Aug 101932
 
three reels

High-class escort Jenny Wren (Karen Morley) intends to retire after blackmailing four of her past clients: banker Priam Andes (H.B. Warner), Eddie Mack (Richard “Skeets” Gallagher), William Jones (Gavin Gordon), and Senatorial candidate Herbert Walcott (Robert McWade). She instructs Andes to invite the other three and their significant others to his lodge for a party, which she’ll attend along with her maid. By coincidence, her sister Ester (Anita Louise) returns from school that day with her fiancĂ©, who happens to be Andes’s nephew. so they head to the lodge as well, which causes Andes’s estranged, family-obsessed sister (Pauline Frederick) to show up. The final invited guest is the frail Mr. Vayne, who has a crush on Jenny. But there’s also uninvited guests. Cary Curtis (Ricardo Cortez) has been following Wren all day. He’s a gangster who’s been hired to steal some letters from her that are incriminating to yet another wealthy client, and he’s brought along a few local thugs as backup. When Wren is murdered, Curtis realizes the police will frame him for it, so he plays detective, frantically trying to find the killer before the police can arrive.

Well, they don’t sell them like this any more. As a marketing gimmick, the story was broadcast as a radio serial with the last episode missing. Then they asked listeners to send in their ideas for who killed Jenny Wren for a prize. However, there was no promise that a submitted ending would actually make it into the movie. The film actually begins with Graham McNamee, a radio superstar at the time, standing before an orchestra at what appears to be NBC’s radio studio, explaining the contest in tones that only game show hosts can match and asking “Who killed Jenny Wren.” Then he fades away and the film begins in proper.

The Phantom of Crestwood must have really resonated with Depression-era audiences. Our heroes are Jenny Wren, the blackmailing call girl, and Cary Curtis, the criminal detective. Both are smart, likable, and reasonable, and both are sticking it to the man. They are we the people, getting by as best they can in a world that is against them. The others, except for our two babes who are too immature for the real world, are wealthy elites, and are hypocrites and scum, cheating the masses. Two of them are directly connected to the stock market crash, one a banker and the other a politician who was conning people into “selling short.” The Phantom of Crestwood has something to say, and it’s “Eat The Rich.”

All the Old Dark House tropes are here, used with a bit more panache than usual. The house is spooky enough, but a secret passageway, the phantom, and a death mask give it an extra kick. The storm creates the proper backdrop, with a lovely mud slide keeping everyone in place. It’s all good, as is the story, but The Phantom of Crestwood beats most of its competition on character. It’s Wren and Curtis (and Morley and Cortez) that make this one of the better mysteries and horror films of the decade, though I also give points to the stylish spin that takes us into multiple flashbacks, and those flashbacks have the added advantage of keeping Wren in the movie. It’s the perfect role for Cortez, who always mixed charm and sleaze. Here it fits. Morley is even better, powerful and sexy. She could have been one of the great stars, but studio politics derailed her career and then the Black List killed it. It’s a shame, but we’ve got her here.

If you have any interest in mysteries or Old Dark House films, The Phantom of Crestwood is a film you will want to see.

Jul 221932
 
three reels

Medical students Pierre Dupin (Leon Waycoff) and Paul (Bert Roach) take in a traveling carnival with their girlfriends, Camille L’Espanay (Sidney Fox) and Camille’s sister (Betty Ross Clarke). There they see a gorilla, named Erik, kept by the severe Dr.Mirakle (Bela Lugosi). At the end of his lecture the four “youths” approach the cage and Erik takes Camille’s bonnet. It’s clear he likes her, which makes Mirakle interested in her. He’s a mad scientist who goes out at night, and with the help of his strange assistant, Janos (Noble Johnson), kidnaps women and injects them with gorilla blood in the hopes of proving a connection between humans and apes. So far, it hasn’t gone well, leaving only dead women floating in the river, but perhaps Camille will be a closer link.

One factor that elevates ‘30s horror above most that has been made since is German expressionism. These movies were not meant to be taken literally. Sets were built and backgrounds painted that adhered to dream logic, not reality. Rooms would be oddly shaped, large but lacking in furniture, with sloping ceilings. Building and whole cityscapes resemble something out of Lovecraft. And scripts would follow this. It didn’t matter what the evil scientist was doing, only that it gave the viewer the feeling of something deeply wrong.

