Frankenstein

FRANKENSTEIN

(1931)

Dir - James Whale

Overall: GREAT

Once producer Carl Laemmle Jr. and Universal Pictures hit surprising pay dirt in February of 1931 with Dracula, they followed suit eight months later with their next Gothic cinematic adaptation Frankenstein.  The films are routinely linked together on account of their lingering influence, immediate commercial success, and the fact that each launched the careers of their runaway stars Béla Lugosi and Boris Karloff, respectively.  There are other similarities between the two; Edward Van Sloan and Dwight Fry appear in each, neither film has a musical score, Garrett Fort was a credited screenwriter on both, they were each based on contemporary plays as much as on the original novels which informed those plays, and they both take significant liberties with their source material, streamlining it in the process for a roughly seventy-minute running time.

 

Yet Frankenstein is a unique beast from its predecessor.  Technically superior in many respects, its director James Whale exerts a more focused vision than that which Dracula's Tod Browning had.  There are less lulls in the pacing, more of a steady trajectory that does not resort to chamber drama in the manner in which Dracula did after its first act.  The most significant difference though is the story itself.  Dracula was a tale of the supernatural, featuring a remorseless and undead fiend who feasts on blood in order to prologue its vampiric lifespan.  Frankenstein is about a man playing god, creating a creature that is more pitiful than terrifying.  Dracula is sexy and spooky.  Frankenstein is cautionary and tragic.  While some of these attributes overlap between the two, they are singular films at their core.  Bram Stoker and Mary Shelley were telling different tales after all, and so Universal was making different movies.

 

Shelley left the vampires to her buddy Lord Byron.

Enough about comparing two Universal films that each did mad business, made careers, and defined the horror genre for decades to come.  The focus here is on Frankenstein, one of the most lauded and cherished works that the Golden Era of Hollywood ever produced, horror or otherwise.  Accounts vary as to the specifics of its infancy.  Originally, director Robert Florey and Universal's new big name Lugosi were attached, but Florey's vision for the Monster was worlds removed from what ended up on the screen.  He wanted it to be a mindless killing brute, one that Lugosi allegedly had reservations about playing.  Some say that the Hungarian thespian walked off the project, refusing the part because it had no dialog.  Yet others have pointed out that it is unlikely that Lugosi, (a fresh star from Dracula yes, but hardly an actor who could make any demands or hold any clout in his profession in so short a time and without any follow-up hits under his belt), would have refused any work at this point in his career.  Also, Florey was eventually let go from the project, and when Whale came on board, his vision was to not only make the Monster sympathetic, but also to cast Karloff in the lead, another unknown who like Lugosi got such a iconic part mostly from being in the right place at the right time.

 

Lugosi was hot off his success in the Hamilton Deane and John L. Balderston theater production of Dracula when he lobbied for the part after Universal executives were able to catch him on stage during the casting phase.  Karloff was taking a tea break in Universal's commissary when Whale happened to spot him, correctly deducing that the unknown bit player's unusual looks and gaunt features would make an ideal reanimated corpse.  Not only a reanimated corpse, but a reanimated corpse that would evoke affinity amongst the audience.  Though Karloff was just shy of six feet tall, some thick boots and heavy padding would bulk him up considerably for the screen, not to mention Jack Pierce's striking make-up job which would add several inches to the actor's cranium.  The effect was a towering creature that both served as an abomination against god, yet also pathetic and infantile.  This latter aspect was in large part due to Karloff's portrayal, the actor having a gentle demeanor in real life that he was able to channel even underneath all that greasepaint, cotton, collodion, and gum which Pierce applied to his face.

 

A guy in deep concentration and another guy probably trying not to fall asleep while holding in his pee.

Both Pierce's make-up design and Karloff's performance are fantastic, arguably representing the best work that either man ever did.  The flat-topped, bolts-in-the-neck look of the Monster was birthed here, a look that has endured ever since, just as much as Lugosi's pale face and slicked back Dracula widow's peak has.  In fact the make-up design was so specific that when Hammer decided to do their own version in Eastmancolor over two and a half decades later with The Curse of Frankenstein, they deliberately went in as different a direction as possible as to not draw further comparison to the seminal film that they were updating.  Christopher Lee looks great as the Creature and certainly more grotesque, (which is fitting for Hammer's more nasty take on the material), but since Karloff had an eye-catching facial structure already, Pierce wisely retained as much of it as possible.  This allowed for the actor to emote to the full extent of his ability, doing everything from growling, to yelping, to smiling, and all while acting terrified, confused, threatened, or void of any emotions depending on what the scene called for.

 

Any actor in a speechless role has that much harder of a time conveying what is meant to be conveyed, depending on that role of course.  In Shelley's novel, the Monster eventually becomes self-educated and well-spoken on his route to understand his existence and eventually confront his maker in Frankenstein once more.  In Universal's interpretation on the other hand, (which is considerably reduced in plot points to what happens in the book), there is no time for the Monster to receive such a full arch.  Yet never does the film feel rushed.  The full theme is still explored where Colin Clive's Henry Frankenstein experiences the horrific consequences of his prideful ambition, in effect creating a force of nature that he cannot discard so easily.  He comes to the conclusion that he has made a terrible mistake even quicker in Shelley's source material, running out of the room as soon as the Monster animates.  Here, Frankenstein boats in blasphemous glory that now he "Knows what it feels like to BE god!", delivering the movie's most famous line "It's alive, it's alive!" which he repeats in victorious triumph once his creation starts to move.

 

The original line "Suck it Jesus!" was omitted, probably for the best.

In this way, the movie does something more radical than the book did, showcasing that its title character was going to bask in his glory for a bit before seeing the folly of his ways.  Frankenstein only comes to the conclusion that he made a boo-boo once it becomes apparent that his creation is dangerous.  There is a scene added, (one of many that Mel Brooks would wonderfully lampoon in Young Frankenstein forty years later), where Dwight Frye's Fritz clumsily drops the brain of a dead intellect and instead grabs that of a dead criminal, something that his boss Frankenstein remains unaware of.  This is an important detail, since it signifies that Henry abandons his creation thinking that he did everything in his power and egotistical genius to make the experiment work.  If he knew that the Monster had a rotten brain, he may have simply tried it again with a "good" one.  Instead, he agrees with those around him that the Monster cannot be controlled and should in effect be put down, a decision that he also comes to due to the severe exhaustion that he has just underwent in undergoing such an experiment.

