Retro Review: Dracula (1931)

"There are far worse things awaiting man than death..."

My last post on the most overrated horror movies of all time brought something interesting to my attention. A few people suggested that one of these films should be Tod Browning's original Universal production, Dracula. The reason this is interesting to me is that I both understand where these folks are coming from, yet I also strongly disagree with their assessment.

In my opinion, the 1931 Dracula is very slightly overrated, in that it gets often equated with James Whale's Frankenstein, a film which is superior to it. Nevertheless, I would not in a million years consider it one of the most underrated horror movies of all time, specifically because I think it is excellent. Flawed, but excellent. And it richly deserves to be one of the most famous horror films ever made.

Let's address the 500-pound gorilla first and foremost, and talk about Bela Lugosi. If you were to look up the word "iconic" in the dictionary, you may just see a picture of Lugosi as Dracula. The legendary Hungarian actor so completely merged himself with the role that to this day, we cannot think of the character without thinking of him. Literally. Say what you want about stagey-ness, but that's one seriously effective performance right there.

Lugosi, who had originated the part in the stage production, thoroughly and completely puts his mark on the role, forever transforming it--for good or ill--from Bram Stoker's conception of the Transylvanian count, with the assistance, of course, of Hamilton Deane and John L. Balderston's entrancing script. It is a script which drastically departs from Stoker's novel, taking the story in a sexually charged direction I don't believe was as strongly intended by the book, but which has permanently altered the vampire as perceived in popular culture.

On screen, Lugosi grasps your attention with a level of completeness that most actors only dream of. He is particularly strong in the first half of the film, during the scenes that take place in his native land, as well as his early encounters with Van Helsing, Mina, Lucy, and the other England-based characters. Stripping away the many decades of familiarity and kitsch that have accumulated around it, it is a performance that still has great things to offer.

And yet, for my money, the film's most powerful and memorable performance isn't even Lugosi--it's the impeccable Dwight Frye as the mad Renfield. Almost as iconic as Dracula himself is Frye's leering performance, complete with that unforgettable, oft-imitated laugh. There's a reason I named the Best Supporting Actor category of the Cyber Horror Awards after this man, and it has to do with performances like this one, in which he takes full advantage of his somewhat limited screen time to leave an impression on the viewer that lasts a lifetime. Every word that leaves his lips, every motion of his body, is perfection.

I will admit to a certain amount of stagey-ness to the overall production from a set design standpoint, even more so than other Universal flicks of the era such as Frankenstein and The Mummy. Dracula is quite literally a filmed play, and it's evident at times. And yet I consider this a forgivable trait of much early '30s cinema, which sees filmmakers still learning how to best make an effective sound picture in a studio. It's part of the experimentalism and maverick mentality that makes me cherish this era so much.

And this stagey-ness of the production certainly does not extend to the brilliant camerawork of Karl Freund, a German expatriate whose innovative talents for camera movement add a tangibly vibrancy and excitement to the film, most notably in the initial reveal of Dracula in his castle very early on. Freund's skills go a long way to counteracting the stagey feel of this adapted Broadway production.

When it comes to the kind of stiffness often referred to, the one actor who does come to mind is Edward Van Sloan in the role of Abraham Van Helsing. An accomplished stage actor who would later improve on what he could do in front of a camera, Van Sloan is indeed somewhat too stagey and deliberate, and a classic example of the bumps in the road that occurred as filmmakers continued to fine-tune the process of adapting to sound films--namely the type of dramatic performances that would work best in the new medium. It wasn't until Peter Cushing in the 1950s that filmgoers would get the definitive Van Helsing.

Dracula kicked off the venerable Universal cycle of monster movies, and while I wouldn't consider it the best of them, or even the second best, I do find it to be extremely effective and enjoyable, and the kind of film that I appreciate more each time I see it. It is hurt somewhat by a noticeably less engaging second half, degenerating just a bit from gothic horror into drawing room melodrama. Nevertheless, through it all, Lugosi and Frye keep us enthralled.

