Let’s look under some rocks; the places that vampires and other fiends of the night call home. Along with the vampire, there’s werewolves, witches, warlocks, sorcerers, devil-worshippers & devils, voodoo creatures, ghouls, monsters, and the occasional mummy.

I’m including the Dr. Frankensteins and their creations, denizens of the Wax Museum movies, the wax figures and their often demented creator; another tormented and disfigured, but not really supernatural anti-hero, the Phantom of the Opera and the various permutation of the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde story belongs here as well.

No lack of these Old World vampires, and nothing like a centuries old legend--Often with the Central European setting intact, but could be anywhere. The great thing about the concept is that vampires are the ultimate supernatural beings. At one and the same time they are: ghosts, zombies, have immortal, have powers of mind-control, and can shape-shift. Quite the horror resume.

There’s some overlap with the Barons of Horror chapter.

Let’s start with one of the first vampire movies.

Nosferatu, 1922. 8/10

******** 8.0

"Here Begins the Land of Phantoms"

A German version of Dracula, Bram Stoker’s 1896 novel. The title, and quite a few aspects of the plot were changed for this film, to avoid copyright infringement.

The best vampire movie, and one of the best horror movies. Max Shreck seems to actually be a vampire. Almost a hundred years after Nosferatu, his Count Orlock is still the most frightening presence ever on screen.

At least one reviewer mentioned that Shreck was a vampire playing a human playing a vampire; I’m remembering a modern movie (sorry, I’m not quick on recalling the title) with just that premise. Even Shreck’s shadows are scary. I agree with the review that pointed out the blend of Romantic German influence (the scenic aspects) and the German Expressionist touches (almost every scene with Orlock).

Seeing Nosferatu again after many years, the differing motifs are more noticeable, but work well. Definitely Romanticism delved into the bizarre, decrepit, and ghostly; it’s the "phantom" world mentioned by the Transylvanian native. The Expressionistic interior scenes complement with their claustrophobic, hallucinatory feel. At times, though, the atmosphere doesn’t seem supported by the tone projected by some of the characters.

Hutter seems an almost comic character, oblivious and even annoying. He’s not really sympathetic. After all, his motive for going to Transylvania is completely monetary; he not only leaves his wife in the lurch, but puts her in danger by his affiliation with Orlock. And it’s her power that destroys Orlock; her husband is more or less useless, despite all of his hand wringing.

The character I had the most trouble with was Knoch. I suppose we’re to assume that he’s had prior dealings with Orlock. This isn’t stated, but it must be so, because he’s vampiric himself; he even looks a bit like Orlock. Another clue is that he can read the weird hieroglyphic letter from Orlock. What I didn’t understand was why and how he goes back to the asylum after escaping.

In one scene, in a field, Knoch he’s inexplicably sort of cavorting around. At other times he’s simply goofy. I get that he’s supposed to be nuts, but it plays like unexpected comic relief. Like Hutter, Knoch subverts the tone without adding much to the story.

I like how Ellen lures Orlock to his death. In most vampire lore, the innocent woman is simply prey, and has no intrinsic power over the vampire. It does make sense that Orlock, not being a rational creature, would inadvertently endanger himself for the right amount of lust.

It did seem odd that the vampire book that Hutter refers to uses the name Dracula. Maybe Murnau skirted the legal usage of that word by using it only as a reference, and not as a character’s name.

The period setting was convincing. The clothing styles for both the middle-class and peasant characters was very authentic. The town crier and lamplighter were great touches in the Bremen scenes. What didn’t quite add up was that the streets were always deserted when Orlock was moving about with his coffins. Even in the middle of the night you’d think somebody or some thing would be about in a large city.

I really had to steel myself to watch Nosferatu again; it’s that scary. There’s nothing like Shreck standing up in the coffin, rats scurrying all over, as the stunned sailor looks on. I feel kind of traitorous not giving this a ’10’; but some bits seemed off in this time around.

Dracula, 1931

********** 10

Pack Your Crucifix

Probably the best known vampire movie, and one of the more significant horror movies of all time. Although many elements stand out in this film, it’s undeniably the perfect role for Bela Lugosi.

The first glimpse we get of Dracula’s lair completely immerses us in the ghoulish realm of the supernatural. The Renfield character (the plot follows Stoker’s novel, shall we say, religiously) is deliberately made into a sort of feckless dandy, to contrast all the more with the dirty disgusting castle. We’re not just talking cobwebs and bugs--armadillos, rats, cats and bats round out the pest roll call.

Renfield has to literally poke his way through the webs to get around. Actually, there’s a "cheery" area as well; I guess it has to be a little picked up for business and other above-board stuff. With just the short opening scene of Renfield passing through the village before his arrival at Dracula’s, we’re already past the point of no return.

There’s female vampires skulking about--sort of supernatural call girls--Dracula nonetheless has first dibs. By the time the Count and his agent are sailing for England, Renfield a believer; a convert, so to speak. Hard to see how they actually navigate up the Thames to London (ok, Whitby) with the whole crew dead, but so be it.

Looks like Renfield has punched his ticket to the madhouse; meanwhile, the Count is victimizing young girls. It’s not much of a stretch to read a sexual subtext into the vampire theme. I wasn’t beware that Dracula did the opera; I suppose bad guys were more cultured in those days.

When he introduces himself to Mina’s father, we can see that he focuses on her and Lucy. His pick-up line is unique: "To be really dead, that must be glorious". They mock him later, but he’s made quite an impression. Something notable are these occasional light-hearted scenes; they set up the dark and horrific stuff very well.

Now, of course, it’s the ladies’ turn for nocturnal, err, attention. Leading to Lucy’s "an unnatural loss of blood". Meanwhile, at the Seward Sanatorium, Renfield is missing out on spider snack time. He’s done this convincing transformation from nice guy into leering mad man seamlessly.

Doctor Seward confers with his colleagues to discuss the presence of Nosferatu, that is, the vampire. There’s not very much skepticism, as Renfield and Lucy’s examples are pretty good evidence. As if on clue, we next see Dracula’s coffin popping open at his new digs. It occurs to me that relocating Dracula to England was a plot device of Stoker’s to make the story more ’local’, it would seem. Otherwise, it just seems arbitrary.

"Please don’t ask me to do that" Renfield implores of his boss; that is, mess with Mina. Rather incredibly, Dracula’s allowed to visit Mina; by this time, Harker and Van Helsing are definitely suspicious. Van Helsing tricks Dracula into looking into a mirror. Now the good guys know who they’re dealing with, thanks to Van Helsing’s follow-up explanation. Dracula still captures Mina out in the garden.

Renfield, recovered enough to spill the beans, puts in his two cents worth on the matter. While Mina’s rescued, Renfield seizes the opportunity to attack the maid. Later, reports suggest that a strange woman has been biting young girls--i.e., the undead Lucy. Van Helsing and Johnathan try to comfort Mina, but she believes that she’s already become a vampire; thus she can’t marry Johnathan.

Van Helsing sort of takes over--notwithstanding Johnathon’s protestations. In many ways Van Helsing is the direct counterpart of Dracula; foreign, authoritative, and possessed of secret knowledge. Renfield is almost a comic figure at this point; at the same time, his description of his hallucinations is macabre.

"Dracula is in the house!" Well, they’ve got wolfsbane strategically deployed. Now Van Helsing and Dracula face off; each threaten the other. Fortunately for the good guys, Dracula is unable to command his antagonist. The crucifix fixes Dracula this time. Bad news is that the "strangely dizzy" nurse has let Mina escape.

She’s definitely infected, and tries to bite Jonathan out on a veranda. She talks to the hovering bat--that’s a dead giveaway. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward hear them talking; they intervene just in the nick of time. She even confesses that Dracula "came to me".

Thanks to the bat, there’s another bit of perfectly timed comic relief. Then, back to Dracula, using his power over the nurse to gain access to Mina. Next thing we know, Mina is following him back to his place--the abbey. The good guys are closing in on them, however. Dracula eliminates the pesky Renfield.

In the crypt (actually the same place shown in the Translyvanian setting), Van Helsing finds the two coffins, but Mina’s is empty. Anyway, Dracula gets the obligatory stake through the heart. That wreaks a sudden change in Mina, who’s reappeared. She’s okay. They all walk up the stairs from the crypt. The end.

This was even better than I remember it. Not only is the story well-acted, the atmosphere suitably claustrophobic and horrid, but, most significantly, the pacing is excellent. We’re in the milieu immediately, and, with Dracula’s demise, we’re finished.

There’s not a wasted scene. If there are faults, it’s with the original story, not this adaptation. It’s thoroughly creepy from beginning to end. One thing that seemed odd was that we see the London of 1931, but the Transylvanian scenes look Victorian. There’s no motor vehicles, for example. Certainly, there’s a different level of development between the two settings; I just wonder if there’s an intention to render Dracula’s country as lost in a nebulous past.

Maybe the contrast is meant to highlight the relative backwardness of the more remote location. Come to think of it, though, the ship taking our guys to England is a sailing ship--definitely 19th century. Like the comic interludes, this juxtaposition of settings works; even if it’s not entirely logical.