Murders in the Rue Morgue is all expressionism, and for a change, that not only includes the dark and sinister, but also the bright and happy. The romance is presented with flowers and swings and recitations of poetry, none of which match how it would be in reality, but which do feel like love. Of course more of the expressionism is in the darkness, with misshapen buildings and peculiar angles (shot by the masterful Karl Freund). The characters and script keep to that dream-state (you didn’t think you should be taking a gorilla kidnapper literally, did you?). Lugosi is over-the-top as the obsessed scientist, as he should be. Janos is an unexplained and unexplainable fiend. And the torture scene shows little, but feels far more intense than anything in Saw.

I was pleasantly surprised by our young hero and damsel in distress. Universal studios had difficulties with these sorts of roles. Take a look at Dracula and The Mummy; the “heroes” are so bland I am continually disappointed that the monsters don’t shred them. Dupin and Camille pale next to Mirakle and his team, but they don’t fade away. There’s some life and energy to them, enough for me to root for them.

The only real problem with Murders in the Rue Morgue is that there isn’t enough of it. It is too short, but also it sometimes pulls back when it should plow ahead. And to explain that I’m stuck doing what I hate which is repeating what so many others have said, but I’d be remiss in skipping over the production of this film, so here goes. Murders in the Rue Morgue was set as a low-budget film, using the title and a few bits and pieces from the Poe story, but with a brand new story. Eventually George Melford (director the Spanish language Dracula) was given the job of director. Robert Florey was set to direct Frankenstein, from his own script, with Lugosi planned for the role of the doctor. Studio bigwigs, meaning primarily Carl Laemmle Jr., wanted Lugosi for the part of the monster, which made neither Florey nor Lugosi happy. It didn’t matter though as James Whale was currently a golden boy at Universal thanks to his money-making work in melodramas, so he was given his choice of projects and he took Frankenstein, booting Florey to Murders in the Rue Morgue, which booted Melford onto a couple bottom barrel films. Whale wanted Karloff, so Lugosi was booted down to the lesser project as well. However, Florey fought off some poor suggestions from producers, managed to increase the budget, and got Murders in the Rue Morgue made his way—made but not released. Once it was finished, the studio panicked from the gruesome murders and tortures and cut between 10 and 21 minutes, now lost. They also shuffled the scenes about moving the kidnapping and murder of the prostitute from the opening to later in the picture.

Murders in the Rue Morgue is a good picture, but it might have been more. 20 minutes of additional ghastliness would have done the trick.

Jul 081932
 
3,5 reels

An archaeological dig, lead by Sir Joseph Whemple (Arthur Byron), unearths the mummy of Imhotep (Boris Karloff). A scroll buried with the mummy brings him back to life. Years later, Imhotep, now masquerading as modern Egyptian Ardath Bey, attempts to bring back his ancient love who has been reincarnated as Helen Grosvenor (Zita Johann), while Sir Joseph’s son Frank (David Manners) and occultist Doctor Muller (Edward Van Sloan) fight to stop him and save the girl who will be lost if he succeeds.

Of the original Universal Classic Monsters films, The Mummy is the most difficult for modern audiences to get into. While it is a Gothic tale, it is also rooted in 1932. The public—and press—had gone nuts over the opening of Tutankhamun’s tomb in 1922 and discussions of “the curse” were all the rage at cocktail parties. People took it seriously, and so this movie is presented seriously: no lighthearted moments or comic relief. Real people from the Tutankhamun excavation had died recently, perhaps—the papers suggested—from a real curse, so jokes would be in poor taste. And as this horror was in a faraway land, but current, The Mummy is made to look faraway, but current, with a flapper as our damsel in distress, and the then-popular slow melodrama as the story structure. For the details of that story, Dracula had been a big hit, so Universal saw no reason not to reuse its plot—placing it in Egypt was enough of a change. And when Imhotep displays memories of the ancient past, they are shown in the style of a silent film, as what would be more natural for the cinematic past in 1932 than a silent movie?

So The Mummy takes a different mindset. It was a mindset I found easy to get into as a child due to the general mystical, creepy feeling of the movie, but which eluded me as I got a bit older, as it is quite slow moving, and self-serious. However, now older still, I can again enter its world.

The connection to Dracula is closer than the plot (an evil, but in many ways sympathetic undead creature seeks a girl while an elderly occult doctor and a young romantic hero try to stop him) and the use of Swan Lake as its opening music. Screenwriter John L. Balderston was a writer on Dracula (as well as Frankenstein). Additionally he’d covered the opening of Tutankhamen’s tomb as a reporter. Actors Edward Van Sloan and David Manners were ported over from Dracula, and played essentially the same parts. And just as Van Helsing is annoying and “John” Harker is forgettable in that film, Doctor Muller gets on my nerves and Frank is a non-entity. Dracula’s acclaimed cinematographer Karl Freund was promoted to director. Dracula looks more like a Freund film that a Tod Browning one—Browning tended toward the lurid. Freund’s touches are visible throughout The Mummy (most obviously with the way the eyes are lit), and so is his restraint.

