(1940)
Dir - Richard C. Kahn
Overall: WOOF
A historically important "race film" that was the first in the horror/mad scientist genre, Son of Ingagi is unfortunately also an appallingly dull production. Though director Richard C. Kahn was Caucasian, everyone on screen is black, inducing screenwriter Spencer Williams who on paper is supposed to be the comic relief police detective. There are two musical numbers early on and for 1940, it portrays its cast in a more respectable manner than what African American actors were usually allowed to play in mainstream movies, either A or B-budgeted. Several things undermine the effort though, namely Kahn's unbearably flat direction and an awful sense of pacing. There is no incidental musical score, (something that was usually a good thing in the early sound era to create a level of intimate intensity), but Williams' story has nothing going for it, so every scene plays out to pin-drop silence with only the most bare bones "point the camera until the scene is over" cinematography. Many of the actors stumble through their lines and the ape man monster is just a guy grunting in embarrassing face paint and glued-on hair. It is a shame then that such an opportunity was wasted for black performers to carve out their own successful niche in the horror market.
(1942)
Dir - John Brahm
Overall: MEH
An uneven horror cheapie from Twentieth Century-Fox' B-unit, The Undying Monster, (The Hammond Mystery), blows some swell atmosphere on a clumsy story that regularly looses its footing. Things seem promising enough from the onset as we settle into an allegedly haunted coastal house in southeast England where some screams are heard due to an unidentified creature attacking someone, which brings in two Scotland Yard detectives to investigate. From there though, things quickly divulge into lackluster comic relief and several characters walking about the mansion's ground in order to dig up clues. The excellent Gothic set design and Lucien Ballard's moody cinematography fail to elevate a story that cannot decide how spooky it is supposed to be, also there is no star power and the performances that we do get are merely passable. For large portions of the running time, it bares zero hallmarks to any adequately sinister genre films as people prattle on without any interesting discoveries being made or tension being ratcheted up. Only with mere minutes left to spare before "The End" pops up on the screen do we finally get a clear shot of the title monster, which is a shame since the make-up is satisfactory, yet it barely makes an impression due to the sluggish toll to get there.
(1946)
Dir - Lesley Selander
Overall: MEH
Trying and failing to capture the low-budget atmospherics of RKO's Val Lewton productions, The Catman of Paris comes from Poverty Row studio Republic Pictures who do a routine job with the material. Every aspect from Lesley Selander's direction, to the screenplay from Sherman L. Lowe, to Reggie Lanning's cinematography, Dale Butts', (huh, huh, "Butts"), music, to all of the performances are bland and forgettable. Austrian-born Carl Esmond has a convincing accent, but he is as uninteresting of a protagonist as the film itself is, playing an aristocratic writer who nonchalantly dumps his fiance for another woman and becomes convinced that the city's recent string of murders it due to his turning into a feline monster. There is a twist at the end that does nothing to elevate the proceedings and the few shots that we do get of the Mr. Hyde-esque, bestial title character are not up to par with any of the Jack Pierce make-up designs from Universal. The movie merely goes through the motions; all of the ingredients are there to make a moody, Gothic, and low-key B-feature, but nobody on board seems to possess any understanding as to the necessary specifics of how to make that happen. A sixty-four minute running time is at least a saving grace.
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