Universal Horror, part III: Mediocre continuances and a sore thumb

This segment is the start of what could loosely be defined as the George Waggner/ Curt Siodmak era which, in the converse to Dracula's Daughter's place on the list, really began with The Wolf Man (so we should have left that one for this post, as opposed to putting DD on the previous post. Nevermind.) Waggner would direct three of the following films (as he did with The Wolf Man) and produce three of them, as well (again as he did with The Wolf Man), and Siodmak would be story and screenplay on two of them and screenplay on another (likewise.) In the same way the studio system had actors who showed up in many of that studio's films until their contract ran out, directors and writers did, as well. Once the studio heads had decided that you were good at something, you largely occupied that cubicle until you moved on. So it was with Waggner and Siodmak. But our first film actually lacks the latter, so it wasn't an omnipresent phenomenon.

The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942)- This is one of those films that ends up having something of an elaborate plot, but a very short running time (67 minutes), even for this era and this series. Consequently, it bends a lot more toward the camp end of the "horror" scale than the genuinely horrific end, since there's really no time for it to develop all of the subplots that it introduces before it ends one and begins another. Somehow, Ygor (Bela Lugosi) is alive after his corpse had been what sent the monster into a rage in Son of Frankenstein and when the townsfolk destroy Castle Frankenstein as a way of relieving the curse they believe to be upon them, Ygor discovers the monster frozen in... sulfur. He also discovers Lon Chaney, Jr. playing the monster for the first time, which is one of the few notable things about this episode. Ygor discovers yet another son of Henry Frankenstein, Ludwig (Cedric Hardwicke) working as a doctor in a nearby town and goes there in the hopes of restoring the monster's power. The latter then befriends another young girl and kills two people in the process of retrieving her ball. Meanwhile, convinced to follow his father's footsteps, Ludwig is visited by the ghost of Henry (hence, the title) who implores him to give the monster a good brain. Things carry on from there. It's really kind of a mess and also just an excuse to have fun with the Universal monsters again, even though it's only one of them. Lugosi's second turn as Ygor can't rescue it. It's not a horrible film. It just needed an editor. Maybe two.

Invisible Agent (1942)- Wartime politics intruded on this one, although one questions whether it was ever going to be a horror film, since it isn't in the same way Invisible Woman wasn't. This is a spy thriller, with Frank Griffin, Jr. (Jon Hall), the grandson of the original Invisible Man, running a print shop under a fake name and being accosted by agents of the Nazis and the Japanese empire to give up his formula for their efforts in the war. It's bog-standard as far as propaganda and storyline go, but Griffin at least demonstrates some reluctance to hand over the formula for what he knows is a very dangerous substance to the US government. But it descends into the now typical invisible hijinks while Griffin is supposed to obtain a list of secret agents for both the Germans and Japanese within the US. There are a couple decent performances by Peter Lorre as Baron Ikito and Cedric Hardwicke (again) as a Gestapo officer, but they can't do a whole lot to rescue the boilerplate story. The lone actress in all of this, Ilona Massey, who plays Maria Sorenson as a dupe that Griffin is attempting to manipulate to encounter other members of the Gestapo, later said that she disliked doing the film so much that, years later, she couldn't remember any details about the story or the process of making the film. Again, like Ghost, it's not a horrible film, but it's also certainly neither a good one nor a horror film. If you'd looked at the standard lineup of Universal monsters and had to pick one that would make it difficult to keep applying either "horror" or "monster" labels to, it would certainly be the Invisible Man; likely not least because H. G. Wells didn't write it as a horror story to begin with.