This is rightly acclaimed by many as ’the’ version of Dracula. Not the oldest vampire movie, but it sets the stage for all the Draculas to come.

Vampyr, 1932.

******* 7.0

Nothing like vintage vampire movies. This one is known for thick atmosphere, and thin plot. Inhabiting the requisite village are Maurice Schutz (The Lord of the Manor, or innkeeper), the sisters Gisele and Leone (Rena Mandel and Sybille Schmitz), Henriette Gerard (the old woman from the cemetery–vampire possibly?), Jan Hieronimko (the doctor), Albert Bras as an old servant, Georges Boldin as a guy who limps, and a nurse, Jane Mora. Often the key character in a vampire movie is an outsider, here Allan Gray (Julian West).

Allan finds the village inn, watching a very old guy with a long scythe board a ferry to cross the local river. The innkeeper comes into Allan’s room speaking of a girl that needn’t die; also he leaves a package “to be opened upon my death.” Allan walks out by the river, looks into a dilapidated house where a silhouetted figure passes along the walls. Also silhouettes of dancing couples and musicians.

The Cemetery Woman is here and there, giving orders, skulking about. Alan asks the doctor about “the child.” He doesn’t know anything about her, but helps the old woman putter around. They handle a bottle of poison.

Having seen enough, soon Allan’s back to the inn. There Leone, attended by a nurse, lies in bed, waiting for the doctor. The innkeeper is shot; we only see the shadow of a gun in a doorway. Their servant looks on. Gisele realizes that her father is dead; her mother comforts her. They want Allan to hang around. Someone goes to fetch the police.

Since the guy’s died, Allan opens the mysterious package: it’s a book about vampires. They see Leone wandering around outside; they find her apparently lifeless, as the Cemetery Woman drifts away. Leone’s carried back to the house, and revives. “If only I could die” she says. Then, with a spooky leer, she seemingly gets blood lust. Her sister is so creeped out she leaves the room. Then the carriage returns, but the driver’s dead.

The doctor shows up. “She needs blood” he figures, wanting Alan to donate. But, from Leone’s room, a weird voice intones, “Come… follow me. We shall become one soul, one blood.” It has to be the doctor. As Allan sleeps, a skeletal figure appears holding the bottle of poison. The old servant wakes Allan, saying something terrible is happening. Yeah, it’s the doctor who’s terrible. Allan shoves him aside. But then, Allan, sitting on a bench outside, seems to leave his body; now he’s semi-transparent. In fact, he sees himself in a coffin.

Then we see Leone in a coffin as well. The Cemetery Woman and the doctor are presiding over all this. The creepiest thing is that both coffins have a viewing window over the corpse’s face; first we look down at the bodies, then upward from Alan’s perspective inside the coffin. Both coffins are hustled out to the graveyard. Somehow, Alan has ‘recovered’ his ‘real’ body on the bench and helps the servant uncover the Cemetery Woman’s coffin. She stabbed through the heart with a long pole, turns into a skeleton–a dead vampire.

Meanwhile, the doctor sees a montage of freaky images in the door window (faces, ravens, lightning), and finds himself buried alive by grain churned over him in the mill. Crossing the river on the ferry, Leone and Alan escape.

Wow. This was so atmospheric that it seemed right out of a nightmare, a centuries-old nightmare at that. There’s hardly one thing that’s not mysterious, creepy, shadowy, cadaverous, or hallucinatory. If there were ever vampires, this is where and how they existed. The mythic reference to the crossing of the river Styx is excellent (very much an Ingmar Bergman look), the superb use of detail–the weathervane, the scythe, the mill’s machinery–is haunting, the doctor looks like the one in Dr. Caligari, the out-of-body scenes are fascinating, the characters are either frightened or frightening.

Having said all that, though, Vampyr was very difficult to follow. Only about half of the characters are known by their names. The awkward exposition, in which only some of the dialogue is given in subtitles, and very little is described, gives only the vaguest sense of the plot and characters. That’s not helped by the intrusive references to the book on vampires, which just takes up time. The exposition at the beginning was helpful, but from then on we we’re on our own until near the end, when the actual story gets some mention. By that time it’s old news.

Still, Vampyr is an essential facet of the vampire genre in film. It’s worthwhile to pay close attention to the introductory text; you can pretty much ignore the vampire book stuff.

Frankenstein Created Woman, 1967.

****** 6.0

This has an interesting, original premise. Peter Cushing makes a great Baron Frankenstein, and Susan Denberg does well as the heroine Christina. Despite what Frankenstein Created Woman has going for it, there’s a bit too many contrivances for the plot to add up.

Cushing is anything but the idealistic Dr. Frankenstein of earlier versions of the story; he’s coolly obsessed with his bringing back the dead experiments, greedy with power. Unfortunately, his colleague, Dr. Herz (Thorley Walters), is an absurd contrast. Since The Baron already has Hans as an assistant, why is Herz there anyway? Instead of highlighting the Baron’s sinister nature, Herz compensates for it.

A bigger problem is the motivation for the innkeeper’s murder. The three wealthy bullies have had their fun with the innkeeper and his daughter Christina; it’s Hans who embarrassed them. Why don’t they go after him? That Hans gets blamed for the murder is beside the point; in fact, as others have said, it doesn’t make sense for him to not tell the truth.

He can’t be worried about the innkeeper hounding him about Christina anymore, because her dad’s dead. She would obviously back up Han’s alibi. And, why is her dad hostile to Hans? Maybe at first he just doesn’t trust him; but fighting off the three bullies shows how loyal and respectful he is. In any case, the revenge plot is effective; it’s the creepiest aspect of the movie.

With the possible exception of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the concept of two minds or souls in one body is a unique twist. That leads to all sorts of cool scenes and effects–not only Christina carrying out the grisly revenge murders–but her children consulting Han’s head, his disembodied voice spooking a victim, and her speaking with his voice to another victim.

The movie starts off nicely with the Baron suavely testing his resurrection method on himself. The ending is neat too, as Christina can’t deal with being a murderer; she kills herself all over again.It’s ironic that all of the mayhem is an unintended consequence of the Baron’s experiment with Hans and Christina. Unlike the traditional Frankenstein’s monster who acts like Frankenstein’s lackey, when he isn’t just sort of stumbles around scarring people, the Hans/Christina creation is not only autonomous, it’s got an agenda.

It might’ve made more sense if the Baron had done the soul-shifting on himself, and then maybe goes after his enemies. As it is, the Hans and Christina characters put too many holes in the plot.

Frankenstein Created Woman is entertaining, and worth watching; I just wish the script were tightened up and some of the characters given more believable roles.

It’s British, set in Czarist Russia, with a mummy of exotic origin.

Horror Express, 1972.

*********+ 9.5

Veteran horror duo Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing star as scientists (Sir Alexander Saxton and Dr. Wells) who try and bring a prehistoric Siberian mummified corpse back to England for study. Purported to be a ‘missing link’ (or an extraterrestrial), the corpse gets a big choo-choo on ride across pre-Revolutionary Russia.

The similarities to 1951’s The Thing are notable–a weird frozen being found in a bleak wintry area, an isolated community (a train here instead of a remote military post), and a series of strange happenings as the newcomer thaws out. As the plot thickens, as it certainly does, we get some trappings of 1956’s seminal Invasion of the Body Snatchers as well.

In supporting roles are Alberto de Mendoza, Silvia Tortosa, Julio Pena, Angel del Pozo, Telly Savalas, and Helga Line. de Mendoza is a Rasputin-like monk, Pujardov; Tortosa and Rigaud are the Countess and Count Petrovska/Petrovski, Line is Natasha, del Pozo is an engineer, Yevtushenko; Pena is Inspector Mirov, Savalas is Cossack captain Kazar. Not to mention the creature himself (Juan Olaguivel).

One advantage of these later (post ’60s) horror/sci-fi films is the use of color. We start of in an icy cave–best place to start this kind of movie–and, just like that, our explorers find ye old skeletal cave inhabitant. This is a swift opening: the thing is carted off, and, soon back in civilization. Saxton and Wells meet up at the Peking (Beijing) train station; Saxton has booked a berth, so to speak, for his new souvenier.

Seeing Saxton, Wells introduces him to his assistant, Miss Jones (Alice Reinheart). “He dabbles in fossils and bones.” Ok, that settles that. Out by the tracks, a sneaky but unlucky thief messes with the lock on the corpses’ crate; just like that, the interloper is dead, with wigged-out eyes. Saxton has a great aside when a priest intones over the victim that God be merciful of his soul–“not that he deserves it.”

The priest is none other than Pujardov; showing Saxton the corpse, he goes on about the presence of evil…but the crate is duly loaded on the train. Once ensconced aboard, Saxton has a peek to see if the fossil is comfy. The two Englishmen make the Countess’s acquaintance; she thinks highly of their country “Queen Victoria, crumpets, and Shakespeare…”

Another scientist introduces himself, Yevtushenko. Wells wants a sneak peek at the fossil. Both Sexton and Wells converge at the same compartment; the Countess has some sort of issue…meanwhile, in the baggage car, the bribed worker pries open the fossil’s viewing panel. He’s blase about what he sees, and walks away.

