Showing posts with label CLASSIC HORROR. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CLASSIC HORROR. Show all posts

Thursday, November 30, 2017

Mark of the Vampire



Mark of the Vampire (1935)
Dir. Tod Browning
Written by Guy Endore, Bernard Schubert
Starring Lionel Barrymore, Lionel Atwell, Elizabeth Allen, Bela Lugosi


When a Czechoslovakian nobleman (Jean Hersholt, HEIDI. Yeah, fucking HEIDI.) dies under mysterious circumstances (his blood is missing, and he has two holes in his neck), the superstitious ninnies in town believe it to be to be the work of a Dracula or possibly Draculas. Police inspector Lionel Atwill (DOCTOR X, THE VAMPIRE BAT) thinks that’s hogwash, but he can’t deny that something sinister is afoot, especially since there are obviously at least a couple of Draculas (Bela Lugosi, DRACULA, Carroll Borland, Dracula: the play, also author of the Dracula sequel novel Countess Dracula) lurking around and menacing the nobleman’s virginal daughter (Elizabeth Allen, 1935’s A TALE OF TWO CITIES, THE MYSTERY OF MR. X). Who will answer the call to adventure? Why, Lionel Barrymore (best known for being consistently confused with Lionel Richie by me, but also star of MADAME X* and I dunno, IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE and stuff) as Professor Van Helsing Zelen, of course, a helpful fella who’s going to show up and have a lot of curiously familiar-seeming but impossible-to-place advice on what to do about this little Dracula problem.


OK, so yeah, this is a pretty laughably transparent attempt by director Tod Browning to recapture the enormous success he’d had with 1931’s DRACULA by… basically remaking DRACULA with different names and structuring it as some kind of weird murder mystery. He even got Bela Lugosi back, pretty much in the same exact costume, albeit with three new touches. First, he has some kind of weird smudge or birthmark or something on his right temple. Didn’t have that in DRACULA, so totally different character here, guys. Second, he has an accomplice, in the form of Carroll Borland, who might be a Bride of Dracula or a daughter or just a younger female co-worker or something, it’s never made clear I don’t think, although online sources seem to unanimously describe her as a daughter (more on that later). Third and finally, these particular Draculas are in the witness protection program under the pen names “Count Mora” and “Luna,” so that’s one thing which makes them totally different from DRACULA, right off the bat.




Other than that, this is pretty much exactly the same fucking thing, and only a scant four years later, so it’s not like the technology or staging or the culture has taken some radical leap forward and now the story can be told like you’ve never seen it before!! or something. It’s just DRACULA with two Draculas but less of either of them (they have, combined, a single line of dialogue, and it’s the last line in the film) and a lot more extraneous plot and sitting around, plus a bunch of “comedy,” if by comedy you mean people shouting and mugging and running around without any actual jokes, per se (otherwise known as Hong Kong comedy).


In fact, I think there’s a case to be made (and genre critics Kim Newman and Steve Jones make it on the DVD commentary) that MARK OF THE VAMPIRE may actually be some kind of low-key satire of the horror genre. Barrymore, anyway, is giving a campy enough performance to, at the very least, amble riiiiight up to the edge of parody. And if the broader comedy stuff is supposed to be “relief,” it probably gets about as much screen time as the horror it’s supposed to be be relieving. And then there’s that ending. That ending. But we’ll come to that in time.




First, though, the good news. Even though MARK OF THE VAMPIRE is in every way a shameless rehash of DRACULA with a worse story and a messy jumble of tones most of which work feebly if at all, and even with the extremely questionable ending which we’ll discuss in due course, I’m pleased to report that at least one thing does work: it has, if anything, an even more extravagantly lugubrious gothic horror atmosphere than its predecessor. And that counts for a lot. Shot by 10-times-nominated twice-awarded best cinematography Oscar winner James Wong Howe** (BELL BOOK AND CANDLE, HUD), gothic castles and rolling fog have never looked so sumptuously otherwordly, and Lugosi and Borland are both instantly iconic in their silent, predatory menace. A whole, whole lot of their role is just to stand around being eerily lit from below or slowly advancing towards the camera, but Howe and Browning are just the team to make that plenty sufficient to wrench a shiver out of an audience. And hey, there’s even a few bits of fun production value, particularly Borland taking flight in an impressively convincing bit of stage magic. This is strong work, and there’s no question about it. Unnecessary, derivative strong work, perhaps, but unmistakably masterful in its own right. It’s the very quintessence of this era of Hollywood horror filmmaking, replete with all the looming castles, roiling fog, and lazily flapping bat puppets you could possibly want -- a cliche, to be sure, but one of the absolute finest iterations of this particular paradigm ever to grace the silver screen. In fact, I’d be willing to argue that only THE WOLFMAN cinematographer Joseph Valentine comes close to giving Howe and Browning a run for their money when it comes to conjuring the perfect dreamworld of early Gothic Horror shadows and mist. And if that was what MARK OF THE VAMPIRE was peddling, I think it would probably be much beloved and much better remembered today.