 

The extent of training which would be required to make the Monster something that he could parade around in high society is something that Henry is neither capable of nor interested in.  Furthermore, we never get the sense that he had the foresight to do such training to begin with.  This is another crucial aspect to the story and one that Shelley's novel shares.  It is Frankenstein's short-sighted pride that condemns him, his arrogance to control nature.  So hyper-focused on the mere concept of revitalizing extinct human tissue, (possibly just to prove that he could do it), he never thought of what would then happen if he actually did do it.  Though he does not flee in terror the second that the Monster wakes up, the movie Frankenstein still comes face to face with him and catches on quickly that he is in over his head.

 

"I already told you twice to sit down!  Ah the hell with this, let's just kill him." - Henry Frankenstein.

Those around Henry care about him enough as to not make him feel humiliated over his lack of prudence, and this allows him to return to his home, proceed with his wedding, and even lead the angry mob at the end against the very problem that he has unleashed, as opposed to that angry mob holding him responsible and demanding that he pay for his crime.  In a sense then, Frankenstein gets away with his deed.  He survives at the end, Fritz, Van Sloan's Dr. Waldman, and the drowned girl are the only deaths that the Monster causes which are given any significance, and Henry gets back to his privileged existence as the son of a Barron until Dr. Pretorius shows up and the events of The Bride of Frankenstein unfold.  As always though, context is important, and there were no plans for a sequel when this film was made.  Therefor we can look at its ending as definitive; a "happy" one more or less where Frankenstein has learned his lesson and everyone will sweep all of this nasty "He made a thing out of dead body parts and that thing went around murdering people" business under the rug.

 

While the religious allegories are in place both here and in the book, (Frankenstein going against the law of his own creator and in effect making his own creation that punishes him for such heresy), you can remove or ignore such a concept and strip it down to still make its point.  The dead stay dead, the dead NEED to stay dead, and immortality cannot be attained no matter what noble intentions we delude ourselves into having.  Science has its limits, and that is because there is a balance to things which cannot be recklessly tampered with.  Frankenstein presents the outcome of such tampering, whether you have a spiritual belief in a "creator" or not.  This helps the film endure as something that is not just a warning against defying Christian dogma, but also a warning against defying the practical merits of nature's confines.  The world would get pretty overcrowded pretty fast if nobody died, and this does not even bring up the conundrum that if the only way to extend one's life was to revitalize the corpses of others with ideal body parts, then who makes the call as to what lives are expendable and which deserve reanimation?

 

How dare only some of us get to stand and walk around like a regular Rory Calhoun after death.

As far as Whale's handling of the material is concerned, he would indulge more in his campy sense of humor with the proceeding The Bride of Frankenstein four years later, here delivering something more somber and menacing.  The only lighthearted moments stem from Frederick Kerr's performances as Baron Papa Frankenstein, a type of "Now now, we will have none of that tomfoolery" curmudgeon who walks around everywhere like he runs the place and refuses to allow his maid staff the luxury of drinking the good booze during a toast since its quality would be "lost on them".  There are few of these comedic moments though, (even fewer than in Browning's Dracula), Whale instead keeping things rooted to a forward trajectory plot wise as the lumbering presence of Karloff's Monster is always a scene or two away at most.

 

There are some deliberately jarring shots that Whale and cinematographer Arthur Edeson concoct, the latter having also been the director of photography on All Quiet on the Western Front, Casablanca, and The Maltese Falcon, to name but three more of the all time greatest films ever made.  Our first glimpse of Karloff is done so as a tease, the actor walking backwards and slowly turning around, at which point the camera snaps into two close-ups which were likely designed to get some audible gasps from the audience.  The laboratory equipment designed by Kenneth Strickfaden sparks with kinetic life before the camera during the creation scene, laboratory equipment that would also be utilized in every subsequent Frankenstein film for Universal, not to mention being replicated ad nauseam in gallons of movies since that have any sort of mad scientist angle.  Our introduction to the secondary characters of Elizabeth, (Mae Clarke), and Victor, (John Boles), are likewise peculiar, Edeson beginning with a close-up of Clive's framed photo, then one of the maid, then one of Boles, then of Clarke, and all in rapid succession of each other before the scene opens up to an elaborate bedroom with a ceiling that looks as it if is twenty feet off the ground.

 

A bedroom that Henry would foolishly lock his fiance in during the Monster's rampage, while also foolishly leaving the windows wide open with no guards positioned.

 

There are also several disorienting and artificial visuals in the finale.  We have Clive and Karloff staring each other down in the windmill, the turning spokes framing them as if they are prisoner's to their fate.  We have obvious matte paintings behind the mountains as the torch-bearing villagers hunt down the Monster, another motif that Universal and others would recycle to unintentional parody levels as the years went on.  We have the frames sped up when the Monster collapses screaming under a wood pillar, and a lousy dummy being used as Clive's body is tossed from the soon-to-be-inflamed windmill.  These shots are not flaws by any means, they instead enhance the film's unnatural nature.  On that note, they provide a contrast to more soberly handled moments like the Monster awakening on the table just as Waldman is about to lethal inject him, the Monster experiencing a lone moment of tenderness while playing with Marilyn Harris before innocently throwing her into the lake, and Harris' father Michael Mark carrying his limp daughter's body through the square with a look of disbelieving shock on his face.

 

As an early talkie, the style was still melodrama, (as the performances alone easily exemplify), so curious shots that break verisimilitude, (juxtaposed with some of the film's more alarming or emotionally impactful moments presented matter-of-factly), are a welcomed addition to a story that deals with impossible things.  This shows an understanding of the assignment on Whale's part, an assignment that he crafts with a combination of quirkiness and eeriness, just as the Monster itself is a conglomerate of horrifying and child-like.  These contradictions render the movie just artificial enough to put us at a distance from, but also intimate enough to bring us in close.  Like Dracula, the lack of a musical soundtrack is crucial to this.  By contemporary cinematic standards, (standards which would be established only a few short years later), Frankenstein playing out sans a score makes it a more curious and in effect haunting work.  It is no wonder then that Whale took a more comedic approach to its sequel The Bride of Frankenstein, which had near consistent music throughout.  That film needed more over-the-top moments to complement its already exaggerated aesthetic, and in effect it is bizarre in its own right, just not chilling in the way that its predecessor was.  Both films are masterpieces, but Universal's initial Frankenstein was the trailblazer.

