Laird of the Underworld

 

It’s impossible to imagine the suave, ebullient, boxy bundle of bonhomie in HEAVEN CAN WAIT as the same figure who, in THIS GUN FOR HIRE, in response to a killer’s suggestion, “I’ll bind her wrists with soft catgut,” whispers squeamishly, “Don’t SAY that! That’s a horrible word!”

Nor does the gentleman with the mephistophelean face-fuzz much resemble the haunted figure stalking the London streets in THE LODGER, of the gaunter variant in HANGOVER SQUARE. A different fellow altogether.

“Sometimes it seems like the whole world is coming to hell,” remarks Satan with a satisfied grin, behind a big desk in a big pearly-pink marble hall with just the hint of licking flames. Laird Cregar is Satan, basking in the attention of a first-rate director at last, the impish Mr. Lubitsch. “Nobody can play comedy who does not have a circus going on in his head,” the director once advised David Niven. Cregar cracks the whip in his own private cranial big top, and proves himself a graceful comedian.

“Why is Satan so NICE?” asked Fiona as we enjoyed the film. Maybe because he’s got such a great job, maybe because Lubitsch isn’t greatly excited by evil characters. Satan has just dropped a little old lady through a trapdoor into the searing inferno below, but he’s still overwhelmingly charming and terribly polite. Beaming and slightly boiled-looking, he makes a sympathetic listener, a father-confessor to the hero (Don Ameche, equally sensitive) who has not encountered such an understanding friend since his grandfather (Charles Coburn) passed away.

It’s a small but prominent role. Cregar’s work as a heavy in thrillers and adventure yarns has given him the reputation as arch-bad-guy that makes his casting as Satan appropriate and pleasing to the public, and then together, Lubitch and Cregar unveil a whole new actor enfolded inside, like a flower within a bud.