But then there’s that ending to come along and turn everything on its head.


Which means that now is the time to reveal a major spoiler which I actually knew, but had forgotten going into this movie. See, MARK OF THE VAMPIRE is often called (though it is not credited as) a remake of Browning’s 1927 Lon Chaney-starring silent film LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT, and it employs the same twist. And if you’ve seen LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT, you know what that means. It means you’re either a filthy liar or you’re filthy rich and don’t know it yet, because LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT is very possibly the most sought-after lost film of all time. It’s increasingly unlikely that we will ever see it (there’s a rumor that Stanley Kubrick was buried with the last existing copy… that’s your cue, makers of NATIONAL TREASURE III), but fortunately we have enough archival material to have a pretty good idea of how the plot played out -- in fact, TCM put out a full length recreation a few years back using stills and intertitles taken from the original shooting script.

Yep, this one. I'm sure the movie is shit, but man oh man, is that an amazing image. 

So, if you know anything about that film, you know that this one shares an ending which is both an infuriating letdown and, in retrospect, a brazen, nearly giallo-level act of narrative insanity. I don’t know if they somehow pulled it off the first time around in 1927, but here it’s handled so awkwardly that it’s frankly stunning anyone thought this was a releasable, completed motion picture, even in 1935. It’s a ridiculous idea by itself, but the damage is compounded disastrously by a seriously fumbled reveal which makes the ridiculous downright confounding. Or rather, a total lack of a reveal. The “twist” arrives so suddenly and with so little fanfare that I genuinely got confused and had to rewind to make sure I didn’t miss something. It’s so abrupt that it almost seems like the reels must be spliced out of order or something, but nope.


Essentially, (SPOILERS for an 85-year-old move) after being menaced by supernatural bloodsuckers one too many times, Professor Zelen and a few other characters head down into the abandoned castle to root them out (I’m actually not clear if this is the same castle where our victims live and they just have an unfinished vampire-infested basement, or if the haunted castle is next door or something). The poor virginal noblewoman, meanwhile, wanders into her living room to find her worst fear realized: her father is in there, returned from the grave as a vampire! Then all the sudden Zelen grabs a minor character who’s wandering around the basement with him and forcibly hypnotizes him, and you’re like, “Huh? Did I miss something?” To which the movie answers, “No, you didn’t miss anything, it’s totally normal and understandable that there would be a secret conspiracy to hire actors, including an actor who is the exact double of the recently deceased nobleman, to play vampires in order to trick a murderer into ????, and everyone pretends to be scared and we go through this whole elaborate charade where the vampires stay in character even when they’re alone and no one’s watching and the guy being gaslit isn’t around, and then when that somehow doesn’t produce the desired results (and how could it not!) we drop the whole idea and just easily hypnotize the suspect at the last minute and he confesses to everything.” And you’re all like, “Wait, what the fuck did I just watch?” and the movie’s all like “nothing! Absolutely nothing! Literally every bit of actual content that you just watched was gaslighting bullshit and it didn’t even work or factor into the solution.” And then it has the gall to end on a cheap meta-joke about how Lugosi famously played Dracula, proving that lazy meta jokes about the horror genre are basically as old as the genre itself (I think we just forgot all that in the 1950s when we correctly identified meta-humor as the province of debauched communists).




I mean, that is some straight up craziness (made all the more brazen by the fact that it’s a remake of a twist that audiences reportedly hated the first time!). There’s no world in which that twist makes any sense, not just as a logical narrative but just as basic storytelling. What kind of unhinged madman just gives up on the plot of the movie with five minutes left and abandons everything and introduces an entirely new plot?*** I mean, Michael Bay, I guess, but even he wouldn’t have the balls to actually stick to one plot all the way through and then change course at the last minute. He’s happy to just change plots every twenty minutes or so and count on such a maliciously punishing ten day runtime that by the time you get to the end you can’t even vaguely remember how you began. MARK OF THE VAMPIRE, at a slim not-quite-full-movie-length 60 minutes, does not have that luxury.