While it’s a good looking film, with some evocative set designs, The Mummy is rightfully remembered for two things: Jack P. Pierce’s makeup and Boris Karloff’s performance. As he’d shown with Frankenstein (and Dracula—yet another connection), Pierce was a genius at makeup design. The Mummy is amazing, both the fully wrapped version seen for only a few minutes, and as Ardath Bey, with the deep lines in his flesh. There wasn’t yet an Oscar for makeup, but they should have added one to give it to Pierce. The waking of the Mummy is one of the best scenes in horror history, showing little besides the movement of a hand and Karloff’s slowly opening eyes. It is frightening and memorable, and is a credit to both Pierce and Freund.

Karloff has no problem acting under that makeup (no visual problem; apparently it was very unpleasant to wear and have applied). He was a greatly underappreciated actor. He could mix menace and mystery with vulnerability. This movie would be a dud if the audience didn’t feel for Imhotep, but Karloff makes us care
makes me care.

The Mummy made it clear that Dracula and Frankenstein were not flukes. With it, Universal was now a monster factory, and Karloff was a star. And it’s a very good film, if not quite in the league of its brothers. Its pace is too slow, even with that correct mindset, and the ending is too sudden (another similarity to Dracula), and most any time spent without Karloff feels like wasted time. But Karloff is onscreen a great deal, and the strengths outweigh the weakness. If you don’t like it, wait ten years, and try again.

Back to MummiesBack to Classic Horror

Jul 031932
 
three reels

Sir Lionel Barton (Lawrence Grant), who is the definition of an Englishman, has discovered the tomb of Genghis Khan. This news worries the always-worried but also stiff upper-lipped Nayland Smith (Lewis Stone) of the British secret service. He knows that Dr. Fu Manchu (Boris Karloff) wants the mask and sword of Genghis Khan to make himself the leader of all of Asia, which will rise up and wipe out the white race—well, the men anyway. When Barton is kidnapped, Nayland Smith gathers Barton’s team of archeologists to try and beat Fu Manchu to the tomb. Accompanying them is Barton’s easily frightened daughter Shelia (Karen Morley), who knows where the tomb is, and her heroic but dim fiancĂ©e, Terrence Granville (Charles Starrett). But what chance do these upright British folks with American accents have against the evil of Fu Manchu and his incredibly sexy daughter Fah Lo See (Myrna Loy)?

We are deep into colonialist and yellow peril cinema. Fu Manchu isn’t a stereotype of yellow peril. He’s the foundation of it. All others are compared to him. Ming the Merciless is simply Fu Manchu in space. We are wading into some racially troubling waters.

But this is the 1930s, and nothing is as clear as you’d expect. The title isn’t The Adventures of Nayland Smith. Much like in Dracula, the interest lies with the villain. No child who watched this wanted to go play Nayland Smith or That Other White Guy. They are dull as death. They represent the polite and proper British government, and no one could possibly want to be a part of that. Smith actually announces that Fu Manchu must stop his evil “by order of the British government.” Really? That’s a comedy line, and don’t think they didn’t know that at the time. Smith isn’t the dashing type as he would be in the 1960’s Christopher Lee Fu Manchu movies. He’s just an aging, drab representative of exactly what no one wants. And that put him miles ahead of the young white hero whose name no one remembers. And they never have fun. Ever. Fu Manchu, on the other hand, is exciting, charismatic, and electric (both literally and figuratively). He’s smarter than all the others; he’s more educated than all the others, and he has a better time. As for the women, Shelia is kinda pretty and panics every few minutes. Fah Lo See, on the other hand, is a dynamo of sex and power. She’d rip your spleen out instead of cower. So yes, this is a colonialist yellow peril films. It also could be a recruitment video to join the uprising.