 

A smoke break well-earned gentlemen.

Dracula

DRACULA

(1931)

Dir - Tod Browning

Overall: GREAT

 

Universal's Dracula is of course not the first horror movie ever made, and it owes much of its look and mood to German Expressionism, not least of all from F. W. Murnau's earlier unauthorized adaptation of Bram Stoker's novel, Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror.  Dracula's cinematographer Karl Freund had even collaborated together with Murnau seven years previously on The Last Laugh.  Yet all of the macabre cinematic works that proceeded Dracula, (several like the aforementioned Nosferatu being masterpieces in their own right), were setting the stage for what Universal would do here.  That is to say that this is the granddaddy of horror talkies, and a film that solidified the genre's popularity as well as nearly a century's worth of on screen vampire iconography.  So much came from the movie that we can easily take it for granted.  It is also easy to look past the film's shortcomings since it remains an atmospheric triumph, not to mention the fact that it features one of the screen's most memorable performances, that of Béla Lugosi's in the title role.
 
As the world entered the 1930s, was knee-deep in the Great Depression, and sound films had just recently become the norm, Universal's then boss Carl Laemmle had no interest or faith in anything "horror" related.  Thankfully, he had delegated his son Carl Laemmle Jr. as studio head around this time, and Junior was ambitious to say the least about bringing Stoker's novel, (as well as Hamilton Deane and John L. Balderston's stage play of the same name), to the screen.  He purchased the rights to both in order to hold a monopoly on the property, and originally envisioned it as an A-production full of various locations, sets, extras, costumes, and one that would adapt most aspects of Stoker's source material.  The initial, (and unused), script by Louis Bromfield even featured the idea that Dracula would be played by two different actors, one old and gnarly looking, another younger and more dashing as his blood intake increased.  Yet because Papa Laemmle had reservations, (and that whole global recession thing was going on), everything was scaled back.  This in turn made the finished product more accommodating to Deane and Balderston's play, which streamlined many of the original story's aspects and allowed for a significant portion of it to be shot as a drawing-room drama.

"Fuck Dracula" - Carl Laemmle (citation needed).

Because the film was ultimately done in this matter, it invites criticism whenever we cut away from Lugosi to let the rest of the cast talk in unassuming wide or medium shots in heavily-lit interiors.  While many can argue that this slows down the pacing and provides an unfortunate contrast to the fantastic and eerie mood setting in the first act, such a breather is far from a bore.  This is for two reasons.  One, Lugosi never stays off screen for too long, and he is so effortlessly dynamic that one is easily captivated by him when he appears again and again, even when it is in one of those heavily-lit interiors.  The other reason that the movie maintains momentum once the setting switches from Transylvania and the doomed schooner to contemporary England and Carfax Abbey is because the film as a whole does not feature a musical soundtrack.
 
This was both a cost-cutting measure at the time and a product of those times.  Since talkies were a new medium in many respects, the industry was still working out the kinks just to get dialog recorded and mixed properly.  Adding a musical score to the proceedings would complicate matters, as well as inflate the already tight budgets being utilized.  This mattered because again, the Great Depression.  In only a few short years, full-fledged dramatic scores would become, (and stay), the norm.  1933's RKO's King Kong demonstrated this with a vengeance, per example.  Yet in 1931, restraint was mercifully utilized, and Dracula, Frankenstein, and Paramount's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde all benefited from the minimal amount of music that was thrown onto them.

 

Just imagine how much Christopher Nolan would ruin such a moment if he were behind the lens and drowned everything out with Hans Zimmer's help.

 

As would also be the case in Universal's Murders in the Rue Morgue and The Mummy, (both released the following year), an excerpt from Act II of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky's "Swan Lake" is utilized over the opening credits, which provides a romantic introduction that simultaneously hints at the sinister.  Some Wagner and Schubert sections briefly pop up as diegetic music during the opera scene where Dracula introduces himself to his new neighbors, but otherwise, the film's soundtrack is exclusively made up of set noise and whatever the actors are saying.  This gives it an intimacy that conventionally scored movies by design can never have.  We lean in during every quiet pause, during every transition, and all without any orchestral hoopla dictating what we are supposed to feel.  Freund's visuals do that for us, as do the actor's portrayals, some who lay on the appropriate amount of melodrama, some who are more reserved, some who provide a few comic relief moments, and of course Lugosi who seems either plucked out of another planet or from a bygone era.
 
Everything has been said about the Hungarian thespian's performance here, the one that made him a household name, typecast him, and solidified his Hollywood legacy.  Lugosi had been working on the stage and in films for nearly fifteen years already once he landed the title role here at the age of forty-nine.  His acting chops well-tuned then, (not to mention the fact that he had already been portraying the Count on stage for more than two years by the time that shooting on the film began), Lugosi also had the advantage of being from the same area of the native country, (roughly), where Dracula was from.  Also, English was a second language to him.  In other words, this made Lugosi both look and sound the part, and boy did he do both.

 

None more Dracula than he.

Consider that before this movie was made, Dracula was just another book, one that was popular yet hardly in the zeitgeist.  Max Schreck's turn in Nosferatu was worlds removed from Lugosi's, as Murnau chose to design him as a rodent-faced monstrosity and someone who could only lurk in the shadows and emerge at night.  Which is to say someone who could never suavely charm the pants off the English public while walking amongst them.  Lugosi on the other hand utilized his own face, his own voice, and his own stilted English, not to mention his own intentionally patient mannerisms.  Blessed with a movie star face to begin with, his natural good looks coupled with that unearthly delivery of his dialog all enhanced his intimidating European nobleman swagger.  Lugosi had charisma in spades, and it was never suited better than as the evil, sexy, determined, and fascinating Count.  He could hypnotize you by his piercing stare, (heightened by the over-the-top eye light that Freund routinely gives him), make you hang on his every word as he slowly and almost phonetically delivered them, and also looked like a man that would take over a room just by entering it.
 