In fact, even back in 1935 when you could expect a work of fiction to comfortably make it through a plot in less than six seasons of one-hour episodes, 60 minutes was still unusually brisk, and the film seems oddly truncated, moving along at a odd, halting pace and filled with characters and plot points which seem to appear and vanish haphazardly (Barrymore, arguably the film’s protagonist, shows up for the first time with his back to the audience and no introduction of any kind). When scholars noted that the early reviews listed the runtime at 80+ minutes, they naturally got to wondering if the excised 10 minutes maybe contained some, uh, important plot points that might have made this one a little better. Maybe it had a more consistent tone? Maybe Lugosi actually had dialogue?


One song-simmering rumor has it that in the original cut, “Count Mora” and “Luna” had a lurid backstory in which they enjoyed an incestuous relationship, which led the Count to strangle her and shoot himself in the head, resulting in their respective vampiric states. That has the advantage of explaining their otherwise vague relationship and explaining what the deal is with that weird smudge of Lugosi’s forehead, but unfortunately the more I look into it the more unlikely I think it is that MGM would ever have let a script like that come anywhere near being filmed. I’ve read a few reasonably convincing claims that perhaps the original story treatment did include this detail, but scholars who had access to the shooting script were unable to find any trace of it. Sadly I think Newman and Jones are likely correct that the excised material was mostly exposition and comedy. Probably the right choice, given how dire both those things are in the finished film, though a little of either more of either might at least have helped the finished product come out a little more defined. As it is, there’s a distinct whiff of a film which doesn’t really have a clear idea of what it’s trying to do, except ride on DRACULA’s coattails with LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT’s plot twist.

To be honest, it really looks like a bird shat on him.


We tend to think of remakes as a syndrome of modern creative miasma, the purview of cynical corporate hacks who consider it their life’s work to sell brand names, and consider any actual art generated in the endeavor to be an unpleasantly lamentable but grudgingly tolerated byproduct of that noble goal. But of course, every generation thinks they invented greed. Remakes and shameless cash grabs have been around since the very beginning of cinema, and probably art itself. The earliest I can comfortably identify is the 1904 GREAT TRAIN ROBBERY, which features a gang of bandits robbing a train very much in the same vein as the film you’re thinking of, which is 1903’s THE GREAT TRAIN ROBBERY, one of the most lucrative and influential films of the entire silent era. There’s also a unauthorized, 1908 shot-by-shot remake titled EXCURSION TO THE MOON (I’ll let you guess what it’s a remake of). In fact, it seems that early cinema was rife with unauthorized remakes and flat-out film pirating (entrepreneur and filmmaker Siegmund Lubin was said to have sold more copies of Melies films than Melies himself did), and in fact it seems that it was not until a 1914 amendment to the Copyright Act of 1909 that motion pictures became a specifically protected work. Before that, they were essentially copyrighted as a series of still photographs, making it very difficult to enforce any kind of intellectual property claim. By 1922 Bram Stoker’s heirs successfully sued Murnau for his brazen daylight robbery of Dracula, but Browning seemed to have no such problem here (possibly because he was the director of the original), despite the widely acknowledged fact that the two films are, at the very least, exceedingly and specifically similar.


Indeed, it is almost certainly only the inaccessibility of LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT which has made it the more intriguing of the two; film scholar William K. Everson viewed both films in the 1950’s (prior to a the 1967 vault fire which destroyed the last remaining copy the presumed destruction of the film in the MGM vaults sometimes in the 1960s****) and actually preferred MARK OF THE VAMPIRE. I’m sure if the situation was reversed and we just had a few tantalizing shots of Lugosi lurking in the mist to pique our imaginations, we’d all be rushing out to dig up Kubrick’s grave and wrench that last copy of MARK OF THE VAMPIRE from his greedy mitts. But that’s not the world we live in. We live in one where we get to see MARK OF THE VAMPIRE, and can agree that it’s pretty deeply flawed but also has some damn cool things about it, and the one thing it gets really right (an appropriately spooky black and white gothic vibe) is the most important thing anyway. Is it better to know the full truth and be a little disappointed, or to never know and preserve that sense of wonderful possibility? Reader, I cannot know. I do know this, though: whatever its flaws, MARK OF THE VAMPIRE does make a powerful argument against the common wisdom that catching mystery killers is as easy as hiring actors to dress up like vampires and live the part full time offstage***** to occasionally gaslight your chief suspect into confessing. I know, I know, it seems so obvious, but the world is a complicated place. Next time just hypnotize ‘em instead, that always does the trick.