The Mummy's Tomb (1942)- The most notable thing about this film may be that it was the first film handed to Lon Chaney, Jr. after he renewed his contract with Universal and a role he would reprise in two more films in this franchise. Given that said role is not one that anyone would suggest is particularly strenuous barring the time spent in the makeup chair, one can see the attraction. But this was a film aiming specifically at B status. With its two week shooting schedule, its use of stock footage from The Mummy's Hand, Frankenstein, Bride of Frankenstein, and Ghost of Frankenstein and the score being partially borrowed from The Invisible Woman, it's difficult to look at it as anything more than schlock tossed out because they knew they could make a profit on the title, which is exactly what happened, since it was Universal's most profitable film of the year. Dick Foran and Wallace Ford reprise their roles from The Mummy's Hand; this story taking 30 years after their return from Egypt with the mummy now in pursuit of vengeance. The tanna leaves also now reanimate Kharis in concert with the full moon (a nod to the most famous role of the actor under the wrappings?) The only word that comes to mind while watching this is "churn"; studio, writers, actors, all of it. Feeding the franchise. However, the suburban setting of the action does point toward the future of the horror genre, when masked assailants bring their horrific doings into the calm and tepid life of middle America.

Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943)- And now we have indeed gone full superhero. This was the first acknowledgment that Universal's monsters all inhabited the same world in a similar fashion to how Marvel Comics would later storm to the top of its market, since Spider-Man could be swinging by in any random panel of the Fantastic Four. This is the foundation stone of the (sigh) "Dark Universe" that has still not come into the light in current times. I mean, I'm bemoaning the shared universe concept which is an incredible storytelling device, especially if one is willing to stick to a premise like White Wolf's World of Darkness, but that was a concept that was a bit too advanced for 1940s America. However, we also stuck to the same cast of characters behind the makeup, in that Lon Chaney, Jr. returned to his lycanthropic success but it was Bela Lugosi finally getting his chance at the capital 'M' Monster role. From this point, a consistent theme develops surrounding the tragedy of Larry Talbot (Chaney) wanting to end his life to stop the torture of his uncontrollable transformation (which for the first time in this film is declared to be only a result of the full moon, rather than anything having to do with wolfsbane) and various people trying to control the Monster for their own ends (as was the case with Ygor in Ghost of Frankenstein.) One major plot point not revealed is how the Monster went from supposedly dying (again) in a burning house to appearing frozen in ice and discovered by Talbot. But the main thrust of the plot is Baroness Elsa Frankenstein (Ilona Massey), daughter of Ludwig, attempting to remove both monsters from the world, but not for any sense of altruism. The central theme of the title was resolved by two stuntmen battling it out, rather than Lugosi and Chaney, which about sums up the quality of the film overall.

Phantom of the Opera (1943)- This film is exceptional in a number of ways among the Universal horror series, which makes it questionable as to whether it should even be included. First off, it's a remake of the 1925 Universal silent film, starring Lon Chaney, Sr. Secondly, it's not offering anything supernatural or even vaguely science fictional, like the Invisible Man films. It's just a story of a man taking revenge in an opera house. Third, it's the only one of the series to be shot in Technicolor, which removes some of the horror atmosphere, since every set is, by default, splashed with light and very bright colors. That makes the fact that its partly a musical mildly understandable, but no one was used to horror themes in a musical until The Nightmare Before Christmas and then everyone knew it was a joke. One very minor upside is Claude Rains returning to the fold as the title character. He does his usual capable job of creating some level of relatable attachment to the outsider within the group that is Erique Claudin, surrounded by more popular and attractive people whom he lives to be in the company of, but who discard him as ephemeral. There is a solid story here and characters to accompany it, if you're simply willing to acknowledge that this isn't a horror film in any sense of the label and that, in that respect, the 1925 version is undoubtedly the better version. I finished it thinking I'd watched 29 Universal horror films in 30 days.

