A solitary figure toting a large suitcase is seen braving the English countryside’s wintry weather. He hesitates for a moment before entering the Lion’s Head Inn in the village of Ipping. Upon opening the door, he startles a group of patrons inside with his peculiar looks and detached deportment. They recoil from him as he slowly approaches the bar.
Sporting dark goggles, a false nose, and a thoroughly bandaged head, the visitor insists to the innkeeper, Mr. Hall, on renting a room. “I want to be left alone, and undisturbed,” he later intones. If curiosity killed the cat, it certainly had a similar effect on the villagers, who gossip among themselves about the visitor’s secretive ways.
Bursting in unexpectedly on the stranger as he’s having his supper, the proprietress of the inn, Jenny Hall, makes note of an unusual facial feature: there’s nothing there expect empty space! “He must’ve been in some horrible accident,” she mutters.
A week goes by and the stranger continues to hole up in his room. In fact, he’s transformed the space into a chemist’s laboratory! Some humorous asides ensue between Mr. and Mrs. Hall. She insists that her husband take up the overdue bill, but he hesitates. “Let him cool off first,” he suggests. Nothing doing! She gives her husband an ultimatum: either the stranger goes or she goes.
Mr. Hall rudely interrupts the stranger and tells him to pack up his belongings and get out. Pleading with the man that he’s the victim of an unfortunate accident, Griffin begs to be left alone. But his pleas fall on deaf ears. Unfortunately for Mr. Hall, the stranger throws the poor man down a flight of stairs. This drives the proprietress Mrs. Hall to a fit of hysterics as the other patrons go in search of a policeman.
It soon becomes apparent that the stranger, whose name is Dr. Jack Griffin, has a deeper affliction: a chemist by profession, Griffin has been searching in vain for a way back from his invisibility.
Although Boris Karloff was originally touted to star (he turned down the part of Griffin due to salary issues and the lack of “screen presence”), the 44-year-old British actor Claude Rains made a successful first impression on audiences in his American motion picture “debut” (in a manner of speaking) with this fascinating film version of H.G. Wells’ 1897 science fiction novella.
The Invisible Man is the ultimate mad-scientist-on-the-loose epic to end all epics, with enough megalomaniacal dialogue (“Power to rule, to make the world grovel at my feet!” and “We’ll begin with a reign of terror. A few murders here and there. Murders of big men, murders of little men — just to show we make no distinction!”) and ironic twists of dark humor (“Here we go gathering nuts in May on a cold and frosty morning!”) to satisfy any sci-fi addict.
What made this feature so memorable, after all, were the astounding special effects for the period (the work of FX specialist John P. Fulton, along with John J. Mescall and Frank D. Williams), painstakingly done with plaster models, mattes, process photography, and double exposures. There were times when the lead actor had to dress from head to toe in thick, black velvet, as well as endure being smothered in plaster casts, in order for the invisibility effect to register on film. When Rains, as Dr. Griffin, takes off the bandages that bind his head and face, he reveals … absolutely nothing. Top that, Industrial Light and Magic!
There are innumerable feats of legerdemain throughout the production, but none of them could stand a ghost of a chance at sci-fi posterity were it not for Rains’ unequalled vocal performance. By voice and body alone, Rains managed to do the impossible by investing the character of the ambitious scientist, on the verge of an earth-shattering discovery, with a huge measure of sympathy for his plight. Some may complain that his acting is over the top, that it’s theatrical and overly melodramatic. But I ask, how else would one play a delusional megalomaniac if not to the crowd?
Griffin is our modern-day Dr. Frankenstein (and part Mummy), with one major difference: he’s experimented on himself instead of a test subject. His inability to undo what he has wrought brings about his transformation into a homicidal, power-hungry fiend, obsessed with wielding his dictatorial rule over mankind to the detriment of those he holds most dear.
So pitifully poor in wealth and background, Griffin had nothing to offer his sweetheart, Flora Cranley. That is, until he stumbled upon the formula that would forever alter his universe: a powerful mind-altering drug called monocaine (a possible pseudonym for morphine), which renders its subject invisible while leaving behind a warped personality.