It was not the Dracula of Stoker's novel who changed appearances, had a thick flowing mustache, and spoke without an accent, but the cinema is not the books.  Lugosi made the role his own, (to coin a cliche), and no matter how many other reinterpretations of the source material or screen variants of the Count we have had in the near century since this film came out, Lugosi's voice, look, and behavior is still what most people associate with the character.  That is one hell of an accomplishment, one that few other actors have been able to do with any other role.  Sure, the flat-topped, bolts-in-the-neck, eyes barely open appearance that Boris Karloff had as the Monster in Frankenstein likewise solidified the look of THAT character, but that was mostly due to make-up man Jack Pierce.  Lugosi's Dracula is all him, and it is a wonder to think that as a mere bit player who was little known in Hollywood, he had to lobby for a part that Universal originally considered numerous other actors for.  How different Sesame Street and breakfast packaging would be if they went that route instead, one can only ponder.

 

Somehow Paul Muni would just look all wrong on a cereal box.

 

Of course Dracula is not limited to but one scene-stealing performer.  Dwight Frye was another character actor who had a fine career on the stage when he scored the role of Renfield here, and he was another character actor that just like Lugosi, did such a good job that casting agents from that point on could only see him in such a part.  Frye's transformation from a polite and effeminate real estate agent that is unfazed by superstitious warnings or the dilapidated state of Dracula's castle to that of a wide-eyed, pathetic-yet-terrifying, cackling, bug-eating lunatic is one of cinema's most memorable.  Frye is more overtly creepy than Lugosi, the latter utilizing his foreign magnetism to get in close with his victims while Frye's Renfield is about as far removed from charming as you can get.  Yet just as Lugosi defined the on-screen vampire for eons to come, Frye did the same with the demented stooge, delivering a wacky and heightened performance, elevated that much more due to the overall low-key, (and again, music-less), presentation.
 
Though Tod Browning was the official director on Dracula, accounts vary as to how involved or even enthusiastic he was about the assignment.  Actor David Manners, (playing John Harker more as a dead fish than anything), went on record as saying that he barely recalled Browning even being around, and that he took any direction that he got from cinematographer Freund.  Browning was no slouch from behind the director's chair mind you, having done a number of successful collaborations with Lon Chaney who was the initial choice to play Dracula until his quick demise due to lung cancer permanently squashed that idea.  Browning would also go on to make Freaks of course, a film that was infamous for decades and tanked his career, yet also one that has been rightfully reappraised as his most personal, quirky, and disturbing.  Yet as many from the era were, Browning was more comfortable with silent films and allegedly, he was not fond of elaborate shots or non-stationary camera set ups.  We can conclude then that the film's several flowing camera maneuvers were the work of Feund, a director of photography who was literally German and knew the ins and outs of Expressionism.

 

Because any many who could also shoot I Love Lucy clearly knew a thing or two about Gothic horror.

The first act of Dracula which takes place in Transylvania is where Freud shines best, and it is easily the film's most memorable, establishing a mysterious aura during Renfield's trek through the mountains before we visit the catacombs where the Count, his brides, some bugs, and even armadillos emerge from their coffins.  Then of course we see the outside and inside of Castle Dracula itself, a crumbling abode that set the template for every creepy and ancient horror location from there on out.  The horror eye candy is popping off the screen during these moments, and when Lugosi finally emerges with his illuminated eyes before bidding Renfield welcome and walking through a spider web off screen, the film has already established its legacy for uncanny mood-setting.
 

Later on, various other shots are sprinkled throughout that equally evoke such spookiness.  Renfield cackling with his locked grin as he is discovered with the cargo on the schooner, Lugosi emerging from his boxes of native soil underground as wolves howl in the distance, the strange look in Helen Chandler's eyes when she is under Dracula's spell and about to pounce on Manners, Lugosi slowly maneuvering towards Frances Dade as she slumbers, Renfield crawling towards the fainted maid, etc.  In contrast, we even get a few nyuck nyucks delivered by Charles K. Gerrard as the mental hospital orderly who is constantly confounded by Renfield's bug-munching antics, though such moments of deliberate comedy are minuscule and underplayed.  This shows a level of determination on producer Laemmle Jr.'s part to make this a "serious" picture that had a paramount supernatural theme, not one that would be undone Scooby-Doo style in the finale to let audiences relax, (see Browning and Lugosi's London After Midnight remake Mark of the Vampire from 1935).  Count Dracula was the real deal when it came to being a vampire, and the events of the film can afford only sporadic chuckles along the way to emphasis this.

 

A comedic duo for the ages.

There are several lines of dialog in the film that were exclusive to it at the time, not found in Stoker's novel yet lingering in Dracula mythos ever since.  "For one who has not lived even a single lifetime, you're a wise man, Van Helsing", "Rats! Rats! Rats! Thousands! Millions of them!", "There are far worse things awaiting man than death", and "I never drink...wine", are a handful that stem from Garrett Fort's screenplay.  Also, the scene where Renfield pricks his finger upon meeting Dracula in his home and the Count zeros in on the wound with a noticeable blood-lust in his eyes comes from Murnau's Nosferatu, not the novel.  Like in the Deane and Balderston play, the plot changes much to compact things, but the small scale production benefits from these tweaks.  It even afforded Universal to make a Spanish language version at the same time, shot at night and with the same script and sets yet with an entirely different crew and cast.  The Spanish Dracula is nearly thirty minutes longer and has its own advantages over Browning's, (the shot construction is more elaborate, the sexuality more pronounced, the plot more fleshed-out), and much of the cast deliver equally solid if not superior performances, sans Carlos Villarías who does fine work as the Count, yet obviously had no prayer of holding a candle to what Lugosi did in the role.
 
