(1932)
Dir - Carl Theodor Dreyer
Overall: GOOD
One of the most lauded of early, post-silent horror as well as one of several defining works from Danish filmmaker Carl Theodor Dreyer, Vampyr, (Vampyr – Der Traum des Allan Gray), is singularly exceptional. It is in part a hold-over from the silent era as Dreyer had intended it to be wordless. Yet in order to compete properly with the advent of talkies, he reluctantly included sparse dialog, shooting three different versions for French, German, and English speaking audiences. At the same time though, the film still utilizes intertitles heavily and to further bypass the need for dialog, it is very deliberately paced. Also by shooting through an actual gauze to create a haze-like atmosphere, the ethereal quality is even more apparent. By being so purposely understated then, it is far from heart-racing, yet Dreyer and cinematographer Rudolph Maté keep the camera movements engaging while expressive shadows and superimpositions allow for the foreboding tone to remain unchecked. Though a narrative is certainly present and it lifts leisurely from two Sheridan Le Fanu stories, the film is primarily a surreal, macabre mood piece. For those whose patience and admiration for such things is intact, this is a rewarding undertaking that is well-deserving of its reputation.
(1933)
Dir - Ramón Peón
Overall: MEH
Regarded as the first Mexican horror film, La Llorona, (The Crying Woman), is noteworthy for its historical importance and nothing else. Serving as an origin story of sorts for the titular supernatural character, it dedicates a large chunk of its meager running time to period piece flashbacks, yet neither that or the main, present day story present anything remotely interesting. This is mostly due to the approach though. There are some minor thematic attempts at creating a spooky atmosphere with ghostly howling and close-ups of hands, but stagnant shots of characters standing around and talking is the primary focus. The film drags heavily before it even gets going, indulging straight away in a children's birthday party that lasts only a few minutes yet feels several hours long. Such laborious pacing is persistent throughout and regrettably, Peón puts as much charisma behind the lens as his merely competent cast does in front of it. There is a mystery present yet it barely shows itself, only emerging by the final act. By that point, the back and forth narrative and unremarkable visual presentation leaves very little if anything to be engaged with.
(1936)
Dir - Frank Wisbar
Overall: MEH
Made during the National Socialist regime in Germany before the outbreak of World War II, Fährmann Maria, (Ferryman Maria), is only a quasi-horror film even by the most generous of standards. It is actually a simple, highly unremarkable love story with some mild propagandist leniencies thrown in for good measure. Future Fireside Theatre creator Frank Wisbar showcases some rather humdrum skills behind the lens here, even going as far as to lumber the pace along with a scene in which dialog is exchanged inside of a building where the camera forgets to follow the characters inside. While a mysterious figure who seems to be a stand-in for Death does appear and one or two haunting images find their way into the proceedings, the incessant, stock musical score and comatose plot wield very little in the way of engaging atmosphere or interest. Wisbar remade the film in America nine years later as a more genre-pleasing affair, under the much more pizazz-worthy title Strangler of the Swamp no less. The original version here sadly does not even offer up the amount of excitement that a run-of-the-mill B-movie would produce though.
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