His scenes with the desperate Flora are pitiable in their futility: she realizes he has gone completely insane, but is helpless to dissuade him from his murderous path; while he, like an impatient child, can only rock back and forth in his chair, seeking solace and relief where none can be had. Grasping at his forehead, Griffin mouths his contempt for humanity and its weaknesses. He is incapable of accepting the truth of what Flora has to reveal, that the drug has altered his soul and his being. Won’t he let her father help him? Not a chance!
Griffin goes on a murder spree, first throttling a policeman to death, next sabotaging a speedy train, and then sending his former assistant, Dr. Kemp, over the side of a cliff for betraying him to the police. In the end, alone and doomed by his lust for power, Griffin is shot and captured by his pursuers. On his deathbed, the invisibility begins to fade, revealing the real man behind the bandages: calm, serene, and finally at peace.
Directed by James Whale, who also worked on the previous Universal hit Frankenstein (1931), the film was another of the studio’s highpoints in the expanding list of classic monster movies. Whale pointed his camera high above the ceiling for the scene where the British bobby (E.E. Clive) and townspeople climb the stairs to Griffin’s room. For others, he kept the focus low and to the ground which made Griffin loom physically larger and more menacing (Rains was famously short of stature), as well as rail from on high about conquering the world. Less dependent on the techniques of German Expressionism than either Frankenstein (1931) or its sequel, The Bride of Frankenstein (1935), The Invisible Man spawned numerous sequels and imitators, none of which scaled the heights of the original.
Produced by Carl Laemmle Jr., the picture co-starred the lovely Gloria Stuart (The Old Lady in James Cameron’s Titanic) as Griffin’s fiancée Flora, William Harrigan as his treacherous assistant Dr.Kemp, and Henry Travers (the angel Clarence in It’s a Wonderful Life) as Flora’s father and Griffin’s employer, Dr. Cranley, along with the excitable Una O’Connor as Jenny Hall, Forrester Harvey as Herbert Hall, Dudley Diggs as the Chief Detective, and E.E. Clive as Constable Jaffers. Others in the cast include the dependable Dwight Frye as a reporter, John Carradine (under the pseudonym Peter Richmond), and Walter Brennan.
The screenplay is credited to R.C. Sheriff, who wrote the play Journey’s End, which kicked off Whale’s stage career in 1928 and that also took him to New York. Whale later directed the screen version of the play.
Copyright © 2017 by Josmar F. Lopes
Boo!!! It’s that time of the year again, folks, when all we want out of life is to be frightened out of our wits at Halloween (Well… some of us do, anyway). And Universal Pictures has heeded the call. Yay! They’ve re-released their “Classic Monsters — The Essential Collection” on Blu-ray disc. Yikes!!
This is a not-to-be-missed assortment of fun (tongue planted firmly in cheek) fright flicks, guaranteed to make your hair stand on end. All right, maybe they’re not as frightening as they once were — and over the years, the majority of these creature features have lost a good deal of their shock value and “bite.” Nevertheless, they’re always worth a second or third look, mostly for their well-founded status as undeniable screen classics.
Packed with trivia, memorabilia, insights, interviews, making of’s, and beaucoup bonus material, this collection will have you up nights (!) as you wade through the treasure trove of extras. Just don’t drive any stakes through that classy packaging art, okay?
As an added enticement, I’ve provided brief write-ups of the individual items included in this truly worthy set. As Edward Van Sloan once told curious audience members, in the spoken introduction to James Whale’s Frankenstein, “I think it will thrill you. It may shock you. It might even – horrify you.”