Son of Dracula (1943)- This is another Curt Siodmak story and is actually directed by his brother, Robert Siodmak, so we were keeping things in the family in more ways than one here. That includes Lon Chaney, Jr. taking his turn as the Transylvanian count, although here he refers to himself publicly as Count Alucard ('Dracula' backwards), a bad joke that is revealed in the film within its first 5 minutes, so I feel like this might've been a case of "being clever." This time we shift the vampiric action to New Orleans which ends up providing us a heavy dose of the most horrific thing ever seen in this series, which is Jim Crow America. Along the way and in complete contrast to Dracula's Daughter, we're never shown who the "son" of Dracula actually is. That's seemingly appropriate, since the plot is the direct opposite of Daughter, as well, since the latter wanted to end the "curse" of vampirism, while one of the leads in this film, Katherine (Louise Allbritton), arranged for "Alucard's" arrival in America so that she could gain the immortality that he possesses. If all of that sounds mildly disjointed, it may be because Curt Siodmak was originally writing the screenplay until he was taken off it and it was finished by Eric Taylor, but there was no central guiding hand to its premise from that point forward. The reason for Curt's dismissal are varied and in an interview 45 years later, he suggested it was because of sibling rivalry with Robert, whom he insists could do wonderful scenes and atmospherics, but couldn't write a story. He's correct in that there's not much here (and, again, certainly nothing to indicate the title as anything other than a stand-in for "Dracula, the Sequel", feeding the meme status even more) and that includes Chaney's performance, as he utterly lacks the brooding charisma and gravitas which Lugosi made an essential part of the character.

So, yeah, that doesn't add up to a whole lot of good. We pick up next time still kinda lacking a vision because our subject is invisible...

Universal Horror, part II: extensions to good or bad

As I was saying last time, there's a moment when all things have to come to an end. This, the second segment of Universal films which takes us to 1941 (so a decade after Dracula and Frankenstein), is a great example of that in more than one of these franchises, for lack of a better term. While we take a couple interesting turns with the two pillars, the Invisible Man and Mummy fall on harder times. The saving grace is the emergence of the best of the werewolf films right at the end.

Dracula's Daughter (1936)- In truth, this film probably could have been included in that first cycle, since it was the continuation of Universal's interest in the horror genre that would be put on hold for three years after the Laemmle family lost control of the studio when producer Carl Laemmle, Jr. had to borrow a cool million from Standard Capital to make up the holes in the studio's budget. When Standard called the debt a year later, they took over the studio and had decided that horror films weren't profitable enough to keep doing. Similarly, Gloria Holden, who plays the title role of Countess Marya Zaleska, also didn't want to be in the film as she, like many actors of the day, looked down on horror films. Likewise, the only reason Universal had the film in the first place is because MGM had bought the rights to Dracula's Guest, reputedly a chapter of the original novel that Bram Stoker had cut, from Stoker's widow and then decided that it wasn't worth pursuing. On top of that, the director that Laemmle wanted for it, James Whale, had no interest in doing another horror picture and no actor from the original except Edward Van Sloan (whose character was now named "Von Helsing", rather than "Van Helsing") wanted to join the effort, either. It was the little film that no one wanted. And, in the end, the story does turn out to be a weird cross-hatch between modernist and boilerplate that lacks direction. Zaleska has decided that she hates the curse of vampirism and first tries to destroy her father's body to release said curse before approaching a psychotherapist to cure her of the impulse for blood. When that doesn't work, she decides to kidnap said psychotherapist's secretary and return to Castle Dracula. The main theme that came from this whole production is the overt lesbian overtones that Universal and director Lambert Hillyer did their best to alter or conceal when confronted by the Production Code Authority, but which shine through to anyone with eyes and were even used by Universal in marketing the film ("Save the women of London from Dracula's Daughter!") In that respect, it was progress in that women were definitely the central focus of the film for doing something other than screaming, but when Universal returned to the genre three years later, they were largely back to being scream queens. It's kind of fascinating as a cultural artifact, but really isn't much of a film, despite Jack Pierce and John P. Fulton combining to produce a new approach to makeup that contributed to Holden's unearthly pallor.

