who have appeared in countless biker films. It’s easy to imagine Tom looking at himself in a mirror and trying to imitate Marlon Brando as he says, “What have you got?” However, the film then adds a dash of the witchcraft films popularized by Hammer and Amicus in the late ’60s. Indeed, Tom’s fussy mother and the urbanely sinister Shadwell almost feel like parodies of the type of characters who appeared in those films. (It’s impossible not to smile when the giant toad appears.) The Living Dead then literally become the living dead and prove themselves to be just as relentless as the zombies in the films of George Romero. (That said, the self-amused bikers have more in common with the sanity-deprived characters in Romero’s The Crazies than with the shambling corpses of Night of the Living Dead.) The film ends on a note of sudden reversal, one that brings to mind countless Roger Corman films that featured villains who just didn’t know when to quit.

With all those different genres mashed together, it’s no surprise that Psychomania’s tone is all over the place. Moments of humor and parody are mixed with scenes of the resurrected Living Dead terrorizing their small town and Tom’s mother worrying, along with Shadwell, that perhaps Tom was too immature to be given immortality. Between the suicide montage, the giant toad, and the sight of Tom being buried while sitting on his motorcycle, Psychomania is relentlessly strange and all the more enjoyable for it. Director Don Sharp doesn’t let the action lag, and the film’s mix of bright color, biker imagery, and campy magic combine to make it a truly enjoyable work of pop art.

George Sanders committed suicide shortly after completing this film. He left behind a note that reportedly read, “I’m bored.” He doesn’t have a huge role in Psychomania, but his performance is one of the most memorable things about the film. He imbues Shadwell with a wonderful sense of arch disdain. He may have raised Tom, but that doesn’t mean he has to like him.