FIN.




*DOCTOR X, THE MYSTERY OF MR. X, and MADAME X are, to the best of my knowledge, in no way related, and it’s a complete coincidence that three actors here all appear in movies with similar names. I only bring it up because I’m now fairly certain we can say with total confidence these were Malcolm X’s three favorite movies and he gave himself that stylish sobriquet in reference to his beloved “X” films from the late 20’s and early 30’s. I really feel like his encyclopedic knowledge of pre-code British crime cinema is too rarely discussed.


** Howe was born in Taishan, Canton Province, China, in 1899(!) and immigrated to the US at the age of five, overcoming grueling racism (his marriage to his white wife was illegal and unrecognized by the US government for a full decade) to become one of the most celebrated and influential cinematographers of all time. Somebody oughtta make that movie.


*** One possible answer would be FRANKENSTEIN CONQUERS THE WORLD, in which a giant pissed-off octopus shows up out of the blue in the last five minutes. But it’s Japanese so that probably doesn’t count.

**** Or Not? Although there is a wikipedia page about this supposed fire in 1967, after literally hours of exhaustive searches and a half-dozen emails to various film journalists and historians, I can find not one bit of independent data which backs up any specific claims about a vault fire in the 1960s which destroyed the film. Multiple sites make this claim, but no primary documentation appears to be available about specifically when, and if, such a fire occurred. But the movie definitely does seem to be gone, and a fire around this period seems a likely explanation. UPDATE: Or double not? I asked film historian David Pierce about this baffling lack of evidence, and he voiced what I was beginning to suspect, telling me: “I've never been able to find additional detail on the MGM fire in Culver City. I think it unlikely that a huge number of films were lost, as most of those films were lost many years earlier. I reviewed the correspondence between James Card and MGM starting in the 1950s and the studio no longer had many of those films even then. I believe that there was no single catastrophic event with MGM; most of the films simply decomposed before they could be copied.“ On the other hand, he interviewed several people in the 1990s who remembered a fire, including Roger Mayer, so it’s still likely, on the balance of the evidence, that at least some films perished this way. Was LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT among them? I think at this point it's probably impossible to know. But optimists, take heart: according to Lon Chaney scholar Jon Mirsalis, the copyright expires in 2022, and it's just barely possible that someone out there is holding out til then before they publicly reveal they still have the original nitrate film (which, under proper storage conditions, could theoretically still survive), in order to cash in on their valuable property without MGM demanding a cut.


***** Borland, who seems to be a bountiful if not always reliable source of information on the film, claims there was a proposed alternate ending where Barrymore gets a telegram from the actors apologizing that they were delayed and would not arrive for some time, suggesting that the silent creeps were the real deal. That would also be supremely idiotic, but at least more satisfying that retroactively removing any actual supernatural elements (except hypnotism) from the whole plot.







CHAINSAWNUKAH 2017 CHECKLIST!

The Discreet Charm of the Killing Spree



TAGLINE
Not yet invented
TITLE ACCURACY
Hard to know what that means; the alternate title is THE VAMPIRES OF PRAGUE, which is a little more accurate. Is the MARK OF THE VAMPIRE that smudge on Lugosi’s forehead?
LITERARY ADAPTATION?
None
SEQUEL?
None
REMAKE?
Almost certainly a remake of LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT
COUNTRY OF ORIGIN
USA
HORROR SUB-GENRE
Vampires, Gaslighting
SLUMMING A-LISTER?
Lionel Barrymore, and possibly even Lionel Atwill. Two Lionels for the price of one!
BELOVED HORROR ICON?
Bela Lugosi, Tod Browning
NUDITY?
No
SEXUAL ASSAULT?
No
WHEN ANIMALS ATTACK!
Bat spooks everyone by emerging out of the darkness!
GHOST/ ZOMBIE / HAUNTED BUILDING?
The Vampirism seems to be based out of a castle, but it doesn’t seem to be the building’s fault.
POSSESSION?
Yes, people seem to get hypnotized by the vampires
CREEPY DOLLS?
None
EVIL CULT?
None
MADNESS?
None
TRANSMOGRIFICATION?
Vamp into bat!
VOYEURISM?
The vamps seem to be perpetually lurking outside, keeping an eye on their victims
MORAL OF THE STORY
Sometimes we’re better off with the legend than the facts.


