October is nearly at an end. Here are a few films.

The Mummy (1932), directed by Karl Freund. Karl Freund is a superior cinematographer whose credits include Fritz Lang’s brilliant Metropolis and F. D. Murnau’s amazing The Last Laugh. He also directed a number of films, The Mummy being one of them. The Mummy is one of Universal’s horror franchises, and it offers excellent special effects along with a hokey story. The titular Mummy is Imhotep/Ardeth Bay (Boris Karloff) brought back to life after 3700 years by a British archaeologist who stupidly reads out loud from the Scroll of Thoth an incantation that once Isis used to bring Osiris back to life. This time the incantation revives Imhotep. Imhotep goes on a quest to find and revive his long-lost love, Ank-es-en-Amon. He finds her in the person of Helen Grosvenor (Zita Johann), a young woman whose parents are British and Egyptian. Helen bears an uncanny resemblance to the ancient Egyptian princess. Go figure. If this all sounds orientalist, it is. At one point, a British archaeologist remarks on the audacity of the Egyptians wanting to put ancient artifacts from Egypt in a Cairo Museum. And then we have Helen Grosvenor lamenting that modern Egypt is not the “real Egypt” of antiquity. If this all sounds predictable, it is. Predictability is, however, not the point. The photography, special effects, make-up are all top notch, and Karloff makes an effective antagonist with his unblinking eyes and gaunt figure. Ardeth Bay is, by the way, an anagram for ‘Death by Ra.’

 

The Wolf Man (1941), directed by George Waggner. Coming ten years after Universal’s Dracula and Frankenstein, The Wolf Man is the studio’s second attempt at a werewolf film, and it proved to be highly successful and influential. Even dopey Lon Chaney as Larry Talbot manages to strike a chord as a rather simple man who finds himself caught in a horrific web of circumstances. Perhaps not as atmospheric as the earlier Universal films, The Wolf Man does have the low-lying mist among the stylized trees, the large, even cavernous, mansion, the shadows, and the montage of wild imaginings as Larry begins to go bonkers – all things we are familiar with in earlier features of this kind. We also have an impressive cast that includes Claude Rains as Larry’s father, Ralph Bellamy as a local policeman, Evelyn Ankers as the love interest, Bela Lugosi as ‘Bela’ the fortune teller, and the most creepy Maria Ouspenskya as Maleva who gets the last word: "The way you walk was thorny through no fault of your own, but as the rain enters the soil the river enters the sea, so tears run to a predestined end. Your suffering is over. Now you will find peace for eternity." At first, I thought that Larry’s peeping Tom routine near the beginning when he spies on Gwen Conliffe (Evelyn Ankers) through his father’s telescope was just an ill-advised bit of fluff, but now I realize that it serves to indicate something deeply gone awry within this seemingly simple prodigal returned to the family home after some 18 years. This film sets the template for later werewolf films with its silver-topped cane, full moon, pentagram, and so on.

 

Cry of the Werewolf (1944), directed by Henry Levin. This is Columbia’s contribution to the monster flicks that Universal popularized in the 30s and 40s. It has something of the atmosphere of the Val Lewton films such as Cat People (1942). The werewolf here is a woman, Celeste LaTour (Nina Foch), who is a gypsy princess. The studio saved money on make-up and special effects by using a German Shepard to play the werewolf, and this sort of works. The plot is straight forward. Celeste suffers from the same malaise as her mother did, lycanthropy. She tries to keep her affliction a secret by savaging the good doctor Charles Morris who has discovered the secret of the LaTour family. The doctor’s son, Bob (Stephen Crane), comes home and begins to investigate his father’s murder. He begins a romantic relationship with his father’s assistant, Elsa Chauvet (Osa Massen). The two of them are on the trail of the werewolf, and therefore targets of Celeste. Barton McLane plays Police Lt. Barry Lane who investigates. All the players take things seriously. Matters play out as we would expect. Bob save Elsa and Celeste receives her quietus.

 

House of Dracula (1945), directed by Erle C. Kenton. The penultimate of Universal’s series of horror films in the 1930s and 40s, House of Dracula brings Dracula (John Carradine), the Wolfman (Lon Chaney, Jr.), and Frankenstein’s monster (Glenn Strange) together in the house of Dr. Franz Edlemann (Onslow Stevens) for a delightful romp. The opening scene has a flying bat transform into the Count, who sports, along with his cape and dapper clothes, a top hat. I saw no hint of a top hat on the bat! Anyhow, this is how the fun begins. Dracula has come to Dr. Edlemann’s house ostensibly to seek a cure for what ails him. Soon another arrival comes seeking a cure for another dreaded ailment; this is Larry Talbot, and we all know what ails him. Larry is sincere in his desire for a cure, but the Count has come to seduce Edlemann’s nurse, Miliza (Martha O’Driscoll). Add to the mix a female Igor, here Edlemann’s assistant, Nina (Jane Adams) and local police inspector with his artificial right hand, Holtz (Lionel Atwill), and you have a cast of stalwarts. Others, such as Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi, make quick appearances in bits of film swiped from earlier films in the series. One dream sequence stands out here as a filmic tour de force. By 1945, these Universal horror films were running out of inventiveness, but this one has its pleasures, despite the melancholy decline of the good doctor Edlemann. I especially liked the hunchback assistant, Nina. Happy Halloween everyone.

The Manster (1959), directed by Georg P. Breakston and Kenneth G. Crane. Perhaps the first Japanese-American co-production, this film is a precursor to The Incredible 2-Headed Transplant (1971), although here the two heads result from the injection of a serum concocted by the zany but kindly scientist, Dr. Suzuki (Tetsu Nakamura). Dr. Suzuki injects a few people with his serum, including his wife, his brother, and the American journalist Larry Stanford (Peter Dyneley), a sort of lower-budget version of Larry Talbot. Larry is on assignment in Japan when he meets the not-so-good doctor Suzuki who serves Larry spiked tea and then injects him with the serum that is supposed to result in a new kind of creature. Lurking here may be the shadow of radiation poisoning. Anyway, the serum has the effect of altering Larry’s personality and sending him into a mid-life crisis before it actually transforms him into a two-headed monster. Before this happens, Larry goes on a binge with alcohol and women. His wife from New York arrives to see what is happening to her husband, and she arrives not long before he develops a third eye on his right shoulder. Yes, that’s right – an eye on his shoulder. This signals the emergence of a head from that shoulder. Ultimately, this head grows to – well you have to see this to believe it. If you are a fan of 1950s horror films, then you have to see this one. The production values are quite good for this sort of film.