Archive for Frankenstein

My theory, Part 1: Welles = Universal Horror

Posted in Comics, FILM, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 24, 2013 by dcairns

wellesrichardiiiIt was at Norman Lloyd’s house that we saw this Al Hirschfeld cartoon, published in the New York Herald Tribune in 1938, predicting the roles to be taken on the New York stage by the leading players that fall.

Norman is top left — Hirschfeld always drew him this way, though Fiona thought it a dubious likeness.

Orson Welles is dead centre, as Richard III with flat-topped head and lank black wig. In the end he never played the role, something he blames John Houseman for, I believe, in My Lunches with Orson.

But the image suggests to me Boris Karloff, and ties in with my theory that Welles was influenced, probably in childhood, by the Universal school of horror.

Was Karloff’s monster a good model for Richard III? Possibly not — the personalities are quite different. But Welles’ putative performance as the disfigured, limping king might easily have been influenced by the monster, who had so recently returned to the screen in BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN. And there is at least one image in existence of a teenage Welles playing Richard on stage at the Todd School with a big, built-up head like the one in Hirschfeld’s cartoon.

Then there’s the Mercury Theater radio production of Dracula, which owes nothing much to the Universal movie but certainly displays a keen interest in, and aptitude for, gothic horror.

CITIZEN KANE’s opening has much of the feel of a ’30s horror film — Xanadu is not only dark, looking, shadowy and surrounded by desolation, it is a painting, like Castle Dracula. If few were convinced by Pauline Kael’s suggestion that Welles’ old-age make-up bore the influence of Peter Lorre’s Gogol from MAD LOVE, we can at least agree that part of the movie’s style is at times somewhat Gothic — and this fed into the 1943 JANE EYRE, which Welles influenced greatly (though he disparages the production in My Dinners with Orson.

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And Welles’ MACBETH would be the clincher — I’m certain Welles said something, somewhere, about BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN being a visual influence on his papier-mache and dry-ice Scotland, “a violent charcoal sketch of a great play.” Whale occupies exalted ground, since Welles has comparatively few cinematic antecedents — he borrows liberally from Eisenstein in his first two Shakespeare films, and the smooth matching of his theatrical sensibility with Gregg Toland’s cinematic one obviously helped form him as a filmmaker, but apart from that, Whale is just about the only source you can point to. (He learned basic film grammar from running STAGECOACH, and maybe there’s some stylistic influence — but nothing that couldn’t be explained easier by Toland’s help and Welles’ pre-existing fondness for chiaroscuro.)

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Part two of my theory tomorrow, and starting soon — a major Shadowplay series on CITIZEN KANE. What else is there to say about that film? Maybe nothing, but I will say it with different punctuation.

Wang

Posted in FILM with tags , , on May 8, 2013 by dcairns

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If you thought The Purple Dagger was a mildly suggestive title for a movie serial episode, then you ain’t seen The Hand of Wang.

This is episode 4 of THE TRAIL OF THE OCTOPUS, and things are hopelessly tangled. The gun aiming at our heroine in last week’s installment proves to be clasped by femme fatale and former exotic dancer turned high priestess of a sinister death cult, Zora Rularde. Before she can shoot, she gets hypnotized into dropping the gat by the eerie disembodied eyes which have been drifting through this whole show, and Scottish sidekick Sandy McNab nabs her, nicely.

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Meanwhile, ace criminologist turned oafish bumbler has a Mexican standoff with the shadowy, masked Monsieur X. By now we’ve met the Tunisian gentlemen who is OBVIOUSLY Monsieur X in his other guise — Scooby Doo logic, he’s the only other character in the serial. We’ll see if I’m right. Anyhow, he turns out the lights and there are shots in the dark. Carter re-illumines the room, and X has vanished. Eerie. I’m reminded of the old western saying — “Q: How many Indians are hiding in this room? A: As many as want to.”

In fact, X has scarpered, murdering another scientist and stealing another ceremonial dagger (Collect ‘em all!). But then Sandy finds a surprising note ~

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Meanwhile, that Tunisian gent turns up to help Sandy guard the vamp, but it’s obvious from sly reaction shots that he and she are in cahoots. McNab, who’s no smarter than his boss, suspects nothing. Within minutes, the vamp is free and our heroine, Ruth Stanhope, has been abducted yet again.

Incidentally, I didn’t realize I’d seen Sandy before — he’s played by William Dyer, one of the gravediggers in FRANKENSTEIN. The rest of the cast seems to have plunged into B westerns for life, but the paunchy sidekick achieved a few seconds of immortality.