Some of the film's weaknesses have been attributed to director Tod Browning and his notoriously low comfort level with sound productions. An accomplished director of the silent era, he seems to be much more at home directing scenes which require the least dialogue. Some point to the famous wedding banquet scene of another classic of his, Freaks--a scene which could just as effectively played out without any sound, if not moreso. In Dracula, we get amazing, minimally verbal moments such as Renfield's encounter with the Brides, and the Count's subsequent "claiming" of him.

For moments like that, I'm also willing to forgive Browning's dated technique. He was a filmmaker with a flair for the visually stunning, and he puts that flair to great effect in this film.

In short, Dracula remains one of the most important and influential horror films of them all, with a level of quality that may not be at the exact same height as its importance or influence. Yet even if it's only to see Bela Lugosi create the most famous horror movie character in history right before your eyes, this is a film that is the very definition of a "must-see", and rewards the viewer each and every time. It is imperfect, yes, but it is also more powerful than the majority of horror films you will ever see.

Tweet

The Many Faces of Bela Lugosi

Tweet

Retro Review: The Body Snatcher (1945)

Every now and then, the horror gods smile down, the planets come into alignment, and a project like this one comes to be. As horror fans, we are very lucky to have such a remarkable film which, thanks to the miracle of home video, we can see pretty much any time we want.

Let's break it down, shall we? The original story comes from a work by Robert Louis Stevenson, author of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde. Stevenson apparently based it upon true reports of grave robbers on a spree throughout England and Scotland.

Producing the film version is the one and only Val Lewton, the visionary filmmaker responsible for the finest horror highlights of the 1940s. More than any other producer, Lewton is cited as having a tangible, almost directorial influence on his movies. This is simply one of a string of classics Lewton brought to fruition, including I Walked with a Zombie, Cat People, and The Seventh Victim.

Nevertheless, Lewton did employ a director, and a formidable one, at that. The great Robert Wise cut his teeth as a cinematographer for Orson Welles, but it was Lewton who first gave him a chance to direct--this was the third film Wise helmed for him. Wise, of course, would go on to direct such films as The Day the Earth Stood Still, Somebody Up There Likes Me, West Side Story, The Haunting, The Sound of Music, The Andromeda Strain and Star Trek: The Motion Picture. Not a bad resume, yes?

Taking center stage in this lurid tale of the dark side of the early medical profession is a group of actors whose talents would have been renowned whether or not they had ever chosen to appear in a single horror film. Firstly, it should be pointed out that this movie would mark the final on-screen teaming Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi--although Lugosi, already down on his luck and relegated to low-budget Monogram clunkers, played merely a supporting role while Karloff starred.

Fresh off his sinister turn as Dr. Neimann in his last Universal horror flick, House of Frankenstein, Karloff takes to the role of the titular body snatcher John Gray with particular relish. This would be the first of three consecutive Lewton flicks for Karloff, followed quickly by Isle of the Dead and Bedlam. It's debatable, but this may be the best of the three.

Playing alongside Karloff is one of classic Hollywood's true unsung heroes, Henry Daniell--a stage-trained British actor who might best be known for playing alongside Charles Laughton in the flawless legal dramedy Witness for the Prosecution. Usually relegated to supporting parts, Daniell appeared with Greta Garbo in Camille; with Charles Chaplin in The Great Dictator; with James Stewart, Kate Hepburn and Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story; with Kirk Douglas and Anthony Quinn in Lust for Life; and with Ava Gardner and Errol Flynn in The Sun Also Rises.

But this time out, Daniell takes the lead, playing the tragic role of Dr. "Toddy" McFarlane, a famous surgeon with a sordid past tied to the insidious grave robber and murderer Gray. The interplay between the two is gripping at all times, and their antagonistic yet strangely symbiotic relationship is at the heart of the picture. And the climax, for those who may not have seen it, is one of the most underrated cinematic triumphs of psychological horror ever. Absolutely chilling, in that Victorian-era-horror-yarn kind of way.

As with all Lewton films, much of the power here is also the result of the tremendously dark and foreboding look and feel. No doubt having an eye for good camera work himself, given his background, Wise uses as his cinematographer the accomplished Robert De Grasse, who had previously done The Leopard Man for Lewton, as well as the gorgeous Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers musical The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle.