The fossil slithers around, and, somehow finds an Allan wrench to open the lock. When the worker looks again, he falls dead, blood pouring out of his eyes. The Count and Countess are counseled by the priest that the lady shouldn’t keep a meeting with Wells and Saxton; you know those foreigners.

In between scenes, we get a panorama of the train hurtling across the frozen tundra. There’s a meeting in the baggage car; what happened to the baggage guy? Konev is detailed to open the tell-tale crate with an ax. The guy is in the crate–but not the two-million-year-old ex-fossil. It’s officially alive. Well, let’s not panic the passengers.

Man! It has no manners–looming like a creep over two sleeping little kids. A soldier who’s searching for it gets ambushed. All the victims get the bloody ping-pong ball eyes. The Countess rebuffs her over-eager dinner guest, the engineer Yevtushenko. Wells gets roused by an Mirov–they need a doctor “What are the symptoms?” Uhh… “He’s dead!” Ohh, I only do autopsies after dessert. No, Wells has to jump in right now.

For some reason, the consensus is that the thing has escaped the train. This is the well-established we’re-out-of-danger-now false sense of security ploy. So far the plot has kept pace with the train, so to speak. Stuff happens quickly and continuously–excellent.

Let’s get to the autopsy. The Countess drops in on Saxton. Geez, “that ‘box of bones’ could’ve solved the riddles of science!” he tells her. He admits that the creature is responsible for the killings, but basically doesn’t care. Back at the operating table they determine the corpse’s brain has altered somehow–it’s memory removed “like chalk erased from a blackboard.” But the thing hasn’t finished with the corpse yet.

Stupidly, Natasha goes into the notorious baggage room–to check the safe–unbeknown to her, the thing watches. But then it gets her; too late! She made eye contact. Gross! Dr. Wells comes calling, a bit late in the game; but the thing is still there. Wells almost loses an arm, but help arrives–Inspector Mirov–and the cop plugs our bad boy a couple of times.

We see it full length for the first time. The red eyeball mesmerizes Mirov, but he gets his wits back; they find the corpse of Natasha. A cunning complication is that, since we now know that Natasha was a (anti-Czarist) spy, the brain absorbing power of the creature thing might raise security issues (not so much as a motive, but inadvertently).

“What was the creature looking for?” muses Mirov. It seems that the Count is into rare gems…somewhat explaining Natasha getting into the safe (?). “Satan lives!” Insists the priest. But now an autopsy on the possibly dead creature. It seems its visual memory is stored in that red eye. Then they see prehistoric critters in there. Pretty good long-term memory; even of the earth as seen from space. So the thing is an alien too? The priest is taken aback, but he ascribes it to a memory of creation.

Doesn’t this just get more interesting? Pujardov recalls that Satan was banished from heaven shortly after creation…not sure how that explains anything, but, good point. The Inspector is offered a bribe for the historic eye. And what a pun: “I see,” he says; revealing, presumably through his contact with the creature, that he’s morphing into a creature himself.

Miss Jones is his first victim. Playing sycophant, the priest offers the eye to Mirov. He tells the holy man he’s not worth killing anyway, and nonchalantly chucks the eye in the stove. Mirov refuses to stop the train, and starts getting weird with the staff. The priest, seeing which way the wind’s blowing, again offers to help the turncoat Inspector.

He’s still undiscovered by everyone else. Aha! Now the train’s gonna stop. Here’s Kazar about ready to intercept it. Back on the train, Mirov asks the engineer about the feasibility of space travel. If Mirov is essentially a creature in training, wouldn’t he already know this prehistoric stuff? More speculation ensues. How about this? The thing is both an alien (who possessed primitive-Joe millions of years ago) and also a corpse.

This is great. The beast was the “host…[now]..It’s someone on the train.” This is Bodysnatchers-style ‘who is the alien’ paranoia. One thing’s for sure–the priest has literally gone to the dark side. The Cossacks board the train as soon as it squeeks to a halt. Kazar greets them warmly: “peasants!” An American lady fingers the Inspector as the bad guy. Everyone’s under arrest, in any case. For good measure, the priest has “the evil eye.”

“Beware the wrath of Satan!” Even so, Kazar beats him almost to death. He notices though, that Mirov is still in charge. Sure enough, the Inspector freaks up the room with his red googly eyes (the lights having gone dim). Taken aback, Kazar is unable to stop Mirov. Even the priest comes back around.

Another great line as Wells try to intervene on behalf of the priest/monk: “what if he’s innocent?!” [Kazar has given orders to shoot anyone in the adjoining room where Mirov and Pujardov are holed up]. Kazar responds derisively, “Ahh!, we got lots of innocent monks!” Filling the compartment with lead doesn’t help at all; both alien-infected guys attack the fearful Cossacks. Even Kazar falls victim.

Now what? Pujardov comes for coffee? He doesn’t ask for a refill–he just kills everyone in the room except the Countess. Confronted by Saxton, the ex-priest confesses: I’m a form of energy, occupying this shell [body].” Yes, from another galaxy. Not just in that one fossil, but apparently everywhere back in the ancient times.

Very Satan-like, he offers Sexton unheard of powers to let him go. Just for fun, he resurrects most of the corpses into compliant zombies. Realistically (really) the good guys retreat to the uninfected part of the train and attempt to uncouple it. The zombies come on eerily. Moscow says to kill everyone on board.

Meaning that the train is diverted to a dead end line that crashes spectacularly off a cliff. Except for the thankfully-decoupled last car, which shudders to a halt just short of the chasm, good guys intact. End of alien zombies. The end.

This was indeed a Horror Express! A wild ride, and unhesitatingly exciting. Suspension of disbelief wasn’t difficult; despite the dual horror/sci-fi origin of the creature. As I’ve noted in other reviews, many films set 100 or more years ago have a bit of twilight left around from a more superstitious era (regarding the wonders of science no less than those of the supernatural). The effect is to round the jagged edges of some of the more fantastic elements.

Once we end up in the 1920s, explanations have to get laid on thick to help plausibility. At any rate, Horror Express uses just enough explication to give us drama instead of a merely surreal dream. The performances are interesting and very complimentary.

Savalas and de Mendoza are easily the most interesting characters. Lee and Cushing are somewhat lost in this cluster of fools, nuts, and ‘peasants.’ More curious is that there’s zero romance; which begs the question–should there be? No. One great thing about the alien possession device is that we can have good bad guys and bad good guys. Obviously, that makes character development somewhat meaningless.

Yet, what of the two outlandish guys–Kazar and Pujardov? They’re both relics of an almost mythic tradition (even by 1906 standards). But, putting aside their ‘recruitment’ to the alien side, can we really judge them? It’s fitting that the best quip in the movie is delivered by the Cossack regarding the priest. Indeed, there’s something quaint about both of them, and something dangerous too. Saxton himself, for all of his gentlemenly air is nonetheless a bit amoral.

The best thing about this movie is the simplicity of the plot, and the near absolute focus on its progress. Yes, Savalas hijacks things unexpectedly, but even his larger-than-life character gets absorbed into the zombie population. The deft way that Horror Express begins and ends could not be improved on.

If you want to escape for a while into a spooky, exotic roller-coaster ride, this will do it. The only question is–how many nightmares will you have of hurtling through Siberia with a trainload of alien zombies, only to crash in a fiery heap?

Isle Of The Snake People, 1971.

******* 7.0

Torches And Instant Corpses

As a horror theme, voodoo has a lot going for it. Remote, exotic locations, superstition, pagan rituals, zombies, and a long, thick historical context. Since voodoo is a religion, it’s actually practiced--so, unlike the European vampire legends--there’s very little suspension of disbelief.

On this fictional island off the Mexican coast, Boris Karloff is Von Milder (Damballah to the natives), the voodoo cult’s protector. He’s joined by his niece Anabella (Julissa) and the local policeman Lieutenant Wilhelm (Carlos East). Wilhelm’s guys pretty much look the other way on the voodoo happenings, until they get roused by their superior, Captain Labesch (Rafael Bertrand).

The plot’s set in motion by the Captain’s intent to shut down the voodoo practice. But he hasn’t reckoned on the complicity of the locals, thanks to the voodoo leaders Kalea (Tongalele) and Santanon, a dwarf. The setting, particularly the claustrophobic ritual graveyard where many scenes play out, is engrossing and very disturbing.

It’s not just a graveyard. There’s skulls and skeletons here and there, torches everywhere amid the headstones, web-like foliage, snakes, partly unearthed graves, and plenty of voodoo participants. If that’s not enough, there’s a similarly-equipped cave.

Where have you seen a movie in which a character has a cane crowned with a skull? The dwarf (of the skull-cane) and Kalea lead the creepy ceremonies. It’s been said that the movie lacks a story; but the surreal ritual scenes are rightly meant to be outside of time, so they’re repetitive and overlapping.

After a bit, Anabella suffers an hallucination/nightmare that she arises from a coffin and is set upon by her snake-loving double. That scene’s a hint that vampirism is part of this brand of voodoo, as others soon become victims of swarms of voodoo/vampires. Kalea even has the power to turn people into instant decomposing corpses.