Son of Frankenstein (1939)- Carrying on/initiating the future "Son of" meme, the most notable feature of this film is Bela Lugosi's performance as the new Dr. Frankenstein's assistant, Ygor. (Yes, that's pronounce EE-gor, not EYE-gor.) Despite Wolf von Frankenstein (somehow we've added a "von" to the family name) being played by Basil Rathbone, there's no doubt that Lugosi steals the show here from minute one to minute 99; an extraordinarily lengthy film by the era's and the series' standards. That length may have been the effect of the plot and screenplay actually having some meat to them, rather than just being a gimmick excuse for a sequel as is the result of so many other "Son of"-type productions. Wolf brings his family back to the ancestral domain to restore the family name and we see the reactions of the local townsfolk beyond simply "Grab the torches and pitchforks!", as they spend some time interrogating local resident and former victim of a hanging execution, Ygor, warning him against any further perfidy by the returning Baron. This gives even more room for Lugosi's Ygor to engage his particular form of social impertinence and the story flows from there. It also firmly establishes the concept of the mad scientist's assistant "Igor" which is now the standard. In the end, both Ygor and the monster fall victim in true, happy ending fashion, which also includes the joyous celebration by the townspeople when Wolf and family wave happily to them from the departing train. This film is the initiator of the now-hallowed monster film and superhero story trope that is: "He's finally dead! Or is he...?" since the monster seemed deceased after Bride of Frankenstein and seems deceased after this film, as well, but continues carrying on in more and more unlikely circumstances because there's money to be made and (sometimes) stories to tell.

The Invisible Man Returns (1940)- I think there was some awareness here that, unlike even the rest of the monsters in Universal's stable, the novelty of this situation is an even harder load to carry from film to film (as we will clearly see in the next entry in the Invisible Man series.) There were three people credited for the story (Joe May, who also directed, Curt Siodmak, who has a lengthy history in this genre, and Cedric Beffrage) and two for the screenplay (Lester K. Cole and Siodmak) but that many hands in the stew, which is often a disaster, actually created a decent plot that engaged the original film's situation but in an entirely new premise. Sir Geoffrey Radcliffe (the legendary Vincent Price, in his first major film role which launched him, like Claude Rains, largely without being seen) has been accused of a murder he didn't commit and begs Frank Griffin (John Sutton), the brother of Rains' character, to give him the invisibility serum, despite the warning that it will drive him mad in the same way. The approach to the serum takes a slightly more "scientific" angle, in that its function is tied to its presence in the blood and a transfusion will eliminate said presence and its effect. This is in line with the trend in horror/fantastic films of the era to provide more explanations, rather than simply declaring it to be "Magic!" or "Super Science!" This followed with that general trend in society, where the population was more interested in the development of science for things like, y'know, vaccines... This is also the first Universal film that largely pivots away from the dark and brooding atmosphere that surrounded previous entries to the genre, in that most of the action takes place in broad daylight and the tragedy is centered around a single figure, rather than the threat to the community at large.

The Mummy's Hand (1940)- As you can see from the dates, when Universal got back into horror films, they went all in, with three produced in one year after the gap of three years. Because both Son of Frankenstein and The Invisible Man Returns were financial successes, they decided to (ahem) revive another of the franchises with The Mummy's Hand. In contrast to the other two, this film isn't a sequel, as the story is independent of the plot of The Mummy and names the title creature as Kharis (Tom Tyler), as opposed to the Imhotep of the original. Nevertheless, with the "modest budget" of this one, it reused footage from the original film, as well as lifting almost the entire score from Son of Frankenstein. As with the feeling of Bride of Frankenstein, the general atmosphere of the film was more of an adventure story than a horror story, with heroic archaeologists Steve Banning (Dick Foran) and Babe Jenson (Wallace Ford) presaging Indiana Jones in their attempt to uncover the past. Ford's role was more of comic relief in a Lou Costello style, which also draws this story away from the "classic" horror of the 30s. Without any "star" names like Lugosi's to attach, it's perhaps understandable why Universal low-balled their approach on this one. That includes evading union rules for the actors, as Peggy Moran, who plays Marta Solvani, complained that since she was under contract they could work her from 6 AM one day to 4 AM the next. One imagines she'd be staggering around like Kharis after that. This is the first film of the series that could be slotted under the "eminently forgettable" category, but it does have a couple points of interest, not least the direct attacks by the title creature, as opposed to the first film.

