The Morbid Imagination

I have repeatedly made the case on this blog that Universal Studios is squandering one of its greatest assets: its legacy of classic monsters. Recent comments by studio head Ron Meyer give us an insight into why this might be.

“One of the worst movies we ever made was Wolfman.  Wolfman and Babe 2 are two of the shittiest movies we put out, but by the same token we made movies we believe in. ”

Really? Wolfman is one of the shittiest movies you ever made? Is there a reason you didn’t mention Van Helsing (2004) or The Mummy, Tomb of the Dragon Emperor (2008)? Or were those two movies you really believed in?

Do you know what was shitty? The fact that The Wolfman was released at a time of the year when it had no chance. That some dil-hole executive  thought seven-time Academy Award winner and monster fanboy genius Rick Baker’s werewolf makeup wasn’t good enough. You know, the guy responsible for American Werewolf in London (1981).

Here’s a list of the good horror movies produced by Universal Studios in the 16 years asshead Ron Meyer has been in charge: Drag Me to Hell, Slither, Dawn of the Dead. Here’s a list of some other horror movies Meyer is responsible for: the remakes of Psycho and The Last House on the Left, The Seed of Chucky, Devil, The Thing prequel, Doom, and Cirque du Freak: The Vampire’s Assistant. Did I also mention Van Helsing?

Here’s another list of movies – the updates of classic monster movie updates provided by Universal Studios in the last 40 years: Dracula (1979), The Mummy (1999), The Wolfman. Oh, and Van Helsing. Way to exploit your  legacy, Universal.

Throw this track record and these comments in with the decision to kill Guillermo Del Toro’s At the Mountains of Madness, and you have the portrait of a studio run by people who have no clue whatsoever when it comes to horror or the cultural value of classic Universal horror. Take a look at the long list of non-horror drek that Universal has vomited on movie viewers and you get a feeling you could produce a better track record of success with a dart board and six chimps.

So I guess I shouldn’t be holding my breath for that kickass remake of the Creature of the Black Lagoon. Maybe I should be praying it doesn’t happen.

See Mr. Meyer’s remarks here.

With the launch of The Wolfman (2010), Universal Studios has finally returned to its roots as the premier outlet for big budget horror, and for monster movies in particular.

The Wolfman is first of all, a damn fine werewolf movie. There are no shaggy, hunky werewolves and they don’t sparkle. It doesn’t stray far from the original, it’s no reboot or re-imagining, it’s something rare: a respectful and vital remake. It expands on the 1941 classic without changing into something altogether different. And it is drenched in dark gothic beauty.

The Wolfman almost makes up for the hyperactive turd that was Van Helsing (2004). Almost. What would redeem Universal from that travesty is a slew of smart and loving remakes drawn from their library of monster classics; movies very much in the vein of The Wolfman. Sadly, there is little evidence that Universal has the foresight to see the potential in a modern, well-made monster franchise. I suspect they are waiting to read the box-office returns of The Wolfman.

The Creature from the Black Lagoon remake, which has been stuck in development hell for decades,  is currently in pre-production, maybe. There have been numerous directors attached to this project for years and currently some nobody named Carl Rinsch is slated to helm it. That is not reassuring. God save us if Stephen Sommers gets his hands on this property. Hopefully he will tied up with G.I. Joe 2: Rise of T.U.R.D. for a while.

Supposedly, the mammoth success of Avatar (2009) is going to lead to a slew of movies in 3D. Wouldn’t it be ironic if that tide finally got The Creature off the shelf and into theaters?

The Creature from the Black Lagoon is the property that makes the most sense, of course, as a remake. But what about the other beloved Universal properties? Here’s what I think might work:

♦ The Werewolf of London. This has always been a personal favorite of mine. I like the minimalist make up, the scientific angle, and Henry Hull’s sympathetic performance. (Better than Lon Chaney, Jr. IMHO) The Wolfman has already covered a lot of the same territory, but I think that this would be an interesting property for an imaginative twist in the right hands. David Cronenberg?

♦ The Bride of Frankenstein. One of the things that has weighed down most of the recent re-imaginings of the Frankenstein story is the whole monster creation storyline. Superhero movies have the same problem: you have to spend half the movie introducing the character and explaining why they are the way they are. A remake of The Bride would eliminate that problem; you could start the movie with a fully imagined, Karloffian, bad-ass Frankenstein monster. The plot could center around the monster’s efforts to track down Dr. Frankenstein and force him to make a bride. I could even see it as an R-rated gore fest, perfect for someone like Rob Zombie.

♦ Frankenstein vs. the Wolfman. Why not? Half the matchup is in the can already; this could be the follow-up to my Bride re-imagining. Marvel is doing it with The Avengers, creating a franchise of multiple characters feeding into one big budget orgy of genre spectacle.

♦ Dracula’s Daughter. This was one of Universal’s smartest and most sexually subversive offerings. Like the Bride re-imagining, this angle would free filmakers from having the burden of dealing with the whole Dracula mythology and would present an opportunity for an, adult, intelligent take on vampirism. Post-feminist? Lesbian?