A voodoo "invocation," with the allure of a human sacrifice is on the agenda. So the Captain and a disloyal underling of Van Molder’s, Klinsor (Quintin Bulnes), hope to ambush them, with the Lieutenant’s help. A masked intruder stabs the dwarf; then three masked guys converge on the cave.

Of course, Anabella is the sacrificial victim. But the masked trio interrupts. The Captain, armed with explosives, tries to belittle the participants. But Van Molder taunts him "You think this miserable pig could be masters of the legions of the dead!?" Everyone is blown to bits, and except for the quick-thinking Lieutenant, who splits with the suddenly-revived Anabella.

Snake People (also known as Isle Of The Snake People) was much better than I expected. Fellow IMBd reviewers give it a woeful 3/10. The plot is somewhat derivative of the incredibly haunting White Zombie from the ’30s; but that’s like saying that all vampire movies are derivatives of Bram Stoker’s novel. Once the overall premise is set, it’s better to moor the audience with familiar elements from an original story than try to reinvent everything.

I’d even give Snake People credit for making Karloff’s role plausible. His scientist character experiments with the trance-inducing voodoo drug as a sort of beneficial psychological medication (sounds like it’s dangerously hallucinogenic though).

The locale certainly helps establish authenticity. I don’t get why it has a be a French, rather than Spanish colony (or just simply a piece of Mexico). Plus, both Karloff’s and East’s characters have Germanic names, while the Captain is clearly supposed to be French. What does work, is the c.1920s milieu. I’m just deducing that, by the look of Annabella’s outfits and cloche hat, plus the carriages in use.

This is an engaging viewing experience, well-worth watching for horror fans.

Mystery Of The Wax Museum, 1933.

********* 9.0

"I’m Gonna Make You Eat Dirt, You Soapbubble!"

Incredibly successful blend of horror and mystery. Not only that, but Mystery of the Wax Museum also has an outstanding comic twist with Glenda Farrell’s performance. And to wrap it up, some evocative impressionistic sets.

Lionel Atwill creates a menacing villain as the vengeful Ivan Igor. There’s a sort of double dose of couples, as Fay Wray and Allen Vincent are the sensible Charlotte and Ralph to the nutty Florence (Farrell) and George (Gavin Gordon). As others have pointed out, Florence seems to be everywhere, shoving the plot ahead with her brash antics and full clip of one-liners.

That she doesn’t quite steal the show is a reflection of Atwill’s presence, and the multi-faceted atmosphere of the museum. Although there’s nothing supernatural going on, Igor is as frightening as any monster. In many ways, his character is similar to that of the Phantom of the Opera: the artist brought down by a hideous disfigurement, hiding out in a tomb-like sanctuary.

Both monstrous villains lure beautiful women to their lairs, only to be frustrated by the authorities. Stealing corpses adds a creepy attribute to Igor’s plan. It does make sense in that he doesn’t think his assistants are good enough to create realistic wax figures without having the real thing as a template.

Fittingly, it’s the underling drug user that links the mystery together; he functions as a sort of unwilling escapee from the museum’s underworld. Ralph, initially naive, literally stumbles into the museum’s horror, as he has to fight it out with Igor to save Charlotte.

The maze-like underground is enhanced with eerie bluish tones, and highlighted by sharp shadows. There’s an almost sci-fi look to the wax apparatus. The nearby warehouse where the bodies pile up has a gritty noir look; a more common sort of evil.

It’s as though the everyday world of the newsroom and police station are oases of civilization where wise-cracking is natural and expected. Without Florence’s hi-jinks, Igor wouldn’t seem as abnormal and repulsive. This movie’s tone is so carefully balanced that nothing seems out of place. Highly recommended, especially as a companion to the 1953 Vincent Price version.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. 1920.

********** 10

The first film adaptation of the Robert Louis Stevenson horror tale, this is also the only silent version. Remade several times, most notably in 1941 with Spencer Tracy as the Doctor/sociopath, the enduring theme of a Promethean quest for knowledge--somewhat parallel to Dr. Frankenstein’s attempt for god-like power--leads to madness, depicted as a personaility disorder, sparked by artificial means.

Unlike Mary Shelley’s autonomous creation developed seventy years before Stevenson’s, this monster is more clearly of psychological origin; a manifestation, or alternate personality of its protgonist, Dr. Jekyll. Science is the means, if not the culprit, of both doctor’s quests. Frankenstein’s monster was the more ghoulish mashup of body parts infused with electricity to grant life; Mr. Hyde was actually Dr. Jekyll in an alterered state of consciousness.

Both monsters were therefore related to their ’hosts’, and both had the gothic trappings (ghoulish origins, or mutated features) in definitive horror mode; while the ’scientific’ aspect was a bit short on logical explanation--obviously because it’s essentially more science-fiction.

But what we on Dr. Jekyll’s other side is the awful Hyde; the monster of Frankenstein’s creation is, on the other hand, the classically misundertood misfit--more a victim than not.

In this movie John Barrymore plays the Jekyll/Hyde role. Sir George Carew and his daughter Millicent are played by Brandon Hurst and Martha Mansfield. There’s also Dr. Lanyon (Charles Lane), Edward Enfield (Cecil Clovelly), Gina (Nita Naldi), and the Proprietor of the music hall, Louis Wolheim.

Acknowledging the inherent duality of our nature, the opening lines state "--what we want most to be, we *are*" We focus in on Jekyll looking through a microscope, exclaiming to the older Dr. Kenyon "we haven’t *begun* to discover want science can do..." Conveniently, Jekyll has a skull on his desk.

"Damn it, I don’t like it!" Lanyon exclaims, as he takes a turn looking at whatever it is "You’re tampering with the supernatural!" That’s an interesting comment--making a rather undefined bridge between science (or ’scientism’, science for its own sake) and the otherwordly. Meanwhile, Poole comes in to remind Jekyll of his duties, and his later dinner with the Carews.

Jeykll runs a clinic for the poor; this really is some authentic down-and-out Victorian London stuff. Also, this scene serves to show us his magnanimous side. Then, we find the fancy-pants Carews. Jekyll has to stand up Millie because of all his poor patients. Anyway, Edward arrives, dinner is served. He and Sir George discuss Jekyll’s stirling reputation.

Well, Jekyll finally arrives. They speak of human nature; Jekyll thinks that serving others is what "develops oneself." Sir George gives the impression that "the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it." Sounds like a rationalization for doing anything; in fact, almost an encouragement to do so.

Now we’re at a music hall. The proprietor introduces Gina, an Italian dancer. Actually, Sir George has brought Jekyll there for a purpose: "What the matter? Afraid of temptation?" Jekyll has a stunned look. The swells summon Gina to their booth--she’s instantly attracted to Jekyll, but, despite Sir George’s urging, he backs off. "For the first time in his life, Jekyll wakened to a sense of his "baser nature."

Later, with Lanyon, Jekyll, while admitting that Sir George has done right by Millicent, he’s nonetheless forfeited his soul. They speculate on a true dual person (not one person, but two; one virtuous, the other evil). We learn that Jekyll, fascinated by this possibility, sets about working on it in his lab. Sounds like an alchemist project, if not a sorcerer’s--I suppose science is just that here. What’s odd is that they think that the soul can’t be damaged by this sort of replicant process. No guilt = no sin?

Now Jekyll has got something brewing, literally. From that same desk with its skull, he takes the drink of the elixir. The transformation into Hyde is swift and convincingly accomplished. He looks a cross between the vampire Nosferatu and a troll (the most repugnant thing is the wired cone shape of his head). Can he return "to his normal state?" He does, but the ensuing grimaces and convulsions are grotesque--this is the creepiest Mr. Hyde of all time.

Quickly covering his domestic bases, Jekyll tells Poole about his buddy Hyde; you know, give him the run of the house and such. Then there’s the business of finding digs for Mr. Hyde. Gee, a niceugly, disgusting flat, this will do, ma’am. "Hyde set forth on a sea of license..." First stop, the music hall, to look in on Gina, naturally. She liked my straight-laced deal, so what the heck? Well, she’s hardly taken with the rat-like Hyde.

Back in civilization, that is Carew’s, Jekyll finds that Millicent has someone on the side. First things first; Jekyll has his will redone to leave everything to Hyde. He’s asked about Millicent; "neglecting" her hasn’t helped his hopes with her. "She is the sort of influence a man needs in his life." In Jekyll’s life, yes.

Hyde, meanwhile is tossing out Gina. Jekyll does call on Millicent, but looks bored, high, or both. He seems to want to embrace her, but shoves her off; finally they seem to reconcile. Hmm, but, soon enough, Hyde pops into a bar, eyes a couple of prostitutes, and goes upstairs to an opium den. He continues groping the prostitutes. We switch to the Carew’s, despondent over losing Jekyll, Sir George figures he should look in on him, and get to the bottom of this mysterious guy.

Look, here’s Lanyon and Sir Charles calling on Jekyll. Meanwhile, Hyde’s skulking about. Meaning, of course, that Jekyll’s not available. Strangely, the two worthies cross paths with Hyde, whom they regard as a "fiend." Once again, Jekyll, feeling remorseful for Hyde’s "monstrous cruelties", realizes that Hyde’s taking over.