Huh! Now that’s an understatement. (It’s okay to cover your eyes during the scary parts, friends. But don’t worry, I won’t tell…)
The first of Universal’s Monster Classics is this Tod Browning-directed picture, based on a Broadway stage production of Bram Stoker’s novel. Starring Hungarian-born Bela Lugosi, who just happened to have been born in the same Transylvanian district as the bloodthirsty Count Dracula (how’s that for a coincidence?), it’s a labored, slow-moving effort, ponderous in spots and overly talkative, with some of the acting clearly belonging to another era entirely. Despite the lulls, the film comes “alive” (so to speak) anytime Lugosi is on screen. His darkly sinister stare and imposing presence and height are his most prominent features. But the best emoting of all comes from supporting player (and Universal staple) Dwight Frye as the crazed, fly-eating Mr. Renfield. Excellent camera work by Karl Freund, the misty atmosphere no doubt heightens the Gothic mood. The only thing missing is a decent film score. That said, the opening snippet from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake is about all we get. The collection also features an alternate score by Philip Glass with the Kronos String Quartet, as well as a Spanish-language edition. With David Manners, Helen Chandler, Herbert Bunston, and Edward Van Sloan as Dr. Van Helsing.
Having scored a direct hit with Dracula, Universal offered the part of Frankenstein’s Monster to Lugosi. He turned it down flat (“There’s no dialogue!” he was reputed to have cried). In his place, contract player Boris Karloff (real name: William Henry Pratt) was tapped for the role that forever changed the course of his life and career. Certainly Jack Pierce’s iconic makeup lent a huge helping hand in securing this picture’s place among the immortals. Colin Clive is the anxious Dr. Frankenstein, our modern-day Prometheus, who flawlessly captures the scientist’s mad obsession with creating life from dead bodies (his resemblance to comic Jim Carrey is uncanny). Clive was a chronic alcoholic who died prematurely in 1937, only two years after Bride of Frankenstein was released. The flick is a tad “livelier” than Dracula, lacking a memorable score to enliven the proceedings (that would be taken care of with the next two installments, Bride and Son of Frankenstein). Fortunately, this version restores previously cut footage of the Monster throwing little Maria into the lake. With Edward Van Sloan, Mae Clarke, John Boles, Frederick Kerr, Lionel Belmore, and Dwight Frye as Fritz.
The Mummy (1932)
Karl Freund went from cinematographer to film director with this stylish, Art Deco-derived fright flick. When the movie was originally released, it had only been a mere ten years since the incredible discovery of King Tutankhamen’s tomb (along with its highly publicized “curse”), so the novelty of the find was still very much on audiences’ minds. Contrary to popular belief, Boris Karloff (as Imhotep, the resurrected Mummy of the title), appears in only one scene wearing the dead man’s bandages, but for a precious few seconds. His piercing gaze, as well as his slow loping gait, were emblematic of Karloff’s acting style, which would take hold in subsequent fright features. It’s another slow one, we’re sorry to add, but the chilly atmosphere compensates somewhat for the lack of action. With the Universal stock company of players, including the ubiquitous Edward Van Sloan and David Manners, along with Zita Johann, Leonard Mudie, Arthur Byron, and Noble Johnson (the Native Chief in King Kong) as a Nubian Slave.
The Invisible Man (1933)
Claude Rains made his first motion picture “appearance” (in a manner of speaking) with this fascinating film version of H.G. Wells’ science fiction novella. This is the ultimate mad-scientist-on-the-loose epic to end all epics, with enough megalo-maniacal dialogue (“Power to make men grovel at my feet!”) and ironic twists of dark humor (“Here we go gathering nuts in May”) to satisfy any sci-fi fan. What made this feature so great, after all, were the astounding special effects for the period, painstakingly done with plaster models, process photography and double exposures. When Rains, as Dr. Jack Griffin, takes off the bandages that bind his head, he reveals… absolutely nothing. Top that, Industrial Light and Magic! Directed by James Whale, who also did the previous year’s Frankenstein. With lovely Gloria Stuart (The Old Lady in Titanic), William Harrigan, Henry Travers, Una O’Connor, Holmes Herbert, and E.E. Clive (Colin’s dad) as Constable Jaffers.