As stated, Dracula maintains a level of chilled eeriness throughout, not just during its opening and most explicitly gothic sequences.  The fact that so much of it unfolds silently only draws the viewer further in, Browning, (or whoever one wants to credit), being able to evoke subtle suspense without the use of bombastic music or hectic editing.  Dracula only runs for seventy-four minutes, and the spry running time means that there is little room for dilly-dallying.  Even when Edward Van Sloan is delivering his stern exposition as to the nature of vampires, (information that is obviously redundant to modern viewers), Lugosi and an overall sense of dread is never too far away.  There are precious few horror films from this era that were allowed to permeate with such dread sans a score cluttering things up, but Dracula was not only the first, but also the best of them.  The genre would likely be different without it, yet thankfully it is as influential as it is enjoyable all these decades later.

 

By all means Mr. Lugosi, bid us welcome.

1930s American Horror Part Twelve

MURDER BY THE CLOCK

(1931)

Dir - Edward Sloman
Overall: MEH

 

In typical pre-Code Hollywood fashion, Universal's Murder By the Clock is based on both a novel of the same name and its subsequent stage play adaptation, the latter which was re-titled Dangerously Yours.  As far as bog-standard old dark house mystery movies go, this one is as bog-standard as they come, be it with a little bit of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Premature Burial" thrown in for good measure.  A wealthy woman dies, she decides to leave her hefty inheritance to her nephew with a shady wife instead of her dim-witted son who fantasizes about killing things, (never a good sign), and then bodies start to pile up.  There is no incidental score which is generally a plus for creating intimate fly-on-the-wall engagement, at least when there is a macabre narrative unfolding.  Sadly, said narrative leaves plenty to be desired, with some humdrum comic relief, interchangeable characters, and a needlessly complicated scheme that hinges on short-sighted behavior.  Also, Edward Sloman's direction is persistently dull, though Lilyan Tashman and Irving Pichel at least elevate the material with their chewy performances.

 

ONE FRIGHTENED NIGHT

(1935)

Dir - Christy Cabanne

Overall: MEH

 

A lighthearted old dark house mystery from small-scare Mascot Pictures, One Frightened Night is an understandably forgotten entry into the once oversaturated sub-genre.  Helmed by prolific director William Christy Cabanne whose behind the screen credits run over a hundred and sixty deep through four decades, it has the formulaic set up where various red herring characters are eligible to get their desperate hands on an old kook's fortune.  The catch is that said wealthy elderly fellow, (Charles Grapewin), is not dead yet, and mere moments after begrudgingly dictating who he is going to give all of his millions to post-demise, two different women show up on a dark and stormy night that each claim to be his long-lost granddaughter.  How convenient.  This naturally causes a kerfuffle in the spacious and crowded household, and once one of the could-be granddaughters drops dead, the investigation is on.  Grapewin's performance has its moments of scenery-chewing glee as he seems to be enjoying himself with the deadly shenanigans as he grouches at everyone within earshot, but otherwise there is little else here to recommend.

 

THE ROGUE'S TAVERN

(1936)

Dir - Robert F. Hill

Overall: MEH

 

Some Poverty Row old dark house hoopla is on display in The Rogue's Tavern, a cheapie that is clumsily executed yet harmlessly so.  It has the tone of a lighthearted comedy/murder mystery with the usual slew of characters that are held up at a spacious abode trading never-funny quips with each other as bodies pile up, tensions rise, and fingers get pointed hither and tither.  One of the guests happens to be a detective who is eloping with his fiance, which is convenient for cracking the case even if his crime solving tactics consist of little else besides accusing people until they get flustered.  Said detective is portrayed by wise-cracking character actor Wallace Ford, with Barbara Pepper being his well-meaning yet dim-witted love interest.  Neither their performances nor any of the others are memorable even in a melodramatic sense, but we do get a few grandiose speeches in the finale when the culprit is presumably caught and then actually caught.  There are also jewel smugglers in the lot and a dog puppet that bites people, just to complicate matters further.  It all equals a dull viewing experience though, director Robert F. Hill showing zero visual flare besides cutting to random closeups of characters staring suspiciously at other characters when nothing of interest is even happening.

1930s American Horror Part Eleven

THE BAT WHISPERS
(1930)
Dir - Ronald West
Overall: MEH

The second film adaptation of Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood's 1920 play The Bat, (both of which were directed by Ronald West), The Bat Whispers is notable for its flashy visual style which elevates an otherwise convoluted old dark house mystery.  West utilized two different cinematographers for two different film stocks, (35 and 65 mm, respectively), and shot it in widescreen, plus a smaller and more agile camera was brought in to create flowing panning sequences that glide through elaborate miniatures and full-sized sets.  We also have flashy cut scenes, close-ups, zooms, and inventive camera angles throughout, making this a striking early talkie and probably the best cinematic version of the source material.  Sadly, that source material is hokey pulp for the most part, which is burdened by too many characters and unsuccessful comic relief. Maude Eburne is particularly intolerable as a frumpy maid who outrageously over-reacts to the slightest breeze, plus the addition of Charles Dow Clark's second detective is pointless and only provides the movie with yet another character to to indulge in goofy mugging.  Streamline the narrative and remove the more annoying portrayals, and this would be a stand-out for its era.

 

DRUMS O' VOODOO

(1934)
Dir - Arthur Hoerl
Overall: WOOF

While it is fortunate that various race films from the 1930s still exist in some form, many were of a uniformly poor quality, and Drums O' Voodoo, (Louisiana, She Devil), is no exception.  Little information exists on the movie, which was allegedly adapted from actor J. Augustus Smith's own play, Smith credited with the script as well as appearing here as a benevolent yet disgraced preacher who once worked on a chain gang before turning steadfast to the lord.  Director Arthur Hoerl had a vast career as a  screenwriter, (this marking his last of only four directorial efforts), but his work here is unwatchabley dull. There is a clear lack of funds at his disposal since the entire thing is staged as a theater production, with minimal sets and scenes going on for ages without the camera making any adjustments.  Most of the performances are atrocious and borderline surreal in their melodramatic scenery chewing, (Laura Bowman as a wailing voodoo practitioner auntie is particularly irksome), but the movie's major misgiving is its unbearable pacing.  It is also incomplete in its current form, with scenes abruptly ending and starting in mid sentence.  Also despite its title and subject matter, the only horror element is a pimp spontaneously going blind when he causes too much trouble amongst his community, no doubt on account of a voodoo hex.