So, pensively considering things in his lab, Sir George at last finds Jekyll. Sir George asks him about Hyde. Pointedly, Jekyll reminds Sir George that it was he who encouraged exploring the dark side. Well, nonetheless, all of this Hyde rubbish means that Sir George won’t let Millicent marry him. Thanks to this animated argument, Jekyll suddenly changes into Hyde right in front of Sir George.

This is the highlight of the movie. He attacks Sir George and kills him. Poole sends for the cops. He thinks it was Hyde thst did it. Millicent’s told that her father’s been murdered. The police search Hyde’s place, finding the cane he used to kill Sir George. The police think that they can find Hyde through Jekyll (we know they can indeed)

So Hyde manages to drug himself back into Jekyll; just in time to greet Poole and the police. Poignantly, he also sees Millicent in the courtyard (where her father’s corpse still lies). Next thing we see is Jekyll arising from a deep sleep, or is it a nightmare? There’s a gigantic spectral tarantula crawling onto his bed, and merging itself with him. The effect is his transformation into Hyde.

Somehow he’s managed to flicker back to Jekyll, but he’s run out of the transformative drug. Poole is unable to locate the ingredients. Lanyon and Millicent come back. He desperately wants to see her; but, he starts changing to Hyde. "Millicent. If you love me, go!" Well, it’s Hyde whom she finds...eek! She’s horrified, and stunned, as though in a trance. Finally she escapes, and faints. The guys find Hyde passed out, reverting to Jekyll. He’s taken poison "Hyde has killed--Dr. Jekyll." Millicent looks woefully on him. The end.

This was great stuff--and, despite the very wild 1941 Spencer Tracy version--this is probably the best Jekyll and Hydemovie. The very primitiveness of the silent era works in it’s favor. Combined with the fact that 1920 was only a bit over thirty years since Stevenson’s novel, there’s a genuiness here that was within the living memory of many people who saw this when it was new.

The atmosphere was probably the best aspect: ther’s a icy blue titnt to the outdoor scenes, and a garish yellow/red to the interiors. Translation--everything is tainted with gloom and doom. Those, of course, are special effects. Just as we would expect an old photograph to look--tinted, vagyely spooky, definitely of the dead past.

Hyde himself is the major special effect (the tarantula is a heck of a ghost in its own right; who hasn’t had thoughts of even a tiny spider crawling on in on your sleep?). Forget CGI or whatnot--if this Hyde from s hundred years go isn’t a frightening thing--what is? the transformstion itself, done several ways, is a creepy, even revolting process.

Carew comes off as hypocritical; Jeyll is right, other than Millicent’s upbringing, Carew is as fasinated with evil (let’s just admit--getting away with evil) as much as Jekyll. the fact that he doesn’t act on it to the extent that Jekyll does hardly gets him off the hook. After all, Jekyll was just looking at microscopic organisms before Sir George started goading him with all the nasty stuff.

Speaking of which, the most vivid scene are also the most authentic--the opium den and the clinic. One gets the feeling that the two places have clients in common. Both are seedy enough to sprout tentacles in the corners. Truly, there’s a good dose of pity, not just scurrilous drop of slumming going into these scenes. Such authentic stuff looks like a documentary reel, not sensationalistic fiction. A few vignettes in the streets have a similar feel.

Sort of inbetween the safety and comfort of Sir George’s place (and the upstanding Lanyon) and the pits of Hyde’s existence are the music hall folks. Gina is no less worthy of our respect than Millicent, but her much lower status confines her to a basically degrading lifestyle. At every step of the way, we encounter the haves and the have-nots. In a strictly social sense, Hyde is sort of parvenu, breaking all of society’s taboos to get what he wants.

Millicent is spared all the sordid stuff, but not her father. It’s sort of fitting that Hyde dispatches him. Carew had his hand in creating Hyde; the crude justice of the good v. evil theme demands that he die as well as Jekyll. The overall feeling is one of dread. The Millicents of this society, as well as the Ginas, and whoever gets in the way, remain vulnerable both to the hypocritical (Carew) and the impressionable (Jekyll).

Getting back to the sordid scenes for a bit, it’s interesting that the elixir is called a "drug’ at some point; it is that, no matter what else it’s called. The implication is that it does a trick no less than the opium den folks do theirs. In a way, this tell us that the opium addicts--undoubtedly hiding out because they’re condemned by society--are essentially Dr. Jekylls of a more mild, even harmless sort.

More literally, Hyde manifests the escapist mind set exemplified by the drug addict or criminal. In other words, maybe Stevenston, and the filmaker in this adaptation, show how themisfits of society people appear or are thought of by the respectable sort. The problem is that respectability is a facade that a few moves in the wrong direction can trample.

An excellent movie generally, and a fine horror novie. Even ith it;s short run time (a little over an hour), it tells a complex psychological story with excellent pacing and editing.

Nearly as good as the earlier version, this one takes a different tack, and does it well. Followed by commentary on the Jeyll/Hyde premise.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, 1941.

********8.0

One of many film adaptations of the Robert Louis Stevenson novel. Spencer Tracy takes on the dual Jekyll/Hyde role; his fiancee Beatrix is played by Lana Turner, her father Sir Charles Emery (Donald Crisp), Ingrid Bergman the barmaid Ivy. John Layman (Ian Hunter) is Jekyll’s colleague.

After a rather exhausting explication of Jekyll’s theory on the nature of evil and the changeable personality, we find Harry and John walking the streets at night, startled by a woman’s cries, that is, Ivy’s.

She has a good time beguiling Jekyll with symptoms so he’ll ‘examine’ her; not that there isn’t a legitimate reason; she’d just been attacked. “The momentary triumph of evil” is how John characterizes Harry’s dalliance with her.

With the gatekeeper at the hospital, Jekyll has a quaint, somewhat humorous discussion. A comet’s about to zip by (it’s 1886), and then, to follow up, Jekyll mentions the feasibility of a balloon trip to Mars–no worries on a balloon’s inability to rise in space, but whatever. Anyway, leaving a cryptic note, Jekyll finally (at 34 minutes in), tries the elixir he’s told people that he’s been working on.

The experiment, meant to explore man’s evil/or just uncivilized nature, seems more than a bit dangerous. It’s not unlike experimenting with drugs. In fact, Jekyll begins to hallucinate as soon as he downs the stuff; some of imagery beautiful, some violently sexual. As many critics have noted, Hyde looks more or less like Jekyll would after a pub crawl. He’s freaky, but not an out-and-out devil.

This take on the transformation has the undoubted advantage of Hyde looking just decent-looking enough to have him cavort around London without being mistaken for a cross between The Elephant Man and Jack The Ripper.

Meanwhile, Charles figures to take Beatrix out of the country, and maybe to break off her engagement, due to Harry’s self-righteous blathering about his malignant experiments. Soon enough, Harry gets a letter from her which, while it shows that she still loves him, their marriage is off…Oh, well, at times like this, why not summon that good ol’ boy Mr. Hyde? And Ivy, naturally.

This time the elixir brings more nightmarish preludes, featuring haunting images of both women. Anyway, soon Mr. Hyde’s out on the town, specifically the dance hall where Ivy works. Serving him champagne, he comes on strong. “Tonight I follow the rainbow.” She wonders how he knows where she lives–this is the downside of Jekyll’s very superficial transformation into Hyde–it’s inconceivable that she wouldn’t recognize him as the doctor who recently treated her.

He convinces the proprietor to fire her, so that he can then pretend to be her sympathetic benefactor. Tracy is at his best in this scene, leering at Bergmen with menacing glee. In Europe, Beatrix gets a letter from John, telling her that Harry’s gone missing, but she lies to her father that indeed the letter’s from Harry, who is now involved in philanthropic work.

That’s enough to raise Harry in Sir Charles’ eyes to lift his opposition to Beatrix marrying him. Meanwhile, back in London, Ivy is skittish about her new boyfriend, for the obvious reason that he’s been beating her. Then he comes slithering in, scaring off her friend Marcia (Frances Robinson). “Very nice material” he remarks about Marcia, and not only about her dress.

Hyde talks to Ivy about going away…never satisfied, these monstrous types. Calling her “my little cherub” is hardly soothing, as he treats her like trash. Very creepily, he talks about what to do to her while he plays placidly on the piano. He demands that she sing, and, also “be happy when you’re singing!”

Everything about this scene reminds me of similar scenes from Lynch’s Blue Velvet, in which Dennis Hopper’s sadistic gangster character delights in tormenting his nightclub singer victim, played by Isabella Rossellini.

In the morning, Jekyll burns a key on his lab in his gas stove. Back at Ivy’s, Marcia looks in on her; Ivy’s still distraught. And puzzled, she gets fifty pounds–from an anonymous source–has Hyde ‘disappeared?’ For a while, as we next see Jekyll and Beatrix at a museum. She’s returned, and Sir Charles has seen fit to give his blessing to their marriage. Yes, but, who is Beatrix marrying?

