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 fiancée, 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.