 

AIR HAWKS

(1935)

Dir - Albert S. Rogell

Overall: MEH

Featuring the only film appearance of famed pilot Wiley Post, Air Hawks is a unique aviation themed B-movie with a sci-fi angle thrown in.  A Columbia production that was based on an unpublished story by Ben Pivar, it features an easy-to-follow sabotage plot where Ralph Bellamy's independent airline becomes the target of a bigger corporation that wants to buy him out to no avail.  Enter in Universal's go-to distinguished thespian Edward Van Sloan as a wacky German scientist who invents a destruction ray for some reason, a ray which is then used to thwart Bellamy's business by way of crashing a series of his planes.  Director Albert S. Rogell had already done a few air travel movies and he keeps up a surprisingly agreeable pace for a film that is as talky as the lot of them.  Post is granted less than two minutes of screen time, so his involvement comes off more as a half-assed marketing ploy than anything.  It contains a fine performance by Bellamy, a happy conclusion for all things considered, charming flirtation amongst its male and female characters, a stock news reporter who annoys everyone by trying to get a scoop, and it is also ultimately forgettable.

1930s British Horror Part Two - (Tod Slaughter Edition)

MURDER IN THE RED BARN

(1935)

Dir - Milton Rosmer

Overall: MEH

 

One of a handful of low-budgeted British melodramas from the 1930s that tiptoed around unwholesome and/or horror elements, Murder in the Red Barn, (Maria Marten, or the Murder in the Red Barn), also features another villainous portrayal from character actor Tod Slaughter.  We get plenty of gypsy prejudice, some town gossip, women bellowing their schmaltzy line-readings, men gruffly hemming and hawing their schmaltzy line-readings while rolling their Rs, an angry mob, and Slaughter being an unwholesome fellow with a murderous shimmer in his eye as he creepily tries to charm his way around society until getting busted and letting his full mania come to the forefront.  The story by screenwriter Randall Faye was based on the actual 1827 Red Barn Murder, sensationalizing the details while making up plenty of its own.  Stuffy, talky, dated, and directed with no sense of style by Milton Rosmer, (an actor himself who had worked steadily in England since the silent era), at least the film poster has some bats and spiderwebs on it to falsely make it look like a haunted house movie.  Such spooky aesthetics maybe would have been more interesting, but at least Slaughter was allowed to bring his A-game.

 

SWEENEY TODD: THE DEMON BARBER OF FLEET STREET
(1936)
Dir - George King
Overall: MEH

The third screen adaptation of George Dibdin-Pitt's stage play that was based on the penny dreadful character and urban legend of Sweeney Todd, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street features one of several madman performances from character actor Tod Slaughter, an appropriate surname if ever there was one.  As the title villain, Slaughter gleams, smirks, cackles, and rubs his hands together menacingly, chewing the scenery with a charming yet off-putting glee that gives this otherwise poorly-budgeted melodrama some juice.  Obviously, British censors in 1936 were hardly going to allow Slaughter to slice and dice his victims and them have the bodies turned into meat pies by his neighbor, (at least on screen that is), but director George King dances around the gruesomeness so that even those who are unfamiliar with the source material can get the idea.  Slaughter's performance is the biggest contributor to this fact since it is impossible to mistake his fiendish greed and mannerisms as anything but unwholesome.  Unfortunately, the rest of the movie and its characters are uninteresting and slow things down too much, plus King's direction is flat and lacking in atmosphere.

 

THE FACE AT THE WINDOW

(1939)

Dir - George King

Overall: MEH

Director George King and actor Tod Slaughter join forces again with The Face at the Window; the third filmed adaptation of F. Brooke Warren's 1897 stage play of the same name.  Both King and Slaughter are historically important as being one of the earliest British cinematic teams to work within arm's reach of the horror genre, their handful of pairings paving the way in some respects to Hammer's later works with director Terence Fisher and stars Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing.  The story here is more straight horror than most from the era and country, with a mysterious "wolf man" appearing in people's windows, a string of murders taking place in 1880 Paris, France, and of course Slaughter hamming it up as a vile rich guy who goes to excessive lengths to frame the poor bank clerk that is in love with his object of affection.  The closing moments are where it kicks into gear, with Slaughter's scheme being unmasked so that he can openly threaten everyone while manically laughing, culminating in the wolf window monster grabbing him from a cage.  As is usually the case with Slaughter's filmography though, he is the only memorable aspect here with everyone else blandly delivering their lines and King merely doing a passable job from behind the lens.

1930s British Horror Part One

THE LODGER

(1932)
Dir - Maurice Elvey
Overall: MEH

Possibly the earliest surviving Jack the Ripper talkie, The Lodger, (The Phantom Fiend), proceeds Alfred Hitchcock's lauded silent version The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog by five years.  Sadly, it is an inferior interpretation of Marie Belloc Lowndes' 1913 novel of the same name; something that got the remake treatment several times over the decades.  Director Maurice Elvey worked with three cinematographers here, which is ironic in that the results fail to be expressive.  There are some occasional moments where London's fog-ridden streets are atmospherically represented, but the story itself fails to capitalize on both the gloomy setting and the grisly panic that was sweeping the city.   Instead, this is mostly a humdrum romance between Ivor Novello and Elizabeth Allan who grow fond of each other despite the former being the title culprit of strangulation.  Novello never comes off as opposing and is merely a stock and melodramatic actor in a stock and melodramatic part.  The same goes for everyone else on screen who him and haw through their dialog, leaving little time for any ghastly bits or proper tension-mounting.

THE SHADOW
(1933)
Dir - George A. Cooper
Overall: MEH

An old dark house mystery with a clandestine blackmailing figure on the loose, The Shadow is a formulaic offering that balances light comedic banter with shady characters, fog, a police investigation, and its title villain providing some lurking menace.  Most of the goofiness revolves around the top-billed Henry Kendall who jolly ole-chappies himself around like a stereotypical British dandy, awkwardly trying to propose for marriage, spinning a couple of yarns that no one is interested in, or trying to get to the bottom of the mystery since he fancies himself a smashing detective.  Everyone else on screen besides the mysterious Shadow fellow are interchangeable; just reliable yet cut and paste actors who go through the motions in a movie whose script has a minimal amount of plot development to latch onto.  After an opening where the killer leaves a damning clue behind once an undercover officer recognizes him, things unfortunately slow down to a crawl and this happens as soon as the characters arrive at the spacious, would-be creepy mansion.  Cinematographer Sydney Blythe still manages to craft some atmosphere here or there, but not enough to sustain interest.