The Invisible Woman (1940)- Did I say "eminently forgettable"? Yeah. Not only was this the fourth film produced in 1940, but I didn't list it as one of the "horror" films produced because it's not. It's not a horror film. It's a quirky adventure film about a woman trying to escape the confines of her job and life status, although it's also more of an SF film than its predecessors because the process of turning invisible has gone from a serum to a device created by Professor Gibbs, played by John Barrymore who was at the age where he began having trouble memorizing his lines. The rest of the cast said that he came with no ego attached, despite knowing that the film wasn't going to be at the level of his normal stature. John Howard, playing Richard Russell, the wealthy sponsor of this invention, said that "no one took [the film] seriously" as a way of explaining Barrymore's lack of pretense. But that sentiment is also part of why the film is pretty bad. Virginia Bruce, who plays Kitty Carroll, the invisible woman in question, was even a stand-in for the actor that Universal had originally wanted. Everyone was just here for a paycheck, which is part of what the plot is about, as well, since Carroll, Russell, and Gibbs are all simply involved because someone is paying them or they want to make money. As seen above, the SFX, again by John P. Fulton, had definitely improved since Claude Rains had a harness on his head, but that's about the best thing that can be said about it. There was some concern about how risqué the film was, given that the invisible person is always supposedly nude during their scenes, since clothes don't turn invisible and, in this case, that person was a woman (Gasp!) There's no mention of the fact that Rains and Price were also nude because that was OK as they were actors, whereas women at this stage were still at least partially objects. So it goes.

The Wolf Man (1941)- As something of a rescue for this segment, we arrive at the film that most think of when it comes to the starting point of werewolves in popular culture, as well as the arrival of the last of the Big Names in Universal's horror lineup, Creighton Tull Chaney, better known today as Lon Chaney, Jr. His father, of course, had been the Man of a Thousand Faces in the silent film era, with his most famous outing being in Universal's 1925 version of The Phantom of the Opera. Creighton was discouraged from the show business life, as his father kind of detested it and didn't want that for his son. So Jr. waited until after his father's death in 1930 to begin acting. He didn't have a significant success until the film version of Of Mice and Men in 1939, at which point he changed his credit from "Lon Chaney, Jr." to "Lon Chaney" which he carried into the Universal horror films and which is how he's best remembered. But two other big Universal names are also present here in Claude Rains, playing the father of Chaney's character, Larry Talbot, and Bela Lugosi, in a small role as a Roma chieftain who first infects Larry with the disease/condition of lycanthropy. This film follows right in line with Werewolf of London in terms of the fictional folklore for the werewolf's appearance, including the need for wolfsbane to be in bloom for the transformation to happen. It's emphasized in a short poem that everyone in the film, regardless of origin or social status, seems to be familiar with, as it's constantly repeated. Makeup artist Jack Pierce became famous for the process of turning Chaney into the Wolf Man and, indeed, this was the process he'd developed for Werewolf of London only to be vetoed by the producer for making it too hard for the audience to tell that it was still Henry Hull under all the yak hair. Producer/director George Waggner had no such concerns in this film. Overall, it's a solid story that injects the kind of legendary status into the character that places it at the level of its more famous predecessors. In that vein, it also restores some of the Universal "horror" sensation that most associate with this series of films.

Next up, we're back to sequels with the return of Frankenstein's monster...

