Archive for The Neanderthal Man

Coelacanth Buy Me Love

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , on May 16, 2015 by dcairns

vlcsnap-2015-05-16-10h00m54s183So, they just found a warm-blooded fish, huh?

This is an entry for For the Love of Film: The Film Preservation Blogathon, a very worthy cause. Click for more entries, and PLEASE use the Gort button at bottom to donate.

MONSTER ON THE CAMPUS may be dumb — and it is dumb, dumber than a continent of hammers — but at least it nips along at an agreeably peppy pace. When a prehistoric fish is delivered to the college’s top scientist, water leaks from the ice it’s packed in, and anything absorbing that water regresses back along its evolutionary pathway — a friendly Alsatian becomes a ravening sabre-tooth dog, and the chummy sexist scientist mutates into a Neanderthal brute — all within the first fifteen minutes. The movie’s over an hour later, and quite a lot more bad craziness has transpired.

Director Jack Arnold, who made lots of “classic” fifties sci-fi (TARANTULA, CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON) and one authentic masterpiece (THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN), doesn’t try to dignify this malarkey more than it deserves, and can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, but at least turns in a shapely sow’s ear with perfect hearing.

It turns out that the plasma of gamma-irradiated coelacanths only has temporary effects, so our hero mutates back from his simian rampage with nothing worse than a hangover. The college floozy who was pursuing him isn’t so lucky ~


She’s apparently died of fright — I think the filmmakers wanted to be clear that there hadn’t been any Neanderthal funny business, after so much talk about man’s lower instincts. But for some reason she’s been hung from a tree by her hair, which leaves her corpse floating uncannily, like a ghost. I think this is inspired the popular idea (originating God knows where) of cavemen dragging their brides about by the hair. Indeed, later the ape-man does a bit of hair-tugging.

The movie now has a problem. It can throw in random shit like a giant de-evolved dragonfly it’s just invented (hmm, the page in my biology schoolbook dealing with giant prehistoric dragonflies appears to have been GLUED IN) but to keep the action going it has to have the hero accidentally does himself again, which it achieves by letting the dragonfly bleed into his pipe. The hero SMOKES DRAGONFLY BLOOD and this causes him to regress once more. Now he starts to suspect he’s the one who’s been terrorizing the campus and killing people, so to make sure he doses himself again — and again!


I like his busts. You got a prehistoric John Randolph on the left, then a George Arliss, a cro-magnon James Coburn, and finally a very collectible George Kennedy. Probably the last two were built for Universal’s stone-age remake of CHARADE, a project cancelled when it was pointed out that postage stamps hadn’t been invented in the neolithic era, and that the original CHARADE hadn’t been made yet anyway.

What’s in a name? Our scientist is called Blake, the same as Christopher Lee’s fiendish alter ego in I, MONSTER, the film which pointlessly changes the names of the leads from Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde while retaining the plot and all the supporting characters’ names. When Dr. Blake calls Madagascar to learn more about his fish’s provenance, he speaks to a Dr. Moreau. Well, that explains everything.


There’s a pretty accomplished lap dissolve transformation when we finally see it, and Arnold comes up with a couple of other nice gimmicks to avoid expensive trick work (and repetition), but the ape-man is more of a rubber mask, hairy gloves and a ripped lumberjack shirt than a fully evolved makeup (and why do lycanthropic types always seem to wear checked shirts?).


This was a lot better than the similarly-plotted THE NEANDERTHAL MAN (1953), which I thought was awful. But since being impressed by the same director’s THE SCARF (1951), I’ve kind of wanted to see THE NEANDERTHAL MAN again. EA Dupont couldn’t have regressed that far in two years, could he? You bet he could — the hero of MONSTER ON THE CAMPUS regresses millions of years in seconds.


Sage of the Sagebrush

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 2, 2014 by dcairns


THE SCARF opens excitingly, with a fugitive on the run through the desert, the name ALCANTA emblazed across his back, marking him as a fugitive from a secure psychiatric hospital as clearly as the M on Peter Lorre’s shoulder marked him as murderer. The film is a late work by emigre E.A. Dupont, who had limited success in America after the triumphs of his German period and English excursion, VARIETE, MOULI ROUGE, ATLANTIK. He would be dead in five years, and his last projects, including the perverse THE NEANDERTHAL MAN, resound with the heavy tread of the somnambulist.


Even for a German filmmaker, Dupont was always a very German filmmaker — I first encountered him in childhood, being mocked for the pregnant pauses of his Titanic movie (“The ship has less than ONE HOUR TO LIVE!”). Still, the portentous plod approach has a certain grandeur if you can suppress your giggles, and what we have here is a unique noir with amnesia, psychopathia sexualis, philosophy on a turkey ranch, and a crazy cast featuring John Ireland (he of the perfumed bullets), Mercedes McCambridge and Emlyn Williams, whose status as nutjob du jour is clinched immediately upon arrival by his habit of playing idly with a feather during every scene. A great scene-stealing idea I’m surprised I haven’t seen used elsewhere.


The truly best stuff is early on, when grizzled recluse James Barton (equally grizzled and reclusive in YELLOW SKY) finds the fleeing asylum inmate Ireland and must decide whether to hand him over to the proper authorities. The same dilemma is faced later by singing waitress McCambridge (whose speaking voice, in those pre-EXORCIST days, smacks of Mickey Mouse, but turns out to carry a torch song rather effectively), and this leads to a moment of pure expressionism, as the neon sign of the sheriff’s office dissoves into $ signs. McCambridge first turns up as a windswept hitchhiker straight out of DETOUR, and like Tom Neal before him, the not very bright Ireland picks her up despite the fact that he’s on the lam and should really be keeping a low profile. But what man could resist that gurning face?


It has shadowy photography by Franz Planer, whole shelves of dollar-book Freud (I yearned for a closeup of Emlyn Williams’ fruit-loop book-case), a pounding score by Herschel Burke Gilbert, and a script by Dupont that makes everybody a philosopher, from the turkey farming “sage of the sagebrush” to the lowliest bar-room brawler. I loved it. I thought it was swell.

The Monday Intertitle: All Change

Posted in FILM, Painting with tags , , , , on September 9, 2013 by dcairns


I see the influence of Gustave Dore’s print of Newgate Prison — which also influenced a shot in CLOCKWORK ORANGE.

Well, it seems that just by being so excited by being in America that I forgot what day of the week it is, the Sunday Intertitle is now the Monday Intertitle on a full-time basis. And why not?



Very excited to get my hands on a copy of VARIETE, the seminal example of “the unchained camera” from Germany — nice to see E.A> Dupont at his best, too, a fiery fresh talent raging to explode the constraints of cinema, rather a tired old man than going through his paces on dreck like THE NEANDERTHAL MAN.


But I haven’t watched it yet — still getting caught up with Greenwich Mean Time and getting used to the sudden breezy weather this side of the pond. Soon… the glimpse I have had indicates swirling camera moves, bold graphic compositions, low-life wallowing worthy of Sternberg, and a disgraceful picture quality which needs to be corrected with at least a DVD release. One for Masters of Cinema or Criterion? Am I jumping the gun, demanding such treatment for a movie I haven’t even watched yet? Maybe, but I don’t think so…