Monday, March 14, 2016

Island of Lost Souls


Island of Lost Souls (1932)
Dir. Erle C.Kenton
Written by Philip Wylie, Waldemar Young, from the novel by H. G. Wells
Starring Charles Laughton, Richard Arlen, Leila Hyams, Bela Lugosi



As far as sci-fi authors who’ve had their works adapted into movies go, H.G. Wells has been served shockingly well. While the CIA spends their time ruining any movie Philip Dick was remotely involved with, C’thulu destroys the minds of anyone who attempts Lovecraft, and, honest to God, William Gibson has only ever been adapted to the big screen twice (and one of those was JOHNNY MNEMONIC), Wells, by contrast, enjoys a handsome surplus of well-regarded adaptations spanning basically the entire history of film, including the Méliès classic A TRIP TO THE MOON (1902), INVISIBLE MAN (1933), the now-partially-lost THINGS TO COME (1936), KIPPS (1941), one part of the anthology DEAD OF NIGHT, THE WAR OF THE WORLDS (1953), THE TIME MACHINE (1960), FIRST MEN IN THE MOON (1964), and even recent big-budget bouts like Spilberg’s 2005 WAR OF THE WORLDS.


By classic sci-fi author film adaptations standards, that’s a record which is something close to miraculous. But even Babe Ruth didn’t bat 1000. For every WAR OF THE WORLDS, there have been a couple EMPIRE OF THE ANTS. For every THINGS TO COME (1936) there’s been a THINGS TO COME (1979). But his most tragically mishandled story surely must be the one with which we concern ourselves here, the 1896 anti-vivisectionist novel The Island of Dr. Moreau. For such an indelible and well-known genre classic, it’s had a rotten run of adaptations, from the 1977 Burt Lancaster misfire to a series of no-budget Filipino knockoffs to the legendarily disastrous 1996 production with Marlon Brando in the title role. For fuck’s sake, Charles Band did a version. In fact, for years I’d said that the final segment of The Simpson’s Treehouse of Horror XIII was the only good adaptation of the tale. But I was wrong.



In 1932, a hack director (Erle C. Kenton, GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN, making only his second-ever sound film) working from a script by pulp writer Philip Wylie (When World Collide, later adapted into a 1951 film) and Brigham Young’s grandson (Waldemar Young, scenarist for the famously lost LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT), somehow managed to craft Wells’ notoriously adaptation-resistant novel into something of a masterpiece. How this happened, I have no idea. Not a one of them seems to have another notable work (though Wylie is a somewhat celebrated pulp writer, and his 1930 novel Gladiator is thought be be a major inspiration for the 1938 creation of Superman), but somehow they seemed to have pooled together their entire creative and artistic lifetime funds and poured them all into this one film.* Associate producer E. Lloyd Sheldon had a few brushes with success, having produced Josef Von Sternberg’s silent crime classic UNDERWORLD and 1931’s early noir CITY STREETS (he would later produce 1934’s romantic classic DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY), but boy, there’s nothing in any of their filmographies which would suggest they would be capable of something this good, especially in this genre.


And yet, here it is, in all its nightmarish, pre-code glory. The story has been disassembled somewhat, but all the major players are here: shipwreck survivor Edward Prendrick (called Edward Parker here, for some reason, and played by Richard Arlen from WINGS and about a million Westerns) ends up rescued by a boat carrying a Mr. Montgomery (Arthur Hohl, long-suffering character actor in everything from SHOW BOAT to MONSIEUR VERDOUX) and a mysterious, beastial manservent (long-suffering Japanese stereotype actor Tetsu Komai, who at least isn’t playing Chinese here). As in the book, the captain of the ship turns out to be a total dickhole who maroons “Parker” with the the odd couple, leaving them no choice but to bring him to their home, a tropical island owned by disgraced British vivisectionist Dr. Moreau (Charles Laughton, MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY, WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION). He’s barely on the island for five minutes before it becomes obvious that Moreau is conducting weird, painful experiments to create animal-human hybrids, over whom he rules with a combination of fear and religious devotion to his “laws” regarding proper conduct, enforced by the shaman-esque “Sayer of the Law” (Bela Lugosi, hidden behind a full bigfoot’s compliment of facial hair, see below).