Fortunately, the vamp handily left her address, so Holmes is able to pay her a social call. But she tells him nothing, and while he’s away, one of the ceremonial daggers is stolen. It’s beginning to look like going anywhere is a mistake, and Holmes could win the whole adventure just by sitting on his ass. It’s moving about that causes all the trouble.

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During all this we also hear about mysterious oriental Wang Foo, apparently the only guy who owns a ceremonial dagger and knows what it’s for. A man to respect! Looking forward to a bit of proper yellow peril soon. We also learn that the sinister floating eyes have the ability to make telephone calls (but only to local numbers).

The villains drag Ruth onto a train — I like how they just openly bundle her onto the observation car — we don’t see how they got onto the station platform in the first place. I guess damsel abduction was such a popular past-time in those days, the authorities would rather smile upon it. As long as they had their tickets, the guard would look the other way. A policy continued by the Ohio police to this day, possibly.

Now for an exciting chase! Some clever detective work involving fingerprints and railway timetables, of which Agatha Christie would be proud, leads Holmes and McNab to pursue the train in their jalopy, and Holmes daringly leaps into the last carriage. He liberates Ruth, chucks Monsieur X overboard, but now the evil rug merchant pulls some funny business with the train and sends that last carriage trundling towards the end of the line — which in this case is an icy plunge into a river, since the bridge has been raised…

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I no longer have any idea what is going on in this serial.

The Gift of Life

Posted in FILM, literature, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , on February 19, 2013 by dcairns

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Finest Christmas gift this year was the Universal Monsters Blu-Ray, which got slapped into the Maidstone player as soon as decency allowed. While Fiona was out and her brother was dozing, I previewed THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, a snoozy film but a very fine transfer, with super-saturated Technicolor seeping from every frame.

Then, in the evening, FRANKENSTEIN! Roddy enjoys this one very much, and Fiona and I are big Whale fans. I’ve owned it on VHS, DVD, and now Blu. I’m not sure I’d watched it in the last ten years, though, so it all seemed quite fresh, helped by the munificent new detail…

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Had we seen that the bouncy skeleton at the medical school has something clenched between his teeth? I don’t think so, and I’m still not sure what it is he’s got there: Fiona proposes a rubber surgical glove, I thought it might be a rolled-up piece of paper. You would need a screen as wide as Victor Buono’s ass to be sure, and we only have the James Coco model.

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We saw the little dust-clouds stirred up by Karloff’s feet as he tries to escape. We laughed hysterically at Dwight Frye’s mood swings, his tiny walking stick which makes movement more difficult, and the way he pauses to pull up one sock before hurrying to assist at the monster’s birth. We gazed in wonderment at the sheer majestic scale of John Boles’ big dull head. We marveled at the fact that Edward Van Sloan, a Dutchman from Minnesota, choose to play a German doctor with a prissy Scottish accent.

Maybe it was the new clarity of the image, or the fact that I’d forgotten the original experience of viewing the film, or my arguable greater maturity, but the emotional arc of the movie, which is all Karloff’s, though smuggled in as a subtext beneath the romantic sufferings of Colin Clive and Mae Clarke (eyes scanning fearfully in search of approaching grapefruits) , hit home with greater clarity. I had remembered the sublime reaching for the light, and the scene by the lake with the little girl, but in isolation. I also remembered that Karloff spends a lot of the time snarling in an almost feline manner. But putting the famous moments in order and experiencing them again meant seeing how the monster moves from innocence through fear to anger. And realizing that the moment when the little girl offers him a flower inspires his first ever smile brings a lump to his throat.

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Clive and Karloff stare at each other through the windmill’s central cog, and it resembles a giant wooden zoetrope: their POV’s blur into each other as the rotating timber flashes by — monster and maker become one, and mad science and cinema are conflated.

There’s also the horrible nastiness of the monster’s fate, burned to death in that windmill (he’s created in a mill too), when fire is his greatest fear. I’m glad Whale was to revive him, only slightly singed, to meet a death of his own choosing, blown to atoms. Of course Karloff played the part again, and the monster continued to lumber about after Boris kicked off his tar-spreader’s boots, but Whale’s diptych is a self-contained thing of beauty, and the characters are all finished with when he’s finished with them.

vlcsnap-2013-02-18-20h44m51s155All images come from the old DVD, I’m afraid.

Buy: Universal Classic Monsters: The Essential Collection [Blu-ray] [1931][Region Free]

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