Anyone in 1932, and anyone now, who watches this watches it for Fu Manchu and his daughter, and Boris Karloff (not Chinese) and Myrna Loy (also not Chinese, though most of Hollywood seemed to think she was until she starred as Nora Charles) deliver. The two actors decided this pulp material needed to be tongue-in-cheek, taking camp to operatic levels, and it’s delicious. Karloff, smiling and fawning over his victim as he carries out the “bell torture,” his enthusiasm in announcing how the Brits will be the first martyrs for the new Genghis Khan, and Myrna Loy crawling over the unconscious man she plans to have sex with and then murder (or the other way around), are all joyful morsels to chew on. And then there is the most memorable scene of the picture: Fah Lo See crying out in ecstasy as she has Granville whipped simply for her pleasure. There’s nothing approaching it until Xenia Onatopp crushes a man to death with her thighs in GoldenEye. There is a strong current of BDSM to the multiple torture scenes, giving them an energy I can’t recall seeing anywhere else.

This was an MGM picture, so there was more money and more behind the scenes talent than was usually allotted to horror films, which means it looks great. The sets are large and ingeniously designed, with vast open spaces, and art nouveau touches. The lab and death ray have the look that serials strived for and could never obtain. And all of that is shot with style. It’s arguably the best artistic design of the year.

The Mask of Fu Manchu may be trash, but it is great trash.

May 221932
 
four reels

Edward Parker (Richard Arlen) is tossed overboard by a surly and drunken sea captain at the first port-of-call, the Island of Dr. Moreau. The mysterious doctor (Charles Laughton) isn’t happy with his uninvited guest, but soon changes his mind. The island is inhabited by beast-men created by Moreau and his assistant Montgomery (Arthur Hohl) via vivisection. His finest creation is the near-human female Lota (Kathleen Burke), which he hopes to mate with Parker to both bring out her more human side, and to prove the success of his experiments. Parker’s waiting fiancĂ©e (Leila Hyams) finds a captain to take her to the island to recover him, but Moreau has no plans to let anyone leave.

The first, and best adaptation of H. G. Wells’s novel, The Island of Doctor Moreau (the others being the drab 1977 Island of Dr. Moreau and the weird and troubled 1996 version) shifts the tone of the tale away from science fiction and toward horror. In doing so, the story is given power and one of the great cinematic “mad” doctors is created.

There’s so much to bite into. You can spend the entire film dwelling on the twisted Garden of Eden myth. What must God really be like and why should his creations obey to him? Or you can examine what it means to be human. Are the beasts human? Is Lota? Morality clearly does not make the man. If they aren’t human, does that makes them lesser beings, or perhaps it is better not to be human? Then there is the sexual angle. Is this a story of bestiality? If so, does that matter? Lota is oozing sex appeal. Do claws make a difference? Does how she was born make one?

Or if that’s too much philosophy, how about sociology. If your society is based upon an absolute set of laws, what happens to the believers in that society when a law is broken? What happens to religious followers when they discover that their god is not omnipotent?

Still too thoughtful? Then skip all of it and wallow in the horror of the House of Pain. There are plenty of thrills and chills.

Arlen and Hyams are adequate as the generic hero & girl types of the time. Hohl gives a more memorable performance while Burke easily trumps him. Of course she’s going to make an impressions—she’s a beautiful, scantily clad woman portraying a character born a panther. Bela Lugosi is also good in a small role as the Speaker of the Law, the leader of the beast-men. But this is Laughton’s film. His Moreau isn’t mad. He’s suave, clever, domineering, and evil. He enjoys his work, and enjoys the worship of his creations. His loathsome scientist, the suggestion of vivisection and the mere contemplation of bestiality had The Island of Lost Souls banned in many places—it took fifty years to get to England uncut. But it is everywhere now, and everyone should see it.

Apr 011932
 
four reels

‘Deadlegs’ Flint (Walter Huston) is a paraplegic who rules over a small area of the African jungle with a combination of cruelty and magic tricks. From there he plans various illegal schemes which are executed by his cowed henchmen Hogan (Mitchell Lewis) and Cookie (Forrester Harvey). He also keeps around sex toy Tula (Lupe Velez). All his substantial will is focused on revenge against Gregg Whitehall (C. Henry Gordon), who stole his wife and crippled him years ago, and it’s time to put the first part of that plan into action. He’s kept Whitehall’s daughter Ann (Virginia Bruce) in a convent school for years. Now he will drag her into the jungle and degrade her in every way imaginable before confronting her father. Entering into this hellhole is Kingsland (Conrad Nagel), drug-addled doctor, who falls for Ann while Flint forces him to stay for his own purposes.