I’m sure that none of these ideas will go anywhere; instead Universal will green-light The Mummy 4 or Van Helsing 2: The Teen Age Years. Meanwhile I will savor at least one movie that made me nostalgic for the magic that once was Universal.

As much as I have enjoyed Italian Horror and Exploitation cinema over the years, for the purposes of this blog, I have to acknowledge that Italian films have never achieved the level of excellence that merits elevating them to the level of art.

Name one Italian Horror film that merits the label of masterpiece. There are two films that spring to mind: Mario Bava’s Black Sunday (1960) and Dario Argento’s Suspira (1977).  Troll 2 (1990) does not qualify.

Visually, Black Sunday is a gothic horror masterpiece. I can’t recall another film that filled every frame with beautifully photographed tableaux of mist, cobwebs, shadows, and menace. Black Sunday is the culmination of the Universal Horror black and white gothic visual sensibility, pioneered by Karl Freund and others a few decades earlier.

…on the other hand…

Black Sunday, like most Italian Horror movies of the 1950s and 1960s, is a fairly routine melodrama burdened by uneven acting and inartful exploitation sensibilities. As spellbinding as Bava’s photography and direction is, it can’t completely overcome the pulpish origins of the scenario. Compare how Bava handled the sex and gore of Black Sunday with two genuine masterpieces of Horror released the same year: Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom.

Extending comparisons between Italian Horror of the 1960s and 1970s and contemporary international Horror is more illuminating. Can you honestly say the best of Bava compares to the best of Hammer Studios, Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby or Repulsion, or George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead? Does Argento’s output compare with William Friedkin’s Exorcist, Tobe Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre, or Steven Speilberg’s Jaws?

This is not to say that Black Sunday isn’t a terrific movie. Bava’s art is so compelling that it is worth savoring the movie for the visuals alone. And I’d watch any movie from that era that featured the lovely and dark Barbara Steele. But honestly, the best use for the movie is to project it silent on a large screen to play in the background for your next Halloween party, with a little Portishead or Dominque Pemquin for accompaniment.

Since its re-release in 1993 the Spanish version of Drácula (1931) has generated a debate regarding its merits relative to Tod Browning’s Dracula, filmed simultaneously on the same stages. There is no doubt that director George Melford surpassed Browning in many respects, and delivered a somewhat more robust film, but the absence of Lugosi ultimately consigns Drácula to second rank status.

However, Drácula can claim its place in history as the first sexy vampire film, thanks mainly to the female lead, Lupita Tovar and her costumer.

The movies did not introduce sex to Dracula. The novel had plenty of it, just take a taste of this sample:

“The girl went on her knees, and bent over me, simply gloating. There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed to fasten on my throat. Then she paused, and I could hear the churning sound of her tongue as it licked her teeth and lips, and I could feel the hot breath on my neck. Then the skin of my throat began to tingle as one’s flesh does when the hand that is to tickle it approaches nearer, nearer. I could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the super sensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. I closed my eyes in languorous ecstasy and waited, waited with beating heart.”

Whew!

But until Drácula, this aspect of vampirism was neglected. The only real vampire film prior to 1931 was Nosferatu (1922), which featured a repulsive vampire and a female victim who chastely kept her assailant at bay until sunrise destroyed him. Browning’s Dracula had no overt sexuality either, although thousands of women swooned over Lugosi’s commanding glare.

In Drácula, the vampire’s kiss unleashes Eva’s (Tovar) libido. She flounces around the house in a diaphanous gown with abundant cleavage, shocking her father and fiance, Juan. Moreover, she seems in a state of high arousal, and winds up pouncing on poor Juan, teeth bared.

In Browning’s Dracula, Helen Chandler’s Mina is safely bundled up in a gown that bares no significant flesh. Compare the two photos below to see what a dramatically different approach the two films took.

And unlike the vivacious Tovar, Chandler’s Mina seems more like  a hungry chipmunk eying a walnut. Her attack isn’t even shown, we are just treated to an off-screen cry of shock from the effeminate David Manners.

It’s tempting to blame the difference in approach to the relative liberality of English-speaking versus Spanish-speaking markets. However, 1931 Hollywood was hardly awash in restraint. This was several years before a whole series of sexually frank films created a backlash that ended in the Production Code finally being seriously enforced.

Rather, I would blame Tod Browning for yet another failure in his execution of Dracula, along with his under-utilization of sound, and his over-reliance on the original stage-play material. David Skal, in The Monster Show, speculates that Browning’s auto accident in 1915 may have left him sexually damaged, which might explain his indifference.

Either way, let’s celebrate Lupita Tovar as the first sexy screen vampiress, worthy of  consideration along side such stalwarts as Ingrid Pitt, Anne Parillaud, and Catherine Deneuve!

In an earlier post, I criticized the highly regarded Vampyr (1932) because it had failed to utilize sound effectively. I characterized Dracula (1931) as a partial success in this regard and had praised Frankenstein (1931) for demonstrating for the first time just how powerful effective use of sound could be in a horror film.