Universal Horror, part I: the foundation

I haven't posted here in a month for a number of reasons, one among them being that we let our membership at the Michigan Theater lapse, which I may have mentioned before, but also because I picked up a collection of Universal's horror films a while back, which is 30 of them (for $30) from the beginning of what they would now refer to as the "Dark Universe" (sigh...) to its last real high peak in the mid-50s and decided to watch one of them each day in the month of October because obvsly. I finished them last night (just in time for Halloween, appropriately) even though there were some days that I didn't have time to watch even one of these short-by-modern-perceptions films, but I achieved my goal and figured I'd give some general impressions of the set as a whole. I had seen over half of them prior to this month, as they were regular entries on some of the local TV stations in Detroit on shows like Sir Graves Ghastly and The Ghoul, but hadn't seen the rest of them because they were, largely, not very good. I'm going to list them the way I watched them, in production order, because I thought it'd be interesting to see how said production developed over the quarter-century that these films covered. At the very least, the first segment that I'll detail in this post are almost all considered to be horror classics but, as with most properties, it's kinda difficult to keep the quality going over so many years as most ideas simply run out of steam and should have a finite ending. But they keep coming back from the dead-! Anyway, I'm not going to go into extensive detail about them because that's been done in many other places already, so some of them will seem like they've been given short shrift (mostly in this first post) and others will probably be given more attention than they deserve...

Dracula (1931)- This is the kickoff and it's immediately understandable as to why it became part of the foundation of everything that followed (along with its compatriot in the next listing) as it's based on a classic work of Victorian-era literature and the visuals are among the most iconic of Hollywood history and not just horror history. Bela Lugosi, a bit player in film to this point but a regular on Broadway, established himself as a Hollywood star with the intense glares of the title character and his deep, resonant, "exotic" voice. As much as the other monster roles have changed hands not only within the Universal era but since then, there is no one who has made this role their own in the way that Lugosi did. His portrayal basically established the idea of who and what Count Dracula is and everyone else has paled (and not just because of their skin tone) in comparison. Another important factor is the set design and lighting, two concepts that weren't entirely understood or often emphasized in this era, but which heavily contributes to the end product here. Throughout the film, even when we're not in Castle Dracula, the sets (Russel Gausman, John Hoffman, Herman Rosse) and lighting (Frank Booth) maintain the presence of the dread that the other characters feel in the course of the story. This early period of film meant that, like Lugosi, a lot of the cast were coming from the theater, where people were trained to "act to the back rows" which means a number of instances of what modern audiences would consider "chewing scenery." Lugosi is no exception to this but, again, that performance laid the baseline for everyone after him, such that those taking a more restrained "modern" approach to his physical movement often seem like they're just pantomiming. And those elements of overacting play into the Victorian-era atmosphere of the original story and lend to the continued declaration of this film as a classic and not just of the horror genre.

Frankenstein (1931)- The other pillar on which all the rest stand, this film drips with elements that still resonate in modern productions, from the angst of the title character (Colin Clive as the doctor) to the literally explosive ending. Lugosi had originally wanted to play the now "Henry" Frankenstein (renamed because "Victor" supposedly sounded too "harsh" for American audiences) but producer Carl Laemmle (whose name shows up in many of these early films) wanted him to play the monster. Lugosi quit, which has been seen as a career-level error, but it allowed Boris Karloff and Clive to step into what are now considered their signature roles. Like Dracula, this film retained a lot of the gloom of Frankenstein castle, even when showing scenes not set in that building, likely because many of the uncredited names such as Herman Rosse (set design) and now John P. Fulton (special effects) were present on this film, as well. One of the most identified cultural icons of the film, the presence of the doctor's assistant, Igor, isn't even a reality here, as Dr. Frankenstein's assistant is instead named Fritz (played by the capable Dwight Frye.) The Igor character wouldn't be present until later in this series, even if his stereotypical role is played by others, as is the case here. The most interesting aspect to Karloff's performance is that the tenderness of the monster, shown most prominently when he accidentally drowns the young Maria (Marilyn Harris), was displayed in the scenes like that one that were most subject to state board of film censors in the US. It's hard to know whether Karloff's monster would have become the legend that it was if Universal had hesitated and allowed the censors to block the performance that became legendary because of the people who couldn't stand the name "Victor." This is also James Whale's first contribution to the series and his influence and sense of style has been a lasting one throughout its existence.