On returning home, he tells his servant that he’s going to be married; sounds rosy, except that who’s waiting for him in his office but Ivy. “You are the famous Dr. Jekyll.” But she seems to see more than Jekyll. Nonetheless, when she shows him her where she’s been beaten, she tells him about Hyde. So, she doesn’t exactly link Jekyll with him.

She throws herself at him in return for his help in dealing with Hyde. He can say that Hyde “will never bother you again.” She says she believes him, but can we believe Jekyll? Enigmatically, she says, in parting, “For a moment, I thought…” Does she mean that she mistook him for Hyde, or that she’s hoping he’ll return her affection for him? Actually, it could be both, as Hyde is the passionate (though twisted) side of Jekyll.

Another aside about the comet with the watchman. Anyway, Jekyll’s sold on marrying Beatrix. On a park bench, he rests for a bit, then, unbidden, Hyde emerges. So much for the promise to Ivy. She’s enjoying some champagne, celebrating the apparent demise of Hyde, as well as her affection for Jekyll “here’s to my angel.” More like her dark angel, as Hyde lets himself in presently.

“Surprised?” He says. Um, no, but yes “perhaps you should see a doctor” (well, hasn’t she just done that?). He sharpens the point by naming Jekyll; by quoting his conversation with her, she realizes something strange is going on, he continues “In him [Jekyll] you saw a bit of me: Hyde!” Right. “Dance and dream!” He says, assaulting her. Is she dead? Yes.

As though the considerable crowd of onlookers are mere bowling pins to get knocked down, he escapes from the apartment building. Now, of course, he realizes his mistake; having destroyed his key to the lab, he can only get in by the front door. Not going to work for Hyde. Suddenly he’s a wanted man, hiding (Hyding?) on the foggy nighttime streets.

He leaves a note for John with an extra key; a man (Hyde, presumably) will come around for it. But when Hyde shows up, John doesn’t trust him. John gives him an odd look. Hyde tries to make off with the key and the formula, but John holds a gun on him. Hyde has no choice other than to demonstrate what the stuff does…in that way he will ‘produce’ Jekyll.

And he does. Needless to say, John’s taken aback. “You’ve committed the supreme blasphemy!” And he urges Jekyll to toss the formula. He promises to tell Beatrix–but how? ‘I’ve got this uncontrollable urge to hang out with Ingrid Bergman?’ He attempts to explain to Beatrix; first, that they can’t be married.

But he doesn’t really explain himself, and just leaves her. He comes back, but as Hyde. He tussles with Sir Charles, then kills him. Now there’s pretty much a mob after him. Breaking into his own place, he escapes. At the murder scene, the police show John the murder weapon, Jekyll’s cane.

Then, as we’d expect, the police burst into the lab. The only question will be, will they confront Jekyll or Hyde? He’s Jekyll, fortunately for him. But John shows up, and fingers Jekyll. Under this pressure, he reverts to Hyde. Nicely done. Another almost cartoonish fight; Hyde is Superman until John shoots him. Dying, he becomes Jekyll again for good. The end.

The three principle characters mesh very well together. In particular, Bergman is so alluring as a temptress, and equally as an innocent victim, that it’s almost too bad that she was not given more roles like this. Tracy is surprisingly good: his domineering, heavy mien works as well showing evil as earnest respectability. On the other hand, Turner lacks presence. That’s at least as much a fault of the script as it might be of her performance. She’s merely decorative. Maybe that’s a subtle intention.

Possibly we’re made to be shown the stuffiness that her role (in the era’s notion of a respectable middle-class woman) fits a straight-jacketed stereotype. Ivy isn’t in any way a bad person as opposed to Beatrix. Ivy is poor, that’s the measure of value she’s judged by. Why else would she be easy prey for Hyde at all, if not out of a longing to be taken care of?

In the opposite way, her flirtation with Jekyll makes sense. After all, he’s single too; his engagement to Beatrix is an on again/off again thing. My point is that if Jekyll doesn’t ‘drink the kool-aide’ (to give the elixir a more modern tag), but can instead find a way to step out of his own fundamental stuffiness, wouldn’t he really be better suited for Ivy? He actually shows more genuine affection for Ivy–other than the quick kiss at the museum, he hardly touches Beatrix.

My only qualms about this version of Stevenson’s story is the prolonged opening, where the religious component is fastened on deliberately, then, just as thoroughly, Harry needles us with his speechifying on science. That slows things down, but, as mentioned, the long-awaited action sequences are married by Hyde’s apparent invincibility.

Very entertaining and well-acted drama with good pacing and very authentic atmosphere. One quibble: a street vendor has a large wagon that looks suspiciously like a streamlined 1930s-1940s commercial or travel trailer. It’s got period-correct spindly tall wheels, but I doubt that there were aluminum ‘caravans’ in the 1880s. Anyway, Farmermouse says 8/10 gaslights for this. 8/10.

†*†*†*

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is an enduring tale for a couple of reasons. The late 19th-early 20th century fascination with science and technology (not unlike the current fixation with information technology) presented a dilemma, exemplified here by man’s duality manifested through scientific means. Pure science brought Hyde into existence, but Jekyll wills the transformation. Interestingly, as the plot goes on, Jekyll effects the transformation without the physical agency of the elixir; showing that he’s internalized and controls it. In effect, in psychological terms, he’s having mood swings. Generally, then, a contemporary touch is the psychology- content, and Hyde are dramatic portrayals of an ego/id conflict.

Both Jules Verne and Robert Louis Stevenson gave us tales with a sort of magical concept of science (again, paralleling our faith these days in the internet). That is, if it’s (in the 1870s-80s) possible to travel to the moon, to the center of the earth, or to the bottom of the sea–then aren’t moon-maidens, Morlocks, and Captain Nemo possible? Science makes mythology come to life.

The conceit of the fabulous fiction of this era also worked in reverse. The actual history of the American Old West was, for example, mined as soon as it was over (by about 1900) to create myths based on larger-than-life personalities.

That many of these heroes and villains were historical characters helped in selling the Old West of novels, stories, and, probably more significantly, the early film industry. The Old West was a crossroads of technology pushing aside a romantic frontier; a Twilight Zone-ish time and space where two types of civilization co-existed briefly.

The iconic TV series, The Wild Wild West, captures well this juxtaposition of the lawless romantic West with the emerging modernity of science and technology; a clash that’s accentuated, and enhanced, by the proto sci-fi nature of some of the gizmos in use.

Although Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde begins with a church scene, complete with sermon, and ends with a hymn, tradition is more or less trampled by the transgressions of Jekyll/Hyde. Yes, Jekyll himself dies, but his idea–the “supreme blasphemy”–is let out of the bottle, so to speak. It’s a bit reminiscent of the monster or alien movie of the ’50s in which the townspeople are so relieved when the threat is gone, but it’s also clear that they (or someone, somewhere) haven’t heard the last from it.

What this clash of eras and genres based on science v. tradition gives us is a mash-up of horror and science fiction; in a sense the two genres crossed paths from about 1870-1920. Before that time, for example, 1816’s Frankenstein was regarded as horror; but isn’t it also science fiction?

By Stevenson’s time (the 1880s), Jekyll and Hyde, a more obviously psychological novel than Frankenstein, is likewise centered on a sci-fi lab, and both novels’ drama is riding on essentially the same ego/id premise. Although the identification of Jekyll with Hyde is direct; that of Dr. Frankenstein with his monster is nonetheless tangible enough. It’s no coincidence, for example, that people continually associate the name Frankenstein with the monster (in fact the monster is nameless).

By the 1930s the first talkies versions of Dracula and Frankenstein were on the scene. Strangely, 1931’s Frankenstein seems to look backward, having pretty much the same horror milieu and atmosphere as that year’s portrayal of Dracula. But the Bela Lugosi of the vampire film wasn’t essentially different from the prototype Dracula of Bram Stoker’s 1896 novel.

Subsequently, however, Frankenstein movies became more sci-fi (1974’s Young Frankenstein and others) that tended to humanize if not lampoon the monster. Dracula, with his roots in mythology and not science, can look different, acquire wives and lovers, etc., but can’t change its nature.

Film certainly has not lost its appetite for either the Frankenstein’s monster or Dracula. Not to mention the Wolf Man, the Mummy, and so on. Alien creatures, even if they’re conceived as essentially robotic, haven’t lost the look of terrestrial monstrosities. The wondrous creations of the 19th century horror novel crystalized into 20th century horror and sci-fi films; many of these antagonists were altered and embellished by a late Victorian fascination with the irrational side of the human psyche.

Corruption, 1967

****** 1/2. 6.5

What to do when your fiancee’s disfigured as collateral damage in a fight with your rival? Well, kill a bunch of other women for their pituitary glands’ medicinal properties, of course. So, that’s Peter Cushing’s mission as Sir John Rowan in Corruption. I guess the title refers to the old-fashioned corruption of the flesh, but it could also cover unscrupulous medical practices. Like most mad scientist deals, the cure is worse than the disease; because Lynn (Sue Lloyd) needs more laser treatments to keep her face in shape.

Looks like a hospital movie at first; an operating table with doctors Rowan and Steve Harris (Noel Trevarthen). That’s just to set up Sir John’s character. Next thing he’s making nice with Lynn--then they’re at a party. She introduces him to the foppish photographer Mike. She dances with Mike, but tells him that she’s marrying John. It’s a swinging party all right. John’s obviously a couple of generations out of touch with this crowd.