I recently viewed Dracula with the modern Philip Glass score; I found it annoying and distracting. At times it actually overwhelmed the few scenes where director Tod Browning had effectively used sound effects. It was especially apparent in the initial appearance of Dracula and his brides rising from their coffins in the cellar of his castle.

After that scene and the next, where Renfield arrives at the castle and meets the count, Browning abandons sound as a tool. Once Dracula arrives in London, Browning leans far too heavily on the original stage play, and the remainder of the movie is driven mostly by dialog. As a result, the movie loses steam and drags to the tame end, where Dracula is dispatched offscreen with groan.

But there was one other sound effect that was sucessful in Dracula: Lugosi’s voice. For me, the high point of the movie comes early on, when Lugosi, after welcoming Renfield, stops half way up the cobwebbed, crumbling stairs of his castle as a wolf howls outside. He smiles sardonically and says:

“Listen to them. Children of the Night. What music they make!”

How many movies have become instant classics based on the delivery of a memorable line? I think this was the moment when Dracula became not only a hit but a cultural touchstone.

Lugosi’s performance saved Dracula. Without it, all the faults of the movie would have been magnified and the end result would have mostly tedious. And try picturing Dracula a silent film, even with Lugosi. It could have happened, if Universal had only chosen to produce it a few years earlier. It may have retained some of the power of his performance, but it would have been lacking that one magical ingredient that even people who have never seen the film can imitate. That familiar Hungarian growl…

“I am…Dracula.”

In my last post I referred to Son of Frankenstein (1939) as the “last great Universal Horror movie.” I wrote that assuming someone might say: “But what about The Wolfman?” (I didn’t assume anyone would retort: “But what about “The Son of Dracula?”)

The Wolfman (1941) is a fine film, one that created an icon of horror that has been copied numerous times since. But it is not a great film. I think its impact was due mainly to Jack Pierce’s make up and John Fulton’s lap dissolve transformation scenes.

Beginning with Son of Frankenstein, which launched a new cycle of monster movies, Universal assigned studio functionaries to their monster films, like George Waggner, Curt Siodmak, or Roy William Neill. Contrast this with the impressive list of artists involved in 1930s Horror: James Whale, Robert Florey, Edgar G. Ulmer, Karl Freund, or Tod Browning. In the 1930s, Horror Films were “A” list productions, in the 1940s they were “B” movies churned out for a quick buck along with Sherlock Holmes or Abbott and Costello films. While pre-WW2 films of this cycle, like The Wolfman or The Mummy’s Hand (1940), were clearly better budgeted and crafted than the sequels and team-up films that followed, all of these movies were a step or two down from the sophisticated fare of the previous decade.

That doesn’t mean they weren’t fun or enjoyable, but it’s stretching it to try and hold them up favorably to the ground-breaking, sometimes truly chilling masterpieces that created a whole genre.

Here are few things, however, I loved about the 1940s Universal Horror Movies:

• The opening scene in Frankenstein vs. The Wolfman (1943) where grave robbers break into Larry Talbot’s crypt and unleash the Wolfman. Genuinely creepy.
• Lon Chaney, Jr.’s Kharis
• Evelyn Ankers, Ilona Massey, and Elena Verdugo. Universal made sure it included a hot actress in nearly every film, and either glammed them up with striking gowns or draped them in negligees. A special nod to Virginia Christine, who was exotic and sexy in The Mummy’s Curse (1944) and many years later went on to fame as “Mrs. Olsen” of Folger’s Coffee.

The last of the great Universal monster films, Son of Frankenstein (1939) has a lot going for it. It features a great cast: Basil Rathbone in his prime as Dr. Frankenstein, Lionel Atwill memorable as the one-armed Inspector Krogh, Bela Lugosi as the crippled Igor, and of course, Karloff in his last performance as the Monster. The script features a number of great lines (“Only his mother was the lightening!”) and sharp exchanges between Atwill and Rathbone (Much of the original script was discarded and it appears a great deal of the film was improvised as shooting progressed).

But what elevates the third film in the series above what followed in the 1940s and even what had passed before is the emphasis placed on set design, photography, and atmosphere.

Helmed by director Rowland V. Lee, Son of Frankenstein features eye-popping set design/art direction by Jack Otterson and shadow-rich photography by George Robinson. The film ranks as one of the finest Hollywood derivations of German expressionism. A sense of unreality permeates the proceedings, thanks to out-sized doors, furniture and stairways broken into forced perspective, and layers of sharp angled shadows. 

While Frankenstein (1931) and Bride of Frankenstein (1935) were no slouches in art direction and photography, in those films they served mainly to support the story and acting. In Son of Frankenstein, they nearly  overwhelm the film. This appears to have been a deliberate choice made by Lee, who supposedly was aiming to  create a fairy tale horror film, one rooted in Grimm’s and other Germanic primal folklore. Or it’s possible that since the film was created to capitalize on the box office success of the re-release of the original, that Lee was merely trying to create a film that served up as much sensation as the censors of the time would allow. At a time when cleavage was banned and gruesome shock was unknown, spooky corridors and suggestive shadows were as much horror as the public was allowed.

Son of Frankenstein

Son of Frankenstein

Son of Frankenstein