The Bride of Frankenstein (1935)
It’s been called the greatest horror picture ever made – no faint praise for British director James Whale, whose iconic monster movie this is: a first-rate, and far superior, sequel to his earlier Frankenstein. Yes, it’s sentimental in spots, even downright cloying in its manipulation of the audience’s feelings for and identification with Dr. Frankenstein’s creation. Yet, for the last 80 years it cannot help but wipe the floor of the competition. Colin Clive repeats his role as the restless Henry Frankenstein, who is threatened and cajoled by the eccentric Dr. Pretorius, a wild-eyed Ernest Thesiger (a fey stand-in for the director), into creating a mate for the lonely Boris Karloff. Jack Pierce’s superb makeup job for both the Monster and his titular Bride (Elsa Lanchester, in a dual role, as author Mary Shelley as well) has passed into screen legend. Expressionistic sets, bizarre camera angles, and eerily comical secondary characters – in particular, the whiny-voiced Una O’Connor, the slow-witted E.E. Clive, and the sympathetic Blind Hermit (charmingly played by O.P. Heggie) – add up to a smashing good time for all. Featuring Valerie Hobson, Gavin Gordon, Reginald Barlow, Mary Gordon, and the ever dependable Dwight Frye as Karl.
The Wolf Man (1941)
“Even a man who’s pure in heart and says his prayers by night / May become a wolf when the wolf-bane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.” A medieval ode of Eastern European origin? Not exactly: this catchy little poem was the invention of screenwriter and author (turned director) Curt Siodmak. But it set the right tone for one of the 1940’s favorite film monsters: the Wolf Man, played with anguish as well as charm by the young Lon Chaney, Jr. Chaney had the added advantage of having had a father who practically thrived on his long association with the horror genre (not for nothing was dad known as the “Man of a Thousand Faces”). Junior, whose given name was Creighton, was also the only actor to have played the Wolf Man, a.k.a. Lawrence Talbot, in all of Universal’s subsequent sequels. Directed by George Waggner, and makeup by (you guessed it) Jack Pierce, with Claude Rains, Evelyn Ankers, Ralph Bellamy, Maria Ouspenskaya, Patrick Knowles, and Bela Lugosi as (who else?) Bela the Gypsy.
The Phantom of the Opera (1943)
Proving that Technicolor was no guarantee of box-office success, this sound version of Gaston Leroux’s Gothic tale (first filmed as a silent with the inimitable Lon Chaney as the ghostly apparition) features Claude Rains again as a rather kindly Phantom. His makeup is the weakest of Jack Pierce’s monster get-ups, though, and a big letdown for fans familiar with Chaney’s earlier death’s head figure. There’s decidedly more opera here than phantom, too, as the movie spends an inordinate amount of screen time on a silly romance between baritone Nelson Eddy (in solid voice), beauteous Susana Foster (his vocal equal – and then some!), and jealous police inspector Edgar Barrier. The opera scenes are excellent nonetheless, and provide a colorful backdrop to the secondary plot line involving poor old Claudin (couldn’t they have given Rains a better name than that?) as an aging violinist put out to pasture before his time. No wonder, what with all the comic relief among the scene-stealing supporting cast of Leo Carrillo, Hume Cronyn, J. Edward Bromberg, Fritz Feld, Steven Geray, and Fritz Leiber as composer Franz Liszt.
Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954)
Though not part of Universal’s original monster contingent, the titular Creature (alternately played on land by Ben Chapman, and in water by champion swimmer Ricou Browning) became part of the new generation of screen demons with this tightly scripted, expertly executed sci-fi shocker. Filmed in simultaneous 3-D and flat versions, the story takes place in an uncharted region of the Amazon (the so-called Black Lagoon), where scientists Richard Carlson, Richard Denning, and Julia Adams (in a white bathing suit, no less) have dropped anchor, in full research regalia, in order to study the fossilized remains of the supposedly extinct Gill Man. Little do they realize that the Creature is very much alive and well, and has set his sights (and claws) on the luscious Ms. Adams. It’s not quite Beauty and the Beast, but this will do for now. Great underwater photography and a terrific film score by Hans J. Salter, who was Universal’s resident composer of science-fiction and horror thrillers. Jack Arnold (It Came From Outer Space) directed, with veterans Antonio Moreno, Whit Bissell, Perry Lopez, and Nestor Paiva as Lucas.
Happy Halloween, everybody!!!
Copyright © 2012 by Josmar F. Lopes