Sadism, rape, whippings, incest, mental & physical abuse, drug addiction, alcoholism, forced alcoholism, prostitution, pimping you daughter, torture, and human sacrifice, and in 1932. I didn’t know they made them like this then. Hell, they never made them like this. Kongo is all things exploitation turned up to 11. It laughs at SAW and Hostel. It’s sleaze, but it’s sleaze elevated and perfected. There is no taunting or teasing. It lays it all out. No, we don’t need many films like this, but if we need one, this is it.

Kongo is often said to be a remake of Tod Browning’s 1928 silent West of Zanzibar, starring Lon Chaney, which is a partial truth. Both are based on the 1926 stage play Kongo, which starred Walter Huston (Virginia Bruce is often cited as being in it as well, but she’s not listed in the original cast). Browning’s version softened it, removing the drug references and making Flint—known as Phroso in that version—more sympathetic by adding an unnecessary opening, as well as slightly easing up on the abuse of the daughter. It’s a good movie, but Kongo is the real deal.

William Cowen’s career as a director was brief and otherwise not noteworthy, but he knew what to do with this material. His restraint is amazing. The story is over the top, the dialog extreme, and the acting drags you kicking and screaming into the film, so Cowen keeps the camera calm. He keeps the focus on character and avoids anything that could distract. He had a wonderfully lurid script filled with sharp cruel dialog and a cast that could project the nastiness involved so he got out of the way and let it happen. Sometimes that’s the best kind of direction.

I can’t praise the cast too highly. Each brings levels I didn’t expect. Perhaps most surprising is Conrad Nagel who is normally bland in early Hollywood bland leading man parts. Not here. He takes the character that could so easily have been overshadowed and gives him real depth. Kingsland’s romance with Ann is believable, perhaps because they walk through the abyss together. It’s actually quite heartwarming to see them still moving after all their suffering, and it helps that Kingsland isn’t simply a paragon of cinematic virtue; he’s a drug addict that has sex with Tula for a fix. Virginia Bruce is a revelation as well. I didn’t know she was capable of this. It’s her finest performance and it could easily have gone wrong. She walks a fine line between virtue and depravity. Ann is the victim, and Bruce never tries to hide that, but she plays it as more. She’s not just some thing to be rescued. She’s exhilarating. And of course there is Huston, a legend of ‘30s Hollywood, who owns Flint. He feels dangerous from the instant we meet him, and even more malevolent. It’s easy to hate him, yet I couldn’t help reveling in his vile actions.

Kongo is everything 1970s Euro-trash cult films promised but never seemed to deliver, in part because they were never made this well. Kongo is lewd and malignant and I could feel the sweat and filth and disease. If a film could infect you, this is it, and I loved it.

Mar 231932
 
three reels

Professor Morlant (Boris Karloff) dies with a final instruction to his servant (Ernest Thesiger), for a mystical gem to be left in his hand when he is put in his crypt, that way when he rises from the dead, he can go straight to paradise. But the gem is stolen. Days later, the heirs, Ralph Morlant (Anthony Bushell) & Betty Harlow (Dorothy Hyson), along with her flatmate (Kathleen Harrison), a grumpy lawyer (Cedric Hardwicke), a parson (Ralph Richardson), and an Arab looking to take the gem back to the Middle East (Harold Huth), all end up in the darkened mansion of the dead man.

Long thought lost, The Ghoul is the first British horror picture. While the description makes it seem we are dealing with an undead monster movie, the film is better classified as an old dark house film (such as The Cat and the Canary, The Ghost Breakers, and The Old Dark House). Like others in the sub-genre, it has a group of eccentric characters thrown together in a spooky house with multiple mysterious things going on around them. There are real horror elements, but they are mixed with sometimes wacky comedy and a lot of drawing room chatting. These sorts of films were of a time, and faded at the end of the ‘30s.

As a monster movie, The Ghoul is slow and talky. As an old dark house film, it’s pretty good. Expectations have a lot to do with how much someone enjoys a film and too many critics, having heard about this film for nearly a century without being able to see it, were expecting British Frankenstein.

It certainly has its horrific moments. Karloff’s Professor looks like an undead creature (with excessive eyebrows) before he’s even dead. Once returned, I’d place him as one of Karloff’s better creations. His ritual scene is as ghastly as anything Universal cooked up and had the censors quite upset.

Hardwicke and Richardson (in his first film role) are a welcome part of the ensemble. I found the comic flatmate to be overdone, but Ernest Thesiger (from The Bride of Frankenstein and The Old Dark House) has the perfect amount of quirk.

The Ghoul isn’t a great film, but it is a good film, and would be my first choice if you wanted something for a double feature with The Old Dark House.