He wants to go, Lynn wants to stay and pose for Mike. She does that very well. In fact, John steps in and fight off Mike. The result is Lynn getting bonked by a high-intensity lamp. "her face?" inquires John at the hospital; her sister Val Kate O’Mara) comes to check on her as well. Soon Lynn’s pack home, with half her face bandaged. "It’s over!" she wails. We still don’t know what she looks like. Referring to Egyptian sources, John tells Val he’s got some exotic cure in mind for her sister. Well, he gets busy in his lab. "I found a cure!" he tells Lynn.

So, what’s he doing in the Post Mortem room at the hospital? To mess with a female corpse, of course. Well, she’s dead anyway--why not make off with her pituitary gland? Steve isn’t amused. That gross thing looks like a banana slug...whatever. Just like that, John’s got Val assisting in his ersatz operating room. We finally see Lynn’s disfigurement. He injects the pituitary fluid into the afflicted area; I’m not really getting what the laser treatment accomplishes.

Anyway, post-op, Steve comes calling. Lynn’s fully recovered, and looks great. "I have Lynn back as she was, that’s the only thing that interests me". All’s well? No, not exactly. come back early from a cruise; yuck! the treatment didn’t last, she’s disfigured all over again. Ever resourceful, John figures that he problem was that only living tissue will work. Soon enough, he’s looking up a prostitute; cuddling up to her, hearing voices, he stabs her.

With his handy doctor kit, he gets his sample forthwith. "Who was she?" Lynn adks. His response: "it doesn’t matter." Strangely, she shows off her new-old looks to Mike, hoping to get back into modeling. They argue about who’s better, who’s more important. To covered all her bases, she gets a camera for John, not to mention equipment. That way, Mike’s cut out of the picture. Later, Steve and John disagree about the treatment.

John’s worried about a newspaper article about one of his victims. Somewhat rattled, they decide to go down to their seaside cottage. When he examines her, he estimates that her ’fix’ only lasts a week. When he tells her that he won’t continue the treatments, she turns on him. She doesn’t care about the victims, she won’t tolerate the disfigurement. Lynn watches a girl, Terry (Wendy Varnels) down at the beach, will John go and check her out? Just like that, they have her over. The girl’s suspicious, but game "at least he’s clean (John that is)". Lynn obviously want to kill her for her glands.

She tries to get him to rationalize murder by saying that the girl’s suicidal anyway. Ok, he gives in. Problem is,she dodges them. Then, she lets in an accomplice, her boyfriend Rik (Bill Murray). Actually, they’re thieves, and figure, creep factor notwithstanding, these four folks are an easy mark. "you must operate, soon!" But both Terry and Rik have skipped out.No problem, as John goes on the prowl in town.

He finds an attractive blond, and gets on the train with her. He attacks her, and after a long struggle, she’s fatally stabbed. He gets off at the next stop with the goods. Unfortunately, the body was soon discovered, minus head. Steve and Val have figured out what’s going on.; they’re going down to the cottage to check things out. Why don’t they call the police? Even John admits he was spotted in the train compartment before the last murder.

Back at the cottage, John gets a fresh something out of the fridge. Terry pops back in, unannounced. Seeing the gross bundle (actually the train victim’s head) she splits. Despite their best efforts, she gets away for a while. This scene is way too long; eventually she stuns him with a rock. But, he’s relentless; in a mo tags of all the victims, John attacks her. Terry’s done for.

Lynn’s still pestering to keep killing. I interestingly, she threatens to call the the police. Mind of makes sense, because he’s the only with his hands dirty, so to speak. Well, they weren’t counting on Rik, and a bunch of other chums bursting in, led by Georgie (Phillip Mannikum) . "We don’t want any trouble, do we?" It’s clear that they’re just ordinary criminal sociopath (ala Clockwork Orange-style ’ultraviolence’). Obviously, they’re also looking for Terry.

The invasion becomes weirder when Georgie tells John that he has to operate. Meanwhile, Sandy, poking around for goodies, finds ye olde head. By now the hoods knows that something happened to Terry. Lynn has no choice but to tell them where her body is. Cleverly, she manages to push Rik off a cliff. Ironically, Georgie sends for the cops. Lynn, again thinking quick , turns the laser on. With its gizmo swinging around, the beam catches everything on fire.

If that’s not bad enough, they’re all dazed by it, and collapsed, while the place goes up in flames around them. There’s an unexpected last scene which partly replays the party scene from the beginning; that is, the trigger for the subsequent story. The end.

This was disappointing. After a promising beginning, it sort of bogged down, but was nearly rescued by a more intriguing second half. That being said, everything at the cottage seemed to be from a completely different movie. It was generally better there than in London, even before the last ten minutes or so, which was nothing if not bizarre. As others have noted, Cushing is somewhat overshadowed by Lloyd’s Joan Crawford-like Horror Hag role. That’s surprising, because initially she doesn’t think it’s cool to kill people for her cosmetic benefit.

By the time we get to the cottage, she’s pretty much in control. Terry works into the plot very well, outwitting John and Lynn for much of the time. She’s got her own agenda, which she unintentionally foists on her hosts. The scene with woman on the train shows how John has become a vampire-like predator; unlike the string of murders in the first part of the movie (except for the prostitute), we see all the details. And it’s that pesky head of her that turns up at the most inopportune times; it leads to Terry’s death and the ultimate conflagration at the end.

There’s a double shift from the original premise: Lynn becomes the mastermind, and John the underling; then Terry becomes the antagonist, with John and Lynn the prey of her crowd. The party scene promised one sort of stylish thriller; but when John turns himself into a modern Jack the Ripper/Dr. Frankenstein, we get a fairly repetitious cycle of murder, surgery, murder.

For the most part, the acting was very good. The gang of hoods are a bit over the top; when they appear, the tone shift is so complete that it’s hard to take these scenes seriously. The all-consuming fire is about the most cliched of all horror movie endings. If the laser can be safely directed at someone’s face, why should it catch everything else on fire? And why does everyone succumb to its powers when all of them still have the chance to escape?

For that matter, why is John untouchable? There’s absolutely no police presence shown; how does a rookie criminal skulk about and not attract a lot of attention by his serial killing? Two oddities stand out: the trip to the coast is as much a traditional vacation as it is a way to avoid scrutiny, and Georgy’s threat to call the cops just shows that the even weirdest characters think something nuts is going on.

This has some elements of a good psychological thriller. The horror aspect is more or less masked by what looks like conventional operation scenes (well, except for the laser stuff), the off-screen nature of most of the murders, and, most importantly, the less than horrific nature of Lynn’s disfigurement. Yes, it’s bad enough to ruin a modelling career, but she’s no Phantom of the Opera or House of Wax victim.

This is worth a look, but not up to the usual Peter Cushing level.

The Werewolf, 1956.

********* 9.0

A werewolf from a lab? Better yet, a serum that reverts people to a lower life form; well, we’ve pretty much washed out as a so-called higher form of life, so, why not? After a car accident, someone, Duncan Marsh (Steven Rich), gets a little batty. That’s thanks to the intervention of some wack doctors

That’s doctors James Gilchrist (Ken Christy), Emery Forrest (S. John Launer), and Morgan Chambers (George Lynn). We’ve got the law: Sheriff Jack Haines (Don Macgowan), and deputy Ben Clovey (Harry Lauter). Joyce Holden is love interest Amy, her uncle, the ’good’ doctor James Gilchrist (Ken Christy), there’s the Marsh’s family, son Chris (Kim Charney) and wife and mother, Helen (Eleanor Tanin).

We get a narrator, summing up the history of the werewolf; what we see is small town America at night. A lone strange man stumbles into a cafe. He stares into a fireplace. And, he’s gone. Another guy follows him out. That dude jumps him; but our stranger comes out on top. A passing woman screams; she saw the mugging, but a "thing" came out, leaving the assailant’s corpse.

Immediately, a posse sets out after the stranger--easy to track him on the snowy ground. The tracks turn from shoe prints to wolf tracks. "Whatever made those tracks was walking on two feet" The Sheriff and his deputy return to town; Clovey’s injured. Amy patches him up, and gets her uncle, Doctor Gilchrist. Apparently, another guy, Joe, has been killed by the creature.

The word werewolf comes up--"crazy?" "Poppycock?" Well, the now-human werewolf wakes up in a drainage culvert. He wants to believe he’s just dreamt all the bad stuff. The locals are upset that the Sheriff has cancelled hunting. And then they’ve got a roadblock up. Does the werewolf drive? Well, he is watching from a nearby hill.

Then he comes looking for a doctor, finding Amy, who shows him in. Wolf-guy has had memory loss too. He does remember a car crash, two doctors who treated him, and that’s it. He asks if someone had recently been killed, then confesses that he did it. This is already interesting on a psychological level. His isn’t just a legendary werewolf, he’s an outcast from society "those doctors did something to me!"