 

THE TELL-TALE HEART

(1934)

Dir - Brian Desmond Hurst

Overall: MEH

Though it was not the first adaptation of an Edgar Allan Poe story, The Tell-Tale Heart, (Bucket of Blood), is recognized as the first talkie one and it is also the directorial debut form Brian Desmond Hurst.  Sadly, it is a historical curiosity first and an engaging piece of celluloid far second, clocking in at under an hour yet feeling the weight of its meager run time.  This is likely due to the amatuerish cast, Hurst's then inexperienced direction, and a low-end budget, all of which contributes to a flat presentation that is laborious to endure.  There is some incidental music thrown in willy-nilly and it is ineffectively used, but the long stretches that are set to pin-drop silence also fail to convey any of the intimate spookiness of Universal's horror films from the era, by comparison.  Walter Blakeley's cinematography occasionally instills some life into the proceedings, with some striking closeups, eyeballs drawn on a prison wall, and shots of dark hallways.  Most of the movie though is just filmed on unassuming, fully-lit sets, which leaves the poor actors nothing to do but awkwardly meander around when not delivering their sparse dialog.

1930s Bela Lugosi Part Three

ISLAND OF LOST SOULS
(1932)
Dir - Erle C. Kenton
Overall: GOOD

In the same year that they released the quintessential and fantastic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Paramount Pictures adapted another famous literary work in H.G. Wells' The Island of Dr. Moreau, here titled The Island of Lost Souls.  Similarly again, this still stands as the strongest cinematic retelling of the source material and the one that ushered in the phrases "Are we not men?" and "What is the law?" into the pop culture lexicon.  Speaking of said dialog, Béla Lugosi delivers them with his trademark, Hungarian accent as the Sayer of the Law, sadly a minor role yet one that he still sinks his thespian chops into.  As Moreau, Charles Laughton is effortlessly menacing, bouncing between smug, effeminate charm and the type of megalomaniac posturing that only a man who makes humans out of animals would succumb to.  The plot is condensed to accommodate the brisk running time, though the element of the panther woman, (played alluringly by Kathleen Burke), was introduced here as it was not included in Wells' original novel.  Timid by today's standards of course, but the film also pushed various Pre-Code boundaries with its man playing god proclamations and both females appearing scantily clad at times.

 

THE MYSTERY OF THE MARY CELESTE

(1935)

Dir - Denison Clift

Overall: MEH

 

One of the earliest Hammer productions to dip its toes into horror that was also released in shorter form by twenty minutes in the US, The Mystery of the Mary Celeste, (Phantom Ship), is also the only one to feature Béla Lugosi who made two back-to-back films that year in England.  Based on the 1872 case of the merchant brigantine Mary Celeste which was found adrift in the Atlantic Ocean with all of its crew missing, the story is given the melodramatic treatment by screenwriter Charles Larkworthy and director Denison Clift, this serving as the latter's final effort from behind the lens.  We are introduced to a ragtag group of weathered seaman who drink, sing, and argue with each other, as well as the Captain and his bride-to-be who all set sail on the ship of the title with an especially rough for ware, one-armed Lugosi joining the party as well.  The horror icon is top-billed yet only has a minor part, be it a significant one when the mystery is finally solved as to who is offing everyone on their doomed voyage.  Lugosi has the skill to elevate what is otherwise a cruddy and forgettable B-movie, but sadly, he can only do so much with his minimal amount of screen time and a story that fails to make any of its plot points or characters compelling.

 

THE PHANTOM CREEPS

(1939)

Dir - Ford Beebe/Saul A. Goodkind

Overall: MEH

The edited down, feature-length version of Universal's twelve part serial The Phantom Creeps arrived for television audiences ten years after it was originally made, trimming all of the fat and then some to condense its original four and a half hour running time down to a brisk seventy-eight minutes.  With no seconds to lose, we are thrust right into Lugosi's mad scientist lab where he unveils his giant killer robot and various other weaponized experiments.  Characters come and go without any proper introduction and a slew of camera swipes and the like help bulldoze things along, giving the whole thing a kinetic pace that is far from the usual for a talky B-movie.  There are some primitive special effects involving Lugosi's invisibility belt, stock footage, few establishing shots, toy airplanes crashing, and an incessant musical score, but ultimately it all proves that this was better suited in its original form, meaning taken in at twenty-odd minute incriminates.  Stretched out and strung together, it comes off as haphazard and mindlessly boring, despite the energetic presentation and Lugosi chewing the scenery in his revenge/taking over the world/whatever scheme.  At least the robot monster has a memorable look to it and one that perpetual Lugosi fan Rob Zombie would utilize at various times throughout his career.

1930s American Horror Part Ten - (Frank R. Strayer Edition)

THE MONSTER WALKS

(1932)
Overall: WOOF

The miserable and dull, old dark house outing The Monster Walks was a minimally budgeted one from forgotten Poverty Row studio Mayfair Pictures.  It boils down to sixty-three minutes of a handful of characters slowly walking into rooms and asking if everybody in there is absolutely sure that an ape cannot get out of its cage, only for them to then slowly walk into other rooms and ask if everybody in there is absolutely sure that an ape cannot get out of its cage.  The fact that the "ape" in question is actually a chimpanzee proves that they could not even get the primate details right.  There is also some sprinklings of hilariously racist, zero-laughs humor that has dated about as well as anything else unintentionally offensive from the Pre-Code Hollywood era.  The title is misleading, the plot is a poor man's, minimal effort version of The Cat in the Canary, the cast seem asleep at the wheel, and not a single murder or macabre bit whatsoever transpires until the movie has less than twenty-minutes left in it.  So yes, this is a top to bottom waste of time in every detail.