Mar 161932
 
one reel
GetThatGirl

Ruth Dale (Shirley Grey) is on her way to collect her inheritance, followed by three thugs, two of whom aren’t even given names because in a movie of this quality, names are an unnecessary indulgence. They plan to stop her. By chance she runs into tractor salesman Dick Bartlett (Richard Talmadge) on a train, but the crooks separate them and take her to an evil sanitarium run by mad scientist/drug fiend Dr. Sandro Tito (Fred Malatesta). Mme. Nedra Tito (Geneva Mitchell) is unhappy with her husband
 sometimes, perhaps because of his drug habit or perhaps because of his experiments; since the 3-times-credited writer (for original story, screenplay, and dialogue) didn’t seem to know which, there’s no reason for me to know. Bartlett decides that instead of calling the police, or her family, or her lawyer, he’s going to rescue Dale himself. After all, he’s good at flips.

Richard Talmadge was a circus acrobat turned stuntman turned actor. With his limited acting ability, he didn’t have many opportunities for leading roles, and with his German accent and weak voice, even fewer in talkies, so he made his own, producing a string of very low budget D-level pictures. They had limited success in the US, though did better overseas, particularly in the Soviet Union where his ability to leap about was more important than being able to speak a line. By 1934, he’d moved on to become a successful stunt coordinator.

As a movie, Get That Girl is the worst thing I’ve seen from the 1930s. As a goofy background to a party or a drinking game, it’s fun, provided your plan is to laugh at it.

No explanation is given for why a tractor salesman is so good at acrobatics, but then no explanation is given for what Tito is doing, nor how the inheritance works, nor why every woman screams whenever they see the gardener. But at least Talmadge being skilled in somersaults means someone had a skill who was involved in the movie. The cameraman and soundman didn’t.

Like many low budget thrillers of the era, it overlaps with horror, this time due to a mad scientist who uses hypnotism, and apparently turns women into wax figures. Playing that up might have added some needed cheap thrills, but that wasn’t the point. The movie exists so Talmadge can swing around a tree branch and jump off a balcony, and he does those quite well, so I suppose on that level, Get That Girl is a success.

Mar 101932
 
one reel

Years ago the fathers of John Mason (John Wayne) and Janet Cater (Sheila Terry) each owned half of the Sally Ann gold mine. Carter was cheated out of his half by the father of Joe Ryan (Harry Woods). Now, mysterious letters have brought both John and Janet back to town, at the same time Joe and his gang have appeared. What’s more, the town seems to be haunted by The Phantom, which makes things awkward for John’s scared-of-spooks stereotype Black sidekick. Is there gold in the mine? And who is the mysterious Phantom?

John Wayne in a horror movie? Not quite. John Wayne in a Scooby-Do horror Western? Closer. John Wayne in half a Scooby-Do horror Western? That’s it.

Haunted Gold is a remake (or a re-purposing) of the silent The Phantom City (1928), starring Ken Maynard, who was, briefly, a big Western star. Maynard wasn’t much of an actor, but he was a real rodeo rider who could perform some impressive stunts. So they took the old exterior shots and added sound, and shot new interior ones, and called it a movie. Wayne, who was never a great actor but was truly pathetic at this early point in his career, was hired purely because he looked enough like Maynard that they could merge the films. Of course if the idea was to reuse old exterior shots, the studio wasn’t going to spend much time or money on the new stuff, so Wayne’s part of the film involves a lot of standing around and reciting exposition.

The result is as good as you’d expect. Actually, it’s even worse as there’s a hefty dose of racism in the form of a cowardly Black servant. The film even speeds up when he’s running from imaginary ghosts because that makes him even sillier. It’s edited so there’s a specific moment when the White audience along with the White actors are supposed to laugh at the ridiculous Black man.

This is an atrocious picture. It’s overly talky, poorly made, pitifully acted, and painfully racist. It covers all the bases. Skip it.

Mar 011932
 
three reels

Within a sideshow, the Freaks live, carrying out romances, arguments, friendships, and betrayals. Cleopatra (Olga Baclanova), the beautiful acrobat of the circus, plots to marry the midget Hans (Harry Earles) for his secret fortune, and then kill him, with the aid of her lover, the strongman Hercules (Henry Victor). Frieda (Daisy Earles), Hans’s ex-fiancĂ©e, knows that Cleopatra laughs at Hans behind his back, but he won’t listen to her. The others go along with the situation, but when they discover how far Cleopatra is willing to go, they plan their revenge.