All this is more or less exactly as described in the novel. But you know how Hollywood is, wanting to commit genocide against white males etc, so they gotta force some women in there. Feminazis and all that. So ruining Wells’ all-male animal sausage fest are Leila Hyams (FREAKS) and Kathleen Burke, a former dental assistant who won a talent contest to appear in the film and would go on to make 20 more films in her brief 6-year career, before retiring at 25. Hyams has a thankless and utterly unnecessary role as Parker’s fiance, who has to try and drum up support on the mainland to look for him. Except for providing us with some cheerful assurance that the asshole captain who marooned Parker got what was coming to him, I can only assume that the part was written specifically so we don’t think Parker is some kind of swishy fairy when he doesn’t immediately and without question bang the hell out of Kathleen Burke when stranded alone on an otherwise all-male island with her.


About that: Burke plays Lota, a gentle soul inexplicably living amidst Moreau’s house of horrors. She’s immediately smitten with Parker, and Moreau encourages her, which is reason enough to immediately be suspicious. See, unbeknownst to Parker, Lota is one of Moreau’s creations, too -- a panther, transformed through "plastic surgery, blood transfusions, gland extracts, and ray baths" into a human -- or nearly so. She represents Moreau’s greatest achievement, but also his most frustrating failure: despite the lengths he’s gone to create a perfect replica of a human, the animal nature gradually re-asserts itself. But he has an ingenious plan: if Parker can be tricked into fuckin’ the cat lady, perhaps their offspring will be… something different? You know, for science.



OK, so that’s a pretty major departure from Wells (and probably one reason why he himself reported loathed the movie, but whatever dude, send your jars of tears to Philip Dick and see if he sends you a nice bunch of roses) and just screams about a studio note that the script needed sex appeal. But you know what, it works great here, for the same reason that the movie itself works: Charles Laughton.The guy is just fucking phenomenal; he’s hammy and a little mincing, but with a imperial demeanor and God complex which are legitimately overpowering. Despite his portly build and small stature, he totally and effortlessly dominates everyone in the movie, even when he’s not on-screen. You really believe he is absolutely smarter than everyone else, and sadistic, and insane. And a little perverse. That last bit adds some spice to a mad scientist trope which was already a bit old hat even by 1932, distinguishing Laughlin from the million other actors --even good ones-- to try their hand at mad science. Take Cushing’s turn as the mad baron in Hammer’s Frankenstein movies: yes, he’s a cold, amoral megalomaniac, but he’s still fundamentally just a maverick scientist, driven to evil by his singular obsession with knowledge more than any fiendish ulterior motive. Similarly, Karloff in THE DEVIL COMMANDS only a decade seperated from ISLAND OF LOST SOULS. Laughon is different. He’s a genius, but you get the sense that there’s something more perverse driving him. Why does he want to see interspecies sex so badly? Yeah, yeah, its for science, but look at the gleam in his eye, man. There’s a manic, fevered ecstasy to his performance which makes the now-standard line "Do you know what it means to feel like God?" feel like it’s drenched in Freudian psycho-sexual overtones. It’s a magnificent performance and a completely unique character, unlike any other screen villain I can think of.

I think this poster art kinda says it all.

Laughton is far and away the best thing here, but the rest of the movie has plenty to offer. Arlen is pretty forgettable in his generic white hero role, but the supporting cast is also quite strong, especially Hohl’s Montgomery --who has a look of defeated self-loathing almost equal to Moreau’s pompous imperiousness-- and Lugosi, whose tendency to play to the cheap seats actually makes great sense for his character (full disclosure: he’s not in it much, and so unrecognizable under all his fur that I honestly forgot he was in there at all until the final credits rolled. Looks like he got over his aversion to makeup that cost him Karloff’s role in FRANKENSTEIN in a real hurry after that one.) Lugosi’s not the only unrecognizable character, either; there’s lots of impressive makeup effects, complemented by their wearers (who were chosen for their interesting or unusual faces since foam rubber hadn't been invented yet, meaning most of the animal effects are achieved through hair and actual facial makeup, not prosthetics). Most impressive, the movie look GREAT; cool sets filled with evocative shadows and strong geometric compositions. Its great art and great schlock.