Anyway, he quickly leaves, but, after conferring with her uncle, Dr. Gilchrist, Amy calls the cops. "He’s not a sick criminal, he’s a man" The Sheriff says he’ll try to take him alive. Now we see nefarious doctors, Chambers and Forrest, in their lab. "We can immunize ourselves...we will be the only intelligent ones left." I’m not clear on what went wrong with the werewolf. Anyway, Helen comes by, asking what became of her husband; incredibly they manage to convince her that he’s ok.

By now they know that he’s already killed a man. A huge posse is after him. Chambers and Forrest decide to tell the Sheriff about Marsh. About the guy, not the werewolf stuff. Meanwhile Marsh has to seek shelter in an old mine while the doctors close in on him. Too late for bargaining--Marsh changes abruptly into the werewolf, almost killing Chambers. Since the Sheriff is close by, he wonders what’s up; they’ve got no choice but to spill the beans about Marsh. "They have a personal interest in their wolfman."

Amy talks to Jack and Gilchrist about what to do. Jack figures setting a bear trap is the best deal. They’ve find Marsh’s car, and located his wife. There’s some agonizing about how to proceed now--hes a monster, but also an ordinary man with a family. Perhaps a good commentary on alienation in general: he’s an okay guy, but he’s acting weird. Stumbling around in the woods, he’s snared by one of the traps.

Marsh manages to get free of it, but his ankle’s crippled. Chambers and Forrest huddle up in the cafe; they’re worried that Marsh will lead the cops back to them. Helen talks to Amy about all the mystery surrounding her husband’s disappearance. Finally, the sheriff and Gilchrist clue her in, in a vague way. "I don’t know what’s right anymore" admits Jack. One thing: Amy insists that she can gain Marsh’s trust.

Meanwhile, the injured Marsh is flopping around in the woods. "I don’t want his wife to see this" the Sheriff confides to his Deputy. With a bullhorn, they try and talk him into giving up. How they found out where he was in this huge wilderness is taken for granted. Anyway, now Helen addresses him, with the same plea to give it up. From his hiding place he shows himself enough so that his son spots him. They’re reunited.

It looks as though there might be a happy ending; actually, Amy and the Sheriff come up to the little group. At any rate, the cafe crowd is celebrating "capturing the wolfman". Amy hears that the locals are afraid that the same thing could happen to them. Another hint that Marsh’s condition is a psychological condition, or a plague of sorts. Back at the jail, the Sheriff allows Helen and their boy to visit Duncan. Gilchrist promises that he’ll find a way to cure him.

There’s an obvious juxtaposition of the family and the incredibly sympathetic folks surrounding the Sheriff and some of the boastful drunks at the cafe. The screw-loose guys have the air of a lynch mob. The plan is to evacuate marsh by ambulance in the morning; as if to emphasize the opposite view, Chambers enlists the aid of one of the drunks to try something at the jail.

In a strange copy of the earlier mugging, Chambers and Forrest knock the drunk out cold. To lure the Sheriff out,they drop his body right in front of the office/jail. Then they clobber the Deputy. Obviously, the plan is to mess with Marsh. Little do they know that he’s wolfed-up and rapidly turns the tables on them. The cafe mob rushes to the sound of the screams coming from the jail. Now the Sheriff sums it up: "We can’t take him alive this time, he’s killed two more men".

Torches and a posse off into the woods. With no regard for smokey the bear, the pissed throws it’s torches where they think he’s hiding. Strangely, they give it up. But, Marsh’s sighted again. A weird chase, as the wolfman runs down the mountain highway onto a bridge . Boxed in by a road grader in one end and the pissed on the other. He clambers down the bridge girders, to the rocks below. An easy target, he’s shot up. In death, he changed back to human form. The end.

This was unexpectedly good. It’s clear from the beginning that this is no ordinary horror movie. It’s very thoughtful: as stated, the psychological aspect shows us what happens to a guy who doesn’t feel ’normal’. As others have said, it’s something of a film noir trait. In those movies, the protagonist tries to ’square’ himself, but usually suffers through a series of ordeals before coming out one way or the other.

The difference here, of course, is that in horror the alienation plays out in a more outlandish, distorted reality. In this case, Marsh has been physically altered. We never get to the bottom of what Chambers and Forrest had in mind with him, but certainly, all the blood is on their hands. That’s points out the only flaw with The Werewolf--although the two doctors get their comeuppance--in a brilliantly-done scene, no less.

The Sheriff never follows up. After all, they’ve let on that they know something about what happened to Marsh, and then they have their own vendetta going on with the creature. They skulk around in the cafe for the latter half of the movies, trying to see which way the wind’s blowing, but nobody bothers them.

Having said that, this works well in every other way. No time’s wasted getting the story going, no one wrings their hands for very long in disbelief; the plot (minus the sketchy mad scientist roles) is of a piece, and the pacing doesn’t let up at all. The remote location, no doubt prompted by the less-than-extravagant budget, has the benefit of its shut-in, spooky atmosphere.

Maybe the most surprising thing here is that the acting is quite good. That helps the unique sense of community and unity of purpose that the ’good guys’ show throughout. We might expect the the law ans the family of a murderer wouldn’t see things the same way; they don’t exactly agree, but, like good neighbors or teammates, they seem to be in the same boat in this crisis.

This is definitely worth checking out; in some ways, the horror aspect is almost secondary to the sense of hopelessness that the Werewolf must endure.

The Vampire Bat, 1933.

******* 7.0

Nice cast for a ‘B’ grade horror movie: Lionel Atwill, Fay Wray, and Melvyn Douglas. Atwill is Dr. von Niemann, a mysterious, suspicious big-wig in Kleineschloss. Wray is Ruth, Maude Ebern is her Aunt Gussie, Douglas is Police Inspector Karl Brettschneider who, along with the Burgermeister (Lionel Belman) tries to figure out why bloodless corpses turn up in the village. There’s even a village idiot, Herman (Dwight Frye).

A wolf-like cry, and bats flitting around on a dark (withal, not a stormy night). The Burgermeister hosts a meeting at which notables discuss the local murders, which look suspiciously like the work of vampires and/or vampire bats. “This unseen, unsightly death” has them unsettled.

Meanwhile, Karl meets Ruth in Von Neiman’s basement lab. Back in the Mueller household, Von Neiman treats Martha Mueller (Rita Carlyle) for a bat attack, while the ghoulish Herman skulks about. He not only likes bats, he even carries one his pocket.

Karl meets von Niemann in his lab, but the Dr. brushes him off. The next day, Martha’s dead; the villagers think maybe Hermann is the vampire/murderer–given his odd behavior, and his fondness for bats. Kringen (George E. Stone) thinks he’s in imminent danger, as Herman creeps him out. Also, Ruth’s Aunt Gussie (Maude Ebern) fears a few dozen ailments. Herman seems to be everywhere–offering Gussie his bat for an apple.

As Niemann, Karl, Ruth, and Gussie discuss vampire history, the Burgermeister bursts in with news of more killings and disappearances. Now Niemann’s assistant Emil (Robert Frazer) becomes a suspect in Martha’s death. Poor Herman is on the run, hiding from a lynch mob in a cave. He leaps to his death to avoid capture.

Looks like Niemann has a sort of psychic control over Emil; he directs him to kidnap his housekeeper, Georgianna (Stella Adams), for his lab experiments. Sure enough, she’s soon discovered dead. “It passes all belief” says Karl. Conveniently, Martha’s incriminating crucifix is found near Georgianna’s corpse, exonerating Emil and everyone else except Herman–except of course that he’s dead.

Karl and the Burgermeister realize the vampire theory doesn’t hold water. But “why should anyone want human blood?” Karl wonders aloud. Niemann tries to poison Karl. Someone is on the roof, and sneaks outside Karl’s room. It’s Emil, under Niemann’s control. Unfortunately for Niemann, Ruth hears him commanding Emil.

“Life, created in the laboratory!” Niemann exhorts. Obviously, she’ll be the next victim. Emil shows up carrying Karl’s limp body. But it’s actually Karl carrying Emil. Karl has a gun on Niemann; but there’s a scuffle, Emil and Niemann kill each other. All’s well.

The Vampire Bat came off pretty well. It’s fairly obvious from the start that von Niemann is up to no good, but the mystery involves just exactly what he’s doing that causes the murders. The atmosphere really sells the vampire theme; the bat motif enhances this. Herman embodies all the creepiness of Renfield from Dracula.

There’s a lot going on, and, though the plot’s simple, the pacing deftly shifts among Niemann, Karl/Ruth, and Herman, with plenty of slideshows featuring Aunt Gussie and the villagers. There’s a thick comic layer as well. In a macabre sense, Herman is a great send-up of the ‘harmless madman’ type whom no one takes seriously until everyone else goes nuts and blames him.

A running joke (maybe also a comment on the scientific genius characters common in this sort of movie) is the medical terminology tossed off by Gussie and Ruth. No one really listens to them, probably because they seem smarter than anyone else.

One thing I couldn’t figure out is that at least half the characters seemed to live at von Niemann’s. Except for some visits into the village, they’re cloistered around Niemann. Another thing, Karl is not very convincing as a policeman–plus, he doesn’t do much investigating until nearly the end

Next Chapter: Dinosaur Bones and Alien Clones