Freaks is a power fantasy for the disenfranchised and outsider of any kind, and it works best when considered in that way. The midgets, dwarves, Pinheads, Siamese Twins, bearded lady, and physically disadvantaged are shown to be kind, or cruel, smart or stupid, loving or hateful. They are us, assuming we are not those with power, the normals. They are laughed at and abused. They have their allies (Phroso the clown and Venus), but allies can be accepted, but never entirely understand. And the outsiders (that’s us), can band together, rise up, and avenge themselves.

It’s an important story, and one that’s always needed. And when the Freaks do finally rise up against Cleopatra and Hercules, the film becomes transcendent. It becomes culturally significant.

Unfortunately, the rest of the time it’s not so great. Tod Browning was never a top tier director. His roots were in the circus, and his sympathies with the unusual, so he could add an interesting outlook to a motion picture, but he lacked the artistry to do more. The look of his finest film, Dracula, can be assigned to cinematographer Karl Freund. If he was going to make great art, he needed a lot of help, and he didn’t get it with Freaks.

On the interesting side, he cast actual sideshow performers, people with deformities and mental and physical disadvantages. This brought realism to the picture. However, while casting for realism has advantages, one of them is not acting. The sideshow performers were mostly terrible at lines and movement before a camera. This really stands out with Harry and Daisy Earles as they play major characters, and not for a second do they appear to be anything but people reciting lines. Even the professional actors are weak, which calls into question both Tod Browning’s ability to work with actors, and the decision not to hire any established stars. Here and there, when acting isn’t required (and for that amazing revenge sequence), I can be pulled into the film, but the rest of the time, I’m watching non-actors and semi-actors going through the motions.

Freaks has another problem, and it’s a crippling one. A test audience rejected the film, many walking out and one woman threatening to sue. They hated it, calling it deviant and sickening. MGM immediately caved and cut a third of the film, and added a brief prologue and epilogue in an attempt to stitch up the story. Few films can survive being butchered like that, and Freaks couldn’t. Those missing sections are lost, but it’s known that part of what’s gone is the end of the climactic scene, when the Freaks get their hands on Cleopatra and Hercules. It neuters the movie. A film needs its climax. I can’t say if the excised material would have fixed the structural problems and slight character development, but I’m willing to bet on it.

Freaks, as whole, could never have been great, but it could have been better. It is interesting, which is enough of a reason to watch it.

Feb 061932
 
one reel

In the most Victorian of Victorian Englands, upstanding Dr. Jekyll (Fredric March) investigates the duel personality of man while waiting in frustration for his delayed wedding to Muriel Carew (Rose Hobart). Her father, Brigadier-General Danvers Carew (Halliwell Hobbes) insists they wait; he’s also not happy with Jekyll’s unorthodox theories. Jekyll’s attempt to separate man’s nature works too well as his potion changes him into the murderous Mr. Hyde. Hyde, lacking the restraint of Jekyll but filled with the same lust, takes up with Miriam Hopkins Ivy Pearson (Miriam Hopkins) a “dancehall girl,” whom he abuses. When Jekyll attempts to free himself from Hyde, he finds it’s too late, as Hyde can now appear without the potion.

This seems like the natural place for a Paramount to enter 1930s horror. It’s based on a classic novella by Robert Louis Stevenson, so they could always claim that they were making a literary work, not one of those low class monster films. And it was a remake of their own 1920 silent film. Like Dracula over at Universal, it only follows its source material when seen from a great distance, and is closer to a stage version. It isn’t a mystery nor is it told in flashbacks as the novella. And it adds women (as compared to the original; the fiancĂ©e and prostitute had already been inserted in somewhat different forms in the play and silent film versions). Helming the film would be Rouben Mamoulian, who already had a reputation as a innovative director, particularly with regard to camera movement. Perhaps it would be considered horror, but it would be sophisticated horror, and that label matted almost as much as the money they planned to make. Almost.

How sophisticated it actually is comes down to taste, but it does look good. Mamoulian spent a lot of money and it’s all on the screen. He built set after set and brought in a small village worth of people to walk around his faux London. And his camera tricks are all on display. His POV shots push me out of the picture instead of pulling me in, but no one was doing this better at the time, or for a very long time to come. The on-screen transformation from Jekyll to Hyde is amazing and is the finest use of special effects makeup in the decade. The final Hyde makeup design, however, is not in the same league as the work Jack Pierce was doing over at Universal, and is likely to elicit laughter now. Paramount had the money and skill for a horror film, but they were behind on artistry.