And helping create the look of musty crypts, creepy graveyards and creaky 19th century medical laboratories is the amazing art director Albert S. D'Agostino--whose impressive horror credits include the Lewton films of the '40s, '30s Universal flicks like Werewolf of London and Dracula's Daughter, and '50s gem The Thing from Another World. There's a reason I picked his name to affix to the Cyber Horror Award for Best Art Direction!

Put all these ingredients together, and you have what is easily one of the top five horror films of the 1940s. Stevenson. Lewton. Wise. Karloff. Lugosi. D'Agostino. Like I said, an alignment of the horror planets if ever there was one. Highly recommended.

Tweet

TRAILER TRASH: Bela Lugosi Edition!

Tweet

Gods & Monsters: A History of Horror Movies, Part 2

The advent of sound in 1927 opened the door to unheard-of possibilities in motion pictures. For the nascent horror movie genre, particularly in America, it seemed to provide the necessary impetus that allowed what had been an obscure niche curiosity to burst into the mainstream in a big way.
Of course, it wasn't just horror movies that grew in stature thanks to sound. It was at the beginning of the talkie era that the U.S., specifically Hollywood, became the center of the movie universe. And one American movie studio took it upon itself to kick off a golden age of terror flicks.
One of the smaller studios in Tinseltown, Universal didn't necessarily have the big bucks to attract the big stars and produce the prestige pictures. What it did have was visionary studio head Carl Laemmle, who in 1930 greenlit a film adaptation of the long-running stage production of Dracula. Directed by Tod Browning and starring stage headliner Bela Lugosi, the movie was a smash hit--America' first sound horror film. It was quickly followed in 1931 with another adaptation, this time Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, directed by James Whale and starring Boris Karloff as the misshapen monster. It was an even larger hit.
Horror was bigger than it had ever been, and Universal was leading the way. Lugosi and Karloff became icons of the genre, and their respective films each spawned a series of sequels, most notable among being the superlative Bride of Frankenstein. Taking some inspiration from the German Expressionist pics of the previous decade, the Universal horror movies were rich in atmosphere and, intially at least, took their subject matter very seriously. Frankenstein and Dracula were followed by such films as The Mummy (1932) and The Invisible Man (1933).
Universal's success inspired some of the other studios to try their hands at horror movies. A particular stand-out would be Paramount's 1931 production of Dr. Jeckyll & Mr. Hyde, starring Fredric March.
In 1934, driven in part by what it perceived as the shocking nature of the horror genre, as well as other "unsavory" aspects of movies in general, a certain rather conservative constituency in America led to the adoption of the Hays Code. Created by studio heads as a response to the moral outcry, the Hays Code reigned in some of the content seen in movies, and horror was one of the main areas affected.
In the latter half of the decade, Universal's pictures softened somewhat in tone. Despite still being enjoyable films, they fall somewhat short of the gothic masterpieces of a few years earlier.
Universal was still rolling along by the start of the 1940s, and in 1941 produced another classic monster, The Wolf Man, played by Lon Chaney Jr.--son of the silent horror star of a generation prior. Nevertheless, after the success of The Wolf Man, world affairs would play a part in the genre's imminent decline.
With the onset of World War II, horror films fell out of favor with the American public--in large part, many have felt, due to the real-life horror hitting so close to home on a daily basis. Most of the genre, including Universal's output, devolved into more juvenile and campy fare over the course of the rest of the decade, typified by such "monster team-up" flicks as Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943), or the grandaddy of all horror-comedies, Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948).
Still, there was some quality horror being made even during those doldrum years. Chief among the horror filmmakers of the era was Val Lewton, who produced a series of pictures for RKO that included such gems as Cat People (1942), I Walked with a Zombie (1943) and The Body Snatcher (1945).
By the end of the 1940s, the United States--and the world, for that matter--was a very different place from what it had been just a decade before. America's place in the world had changed; sensibilities had changed; and what frightened people had also changed. As horror movies inched toward another renaissance, the genre would reflect this as well.
Other major releases:

• Freaks (1932)
• White Zombie (1932)
• The Black Cat (1934)
• Werewolf of London (1935)
• Dracula's Daughter (1936)
• Son of Frankenstein (1939)
• The Mummy's Hand (1940)
• The Uninvited (1944)

Part 1: The Silent Dead

Soon to come: Part 3 - It Came from Hollywood

Tweet