 

THE VAMPIRE BAT

(1933)
Overall: MEH

Once again bringing scream queen Fay Wray together with Lionel Atwill, the resulting The Vampire Bat is unfortunately a boring B-effort from Poverty Row studio Majestic Pictures.  While much of the other cast is strong and recognizable with Melvyn Douglas as the hero and Dwight Fry playing yet another variation of Renfield to the point of plagiarism, bit players go through the motions and Maude Eburne makes for a dull substitute to Una O'Connor's hysterical elderly woman from Universal's The Invisible Man which was released the same year.  Even though it is barely over an hour in length, the film drags throughout almost all of its set pieces and the reveal of Atwill's evil scientist's intentions seems both lazy and baffling.  They have something to do with hypnotism, creating life and fill in the blanks whatever.  Director Frank R. Strayer, (who made a handful of conservatively budgeted horror films throughout the 1930s as well as a dozen Blondie! movies nearly in a row), hardly brings anything conceptually interesting to the table besides a few slow and shadowy shots right out of Universal's landmark monster movies, plus some unfunny closeups of a dog waking up a fainted woman.  So besides having another one of Fry's typecast performances, this is skipable.

 

THE GHOST WALKS
(1934)
Overall: MEH

 

A by-numbers old dark house thriller with a deliberately light tone, The Ghost Walks is one of a handful of murder mysteries from director Frank R. Strayer that is shot as little more than a stage play.  That is to say that cinematographer M.A. Anderson performs a thankless task, merely bouncing between either medium or wide shots to put the audience member in the seat of a theater goer.  Visually stagnant then, the story has nothing to offer the frequented sub-genre, throwing several forgettable characters together in a spacious abode where they are just trying to get through the night without people disappearing.  The police show up, suspicion is cast hither and tither, and of course it is proven that there are no supernatural elements transpiring.  Instead, it is just a crazy guy from an insane asylum who decides to cause mischief because he thinks that he is a mad scientist or something.  There are no familiar faces on screen and Chesterfield Pictures hardly produced any works from the era that anyone remembers, eventually merging into Republic Pictures shortly after the release of this bog-standard B-movie.

CONDEMNED TO LIVE
(1935)
Overall: MEH

Though it cannot overcome an talky plot and the persistently flat direction from Frank R. Strayer, Condemned to Live is unique in some respects amongst Poverty Row cheapies.  A vampire film that was made when there were only a handful of them, it takes a singular approach where Ralph Morgan's town doctor simply turns into a murderous mad man when the sun goes down, never spouting fangs, sleeping in a coffin, or even being aware that he is biting people once he snaps out of such a daze.  Most of the dialog revolves around whether or not a young woman is actually in love with the much older Morgan or if she is just fond and grateful of him, that is until the second half when Morgan doubts his sanity and people discuss whether such a mild mannered and respectable man could be the culprit.  As one could guess, there is no gloomy atmosphere or frightening set pieces anywhere to be found and the few times that Morgan does contort his face to become an imposing presence on screen, the moment is over just as quickly as it begins.  Even some angry mobs, a hunchback, some sets that were allegedly borrowed from Universal, and a melancholic tone fail to elevate it above being merely competent.

1930s American Horror Part Nine

SECRET OF THE BLUE ROOM
(1933)
Dir - Kurt Neumann
Overall: MEH

 

Universal's version of the German film Geheimnis des blauen Zimmers would get the remake treatment from the studio two more times in the following decade and some change, with horror regulars Lionel Atwill and Gloria Stuart showing up here.  Secret of the Blue Room has a rudimentary, old dark house premise of a handful of people staying at a spacious manner and daring each other to sleep in the infamous blue room of the title; a room that three people had previously perished in at one o'clock in the AM.  The Old Dark House element is even more prominent since portions of the set where allegedly utilized on the James Whale-directed classic the previous year, which also starred Stewart of course.  Though silly in some respects with plot holes galore, it is handled with melodramatic professionalism from its cast and director Kurt Neumann maintains a stead pace.  The spooky atmosphere proves to be a red herring as things quickly reduce to a typical whodunit scenario of a police inspector conducting interviews and various characters who are withholding pivotal information, but it gets in and out agreeably.

THE NINTH GUEST
(1934)
Dir - Roy William Neill
Overall: MEH

A precursor to Agatha Christie's famed, 1939 novel And Then There Were None, The Ninth Guest from Columbia Pictures features an identical plot of several people trapped in a mansion, getting picked off in dramatic fashion one at a time as their unseen host psychologically torments them.  Unfortunately though, it is less tightly-scripted than it pretends to be and suffers from forgettable characters and insufficient pacing from director Roy William Neill, who had been making movies since the 1910s.  The cast of working character actors go through the motions sufficiently enough and there are some grisly deaths in Garnet Weston's script; a script that was based on the Owen Davis' play of the same name, itself an adaptation of Bruce Manning's book The Invisible Host.  An electric gate and acid-tainted alcohol do away with several characters, yet it happens with pinpoint procession from the man on the radio who of course is actually one of the guests and turns on the evil mugging once exposed.  The first act sinks the proceedings before they even get going though, hilariously showing us everyone's telegrammed invitation about seven dozen times just in case theater patrons from the day were late getting to their seats.

THE RETURN OF DOCTOR X
(1939)
Dir - Vincent Sherman
Overall: MEH

 

Notable as the only horror movie to star Humphrey Bogart, The Return of Doctor X is a sequel in name only to the Lionel Atwill/Fay Wray-starred Doctor X from six years prior.  Bogart's performance is minor and it was done at a time in his career when he was typecast as heavies for the Warner Bros. B-unit, but he easily stands as the most interesting aspect here.  Donning a limp, spectacles, a pale completion, and a white streak in his hair, he remains unsettling throughout and easily outshines the rest of the stock and forgettable characters that he has to work against.  On that note, the movie is an uninspired yawn, mostly focusing on Wayne Morris' golly-shucks news reporter who makes a bland, top-billed protagonist to say the least.  Based on the short story "The Doctor's Secret" by William J. Makin, it concerns the usual pseudoscience nonsense of reviving dead tissue, a noble cause that has to run into some hick-ups or else there would be no tale to tell.  Though hardly a conventional vampire yarn, Bogart's resurrected doctor of the title does need to kill and garnish human blood in order to prologue his artificial existence.  Sadly, exciting set pieces are non-existent and everyone prattles on and on instead, but it is almost a passable curiosity due to Bogie's involvement.