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Reviews
The Black Cat (1934)
unique, ingenious, and still worthy of discovery
Although it is certainly dated today, "The Black Cat" was sublimely ahead of it's time in 1934. Conseqently, it was derided by critics and enjoyed only middling success considering the star power involved. Many people, including some in Universal Studio's hierarchy, regarded the film as a nihilistic study in murder, Satan worship, sadism and even necrophilia.
Of course, what struck the masses as impudent seventy years ago seems audacious today. In many ways "The Black Cat" is a bold, striking piece of work that captures two of horror film's greatest players at the top of their game. Boris Karloff, with his new-wave hairstyle and snake-like eyes, personifies irredeemable evil. He fails to convince only when his character is forced into mock-congeniality. His most effective moments are not when he casts his sinister glare at Bela Lugosi or Jacqueline Wells, but when he plays the organ or stands outside amidst the windswept trees, enraptured by his thoughts of the Black Mass to come. Meanwhile, Lugosi, blessed with a sympathetic, almost heroic role, contributes one of his all-time best performances, an exquisitely measured portrait of a man determined to do right by the young couple he is forced by circumstance to protect, but doomed to die in the house of his most hated foe.
Fine camera-work and art direction, guided by Edgar G. Ulmer's helming, make this film striking to look at and brisk to sit through. The only real demerits are the obligatory romantic couple, peopled here by David Manners and the aforementioned Ms. Wells. Their acting and dialogue somehow strain credulity more than Boris and Bela's motivations ever could. Also, the weak comic relief provided by two quarrelsome policemen is brittle at best (although it's interesting to hear Lugosi speak in his native Hungarian in the scene), but both elements were, no doubt, concessions to the taste of 1930's audiences.
Like almost all of the early 30's horror films, "The Black Cat" is imperfect and antiquated. But, also like almost all of the early 30's horror films, it is unique, ingenious in it's way, and still worthy of discovery by a new generation.
Frankenstein (1931)
a flawed but historic hour of cinema
Just as the Beatles influenced popular music for decades after they came and went, so did "Frankenstein" shape the landscape for cinematic horror. Had this film been an artistic and/or commercial failure, the American Horror Film would have evolved in a totally different direction, had it survived at all.
It is remarkable that the conventions established in this early talking film would continue to be utilized by serious filmmakers for over four decades, until "The Exorcist" (1973) changed the rules.
However, "Frankenstein" remains a flawed classic, partially because it's characters have, over time, become almost comical (even without the endless satires), partially because of some of the supporting performances (which inspired the endless satires), and partially because of the primitive technology available at Universal Studios in 1931. Even the tiny Hal Roach Studios produced more sophisticated product at the time.
But what of the assets? Charles D. Hall's art direction is striking, as are some of Arthur Edeson's photographic compositions. Colin Clive remains compelling as Henry Frankenstein, the intense medical adventurer, although he seems pushed to the brink at times by director James Whale, a smart, imaginative filmmaker who didn't always know when to apply restraint.
Then there is Boris Karloff as the monster; Karloff was (and is) underrated as an actor, mainly because he became content to lend himself more as a personality rather than as a performer in numerous films, especially after the mid-1940's. But Karloff, aided by magnificent makeup designed by Jack Pierce, perfectly captured the misery, desperation and loneliness of an artificially fabricated creature in this film, guided by Whale's unexpectedly sensitive direction.
"Frankenstein" survives as a flawed, but historic -- and necessary -- document that set the course for one of cinema's most enduring genres.
I Bury the Living (1958)
intriguing but ultimately unfulfilling
"I Bury the Living" presents an engrossing portrait of one man's mental breakdown -- until it's rather disappointing resolution. Richard Boone is superb as a put-upon businessman who is coerced into overseeing the local graveyard. He descends into near madness when he convinces himself his actions have resulted in the deaths of several acquaintances. Unfortunately for Boone, the more those close to him try to help, the higher the body count. The earnestness Boone and most of the other players bring to their roles helps tremendously, although Theodore Bikell, as the cemetery's aging caretaker, ventures dangerously close to caricature. Aside from occasional day-for-night shots in the cemetery, Frederick Gately's photography is very well composed, but some shots do not seem to mesh well when edited. Most regrettably, the filmmakers chose, after weaving a tight, compelling buildup, to end the film with a most unsatisfactory denouement. Had they displayed a little more confidence in what had come before (and their target audience), "I Bury the Living" might be remembered as a minor classic, rather than as an intriguing but ultimately unfulfilling exercise.
Liberty (1929)
a magnificent example of silent comedy
"Liberty" was one of Laurel and Hardy's last silent films, and clearly one of their best. Only two years into their long screen partnership, this talented duo had mastered silent comedy art by 1929, and, with this film, rendered a beautifully constructed, excellently paced, skillfully photographed short, packed throughout with incident and wit. Much credit should go to director Leo McCarey (who would later helm classics like "Duck Soup" and "Going My Way") and cameraman George Stevens (who would later direct "Woman of the Year", "Shane", and "Giant"). Part of the brilliance of this film is in the presentation of it's climax, atop an unfinished skyscraper. Yes, Laurel and Hardy were really scrambling around 10 stories over the streets of Culver City, California; but they were doing so on a wooden mock-up assembled on the roof of an already existing structure.
Dragonwyck (1946)
Gothic atmosphere and Price's presence prevail
Although "Dragonwyck" is not a perfect film (one could quibble regarding it's over-long length), it certainly succeeds as a showcase for period atmosphere and melodrama. Gene Tierney is pretty successful in projecting a character who evolves from a wide-eyed innocent to disillusioned spouse of a cold, meglomaniac addict. Walter Huston (father of John), was a fine old-school character player, and he scores big points in his too-brief scenes as Tierney's reverent but irascible father. Best of all is Vincent Price, in a role that presages his tormented Poe characters in films fifteen to twenty years hence. Price totally inhabits the persona of Van Ryn, symbolizing his proud, gallant strength, and ultimately portraying his pathetic disintegration into weakness, drug addiction, and murder (just like any self-respecting Poe character!!). The film's cinematography and music go a long way toward making this undeservedly forgotten Fox film a winner, one that deserves a pristine DVD release.
West of Shanghai (1937)
Karloff shines in an atypical role
Fans of Boris Karloff should enjoy this B feature not because it is a great example of 1930's horror, but because it isn't. Made at a time when Hollywood had set a self-imposed moratorium on monster movies, "West of Shanghai" proves that Karloff could survive as a character star, delivering a well-conceived interpretation of a likable but mercenary Chinese warlord. He is a joy to watch, engaging his American captives in sardonic broken English, doling out his own brand of makeshift justice, and, at least in his own mind, exercising nobility as he faces execution. The rest of the cast is standard, except for Ricardo Cortez, who registers very well (as he did in Karloff's "The Walking Dead") as an attractive, well-polished heel. Director John Farrow sets a crisp pace and doesn't allow the film to drag. "West of Shanghai" may not be one of the best Karloff films, but his presence certainly makes it more than noteworthy.