This version does vary from others (particularly the 1941 re-make when the production code had teeth) by its focus on sexual frustration. It’s lust that motivates Jekyll to take the potion, and it’s lust that drives Mr. Hyde. Miriam Hopkins is a ball of alluring lust. Her partly-on/partly-off camera stripping scene has rightfully risen above the Hyde-transformations as the most moment of the film. This is sexually charged movie. Less helpful is what it’s saying about lust and sex. Stevenson’s novel may have been a statement against the hypocritical nature of Victorian society, but the film comes off as yet another conservative rant against interfering in God’s domain. While the pompous father, who represents the sillier aspects of polite society, is noted as a fool, it’s still curiosity and the attempt to upset the status quo that are immoral. If only Jekyll had understood his place in society, then everything would have worked out fine. Sigh. While the superior Frankenstein undercut that message, it was exactly what Paramount wanted to say.

The acting is mixed. Hopkins steals the picture with the best supporting actress performance of the year. She presents extremes of emotion while creating a authentic character that I cared about. March is very different. He succeeds splitting the role; unlike the ’41 version, Jekyll and Hyde seem like completely different people. You’d never guess that the same actor played both parts. But neither part works, certainly not next to Hopkins. His exaggerated mannerisms as Jekyll (flailing his arms and dropping to his knees) and melodramatic speech come off as fake and very stage-like. This isn’t March embracing expressionism. He’s just overacting. A little subtlety would have worked wonders. His Hyde is also exaggerated, but that’s OK in an evil ape-man, though a better film would have given us more than “evil ape-man.”

While most of the violence approaches parody, Mr. Hyde’s brutal treatment of Ivy is much more realistic. It’s as horrifying a treatment of domestic violence as I’ve seen on screen and elevates the film. However, that is not enough for me to recommend it.

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Jan 171932
 
two reels

Col. Walters (Burton Churchill) and his Sphinx Club of Amateur sleuths is responsible for the arrest of a member of the evil Crooked Circle. The black-hooded members of the Circle choose their only female member as their assassin to avenge themselves on the Colonel tonight when he and other members of his club are staying at Melody Manor, an Old Dark House with all the trimmings. It will be Brand Osborne’s (Ben Lyon) last night in the Club after which he will be replaced by Hindu Yoganda (C. Henry Gordon). Brand is resigning at the insistence of his newly-met fiancĂ©e Thelma Parker (Irene Purcell), who has a mysterious connection to Yoganda. Might they be members of the Crooked Circle? Also joining the Club members are morbid and dim housekeeper Nora (Zasu Pitts) and incompetent policeman Arthur Crimmer (James Gleason).

Not much effort went into character or dialog or plot in this silly mix of Old Dark House and kid’s adventure, with an evil paranormal society and upper class do-gooders straight from a radio show. But then none of those were the point. Top billing didn’t go to the generic he-man hero, or his slightly goofy sidekick, or the lovely romantic interest, but to Zasu Pitts. For a brief and confusing time in the 1930s, Pitts was a star, and her shtick was a combination of cowardly and sorrowful, which she used in every film. She’s often described as being like Popeye’s girlfriend Olive Oyl, which isn’t a coincidence as the cartoon character’s delivery was based on Pitts. She has no part in the story of The Crooked Circle, such that it is, but instead pops up about once a minute, to either scream or despondently point out the bleak affair of things. She utters her catch phrase, “Something always happens to somebody” dozens of times. If Zasu Pitts amuses you, then you’ll find this film amusing, but I suspect that her comedy has fallen out of style. I can handle five or ten minutes of her. Any more and it’s nails on blackboard time, and she’s around a lot more than ten minutes.

Next in importance to the film is James Gleason, who was another successful comic actor of the times, and whose character also has nothing to do with the story. He played a lot of flustered cops and criminals. With the right director and some decent dialog, I find Gleason engaging. In this case, however, he was on his own, so did a low rent version of his normal routine. It’s not funny, but it isn’t half as annoying as whatever Pitts was doing.

Beyond those two, well, things happen and none of it matters. There’s ghostly violin music, a skeleton, secret passageways everywhere, a clock that strikes 13, and none of it is in the least bit creepy. It isn’t supposed to scare you, but give opportunities for Pitts and Gleason to screech.

At least the house looks properly foreboding. So if you have more tolerance than I for Zasu Pitts, you can give it a try on a rainy afternoon. It’s easy to find online.