But the moment that sticks with me most isn’t about the monsters, or the impressive sets, or the freaky psycho-sexual undertones. It’s the amazing scene where Laughlin’s face is lost in the dark as he murmurs --to himself, more than anyone listening-- about what he’s trying to accomplish. His plan is grandiose, megalomaniacal, insane, but Laughlin coos the words, softly, with a mix of hungry compulsion and tentative sheepishness, as if he’s trying them out for the first time, trying to see how these thoughts which have been driving him relentlessly for years taste upon his tongue, finally dragged out into the light of the world. His face is hidden in shadows, but some light somewhere is reflecting in his sharp, complicated eyes, turning them into flashing beacons full of glittering, naked madness. I don’t know if it was Laughlin or the director or simple chance that accounts for this, but it’s a remarkable moment.



Things like this, and the nightmarish, genuinely shocking pre-code finale transcend some of the superficially dated elements and achieve something unique, terrifying and timeless. Maybe someday someone other than Richard Stanley will make a more faithful adaptation of Wells’ original novel. But I bet this will still be better. Some movies are born great, but others have greatness thrust upon them. There’s little about ISLAND OF LOST SOULS that should work, but as Moreau discovers, there’s something a little more complicated to recreating things than simply grafting on the necessary parts. Sometimes things which superficially seem like they have all the right pieces never work right, and sometimes things which seem completely wrong somehow end up perfect. We couldn’t reverse-engineer something like this with the best minds in the world, but there’s no denying its greatness. Best just to enjoy it for what it is: not a perfect adaptation, not an especially articulate philosophical argument, but a strange and savage work of cinema which renders a sublime and completely unique nightmare.

* OK, Young had also done some at-the-time-huge, now-mostly-forgotten dramas with Cecil B. Demille, including THE SIGN OF THE CROSS and CLEOPATRA. But still.




CHAINSAWNUKAH 2015 CHECKLIST!
Play it Again, Samhain

  • TAGLINE: The poster highlights the “Panther woman” (spoiler) and offers us the come-on THE PANTHER WOMAN lured men on -- only to destroy them body and soul. None of that is right, but it makes great copy, donchthink?
  • LITERARY ADAPTATION: Yes, a somewhat loose adaptation of H.G. Wells’ 1896 novel The Island of Dr. Moreau.
  • SEQUEL: No
  • REMAKE: The book has been adapted numerous times, but none appear to be a direct remake of this one.
  • DEADLY IMPORT FROM: USA
  • FOUND-FOOTAGE CLUSTERFUCK: No
  • SLUMMING A-LISTER: Laughton had only started appearing in films four year prior in 1928, but he’d already racked up a dozen roles. He was not yet at the height of his fame, but certainly A-list, I would think.
  • BELOVED HORROR ICON: Though Laughton didn’t appear in a lot of horror films, he directed a horror classic --his only film as director-- one of the best films ever made, 1955’s NIGHT OF THE HUNTER.
  • BOOBIES: None
  • MULLETS: None
  • SEXUAL ASSAULT: Yes, another one of those “animalistic native sexually menaces virtuous white woman” situations, which if I had to guess is the reason Hyams is in the movie at all. At least in this case, the “animalistic savage” is an actual animal, so it’s a little easier to stomach.
  • DISMEMBERMENT PLAN: We don’t quite see it, but there’s a total fuckin’ dismemberment at the end here, holy shit.
  • HAUNTED HOUSE: No
  • MONSTER: Many
  • THE UNDEAD: No
  • POSSESSION: No
  • SLASHER/GIALLO: No.
  • PSYCHO KILLERS (Non-slasher variety): Yeah, I think this is fair to say.
  • EVIL CULT: There’s definitely a cultish quality to the Manimals’ devotion to Moreau’s laws, especially with Lugosi dramatically reading them.
  • (UNCANNY) VALLEY OF THE DOLLS: None
  • EGYPTO-CRYPTO: No
  • TRANSMOGRIFICATION: Oh yeah
  • VOYEURISM: Yeah, the scary monkey guy peeps our pretty white lady/
  • OBSCURITY LEVEL: Mid, not a huge hit at the time, but now a well-regarded classic. I got it from Criterion!
  • MORAL OF THE STORY: Before there was the internet, if you wanted weird interspecies porn you had to buy your own island and conduct horrifying experiments to breed a race of manimals.
  • TITLE ACCURACY: There’s an island, I don’t know about the “lost souls” part, though.
  • ALEX MADE IT THROUGH AWAKE: N/A.