The Mummy (1932)- Like the absence of Igor in Frankenstein, one of the more hilarious aspects to the first of the Mummy films is that the title character, played again by Karloff, spends about three whole minutes as the bandage-wrapped monster and instead spends the rest of the film appearing as he does above, in the role of the priest, Imhotep. For the most part, there really is no mummy in The Mummy. As a result, this is a somewhat slower story than the previous two films, in that the monster of the title being absent tends to diminish the "horrific" aspects to it. Karloff spends a lot of time being a devious criminal in the modern era, but less time actually threatening people; instead trying to avoid them to enact his plans to resurrect his beloved princess. He does get some good "glare time", akin to Lugosi in Dracula, though, and makes good use of it. This film also intersects the present culture of that day and we begin to see some of the Dashing Hollywood Scientist elements that aren't present in the folk tales/literature of the previous two films. At one point, Helen Grosvenor (Zita Johann) bemoans the present-day Islamic Egypt in favor of the "classical" Egypt which isn't too far from the unintentional stance of many Egyptophiles today and kind of the baseline of this film, taking place shortly after a period when ancient Egypt (and stolen treasures of that period) were all the rage among the upper class (the Victorian era and then again in the 1920s.) Despite the cultural and film history underpinnings that this film created, I certainly wouldn't elevate it to the level that the previous two established if only because it was less about the concept of a man coming back to life and more about the attempts of that man to reach a utopia that he's not even certain can be achieved. That's definitely a more interesting story, but I think it needed to go one way or the other.

The Invisible Man (1933)- This film, OTOH, drops you right into the action. There is no preamble or setup as is present in the first three films of the series. We encounter the title character, played by Claude Rains, right at the start as he staggers through the snow toward a local inn, already beset/enabled by the transformation that is the heart of the plot. In this way, it mirrors the novel that is its source (written by H.G. Wells, the acknowledged "father" of modern science fiction) and the screenplay is probably stronger because of it. As with Frankenstein, the central threat is in many ways a tragedy, beset by circumstances beyond his control, but these circumstances were in Dr. Jack Griffin's control and his consequent behavior seems somewhere between mental instability caused by his situation and his general amoral outlook. Rains does excellently to toe that line and I've always found it kind of funny that this film launched his film career (he was already a leading man on Broadway and in the West End) when you can't see him for all but about 15 seconds of it. Certainly, it's more difficult to perform when you're never actually "on screen" or are wearing prostheses that hide your expression when you are (as above) but it wouldn't have been difficult for his face to show up on a movie poster afterwards as "the star" and for many to not know who he was. This is director James Whale's second effort in the series which likely explains the attachment to the sense of tragedy, even as we watch the perfidy that Griffin gets up to. It's not difficult to imagine that Whale might have appreciated the overall concept, being a gay man in Hollywood. I will say that his fondness for the screeching Una O'Connor as comic relief was something I've always had to endure rather than appreciate, but for the Invisible Man character being one of the less-appreciated of the (sigh) "Dark Universe", this is far and away one of its best films.

Bride of Frankenstein (1935)- The first spinoff! Both of Whale's previous entries were so good that the studio wanted him to be part of its continuance in the culture. The idea of "X of [monster]" was essentially set up with this film and would continue to be a trend/overworked idea/meme from that point forward. To the writers' (James Hurlbut and John L. Balderston) credit, they were smart enough to base their premise on a subplot of the original novel, in which the monster attempted to blackmail Frankenstein into creating a mate for him, so the story foundation is solid. To that end, Whale chose to begin the film with a prologue, showing Lord Byron and Percy Shelley badgering Mary into telling them the continuation of her original tale. Elsa Lanchester plays both Mary and the Bride in a nice casting touch. The only problem is that, for all that the film is titled 'Bride of Frankenstein', Lanchester gets about 5 whole minutes of screen time between the two roles. This is the film where Whale kind of steps off the "horrific" approach and begins to engage the "camp" side of the Universal Monsters concept. The story is less about atmosphere and more about process and the score is much more adventuresome than eerie, especially in the scenes where the local townspeople are present. It's less about the horror of the concept and more about the implied threat of the monsters to modern society (see also: every Godzilla sequel after the original Godzilla.) To that end, once again, Whale's attachment to O'Connor is... trying. In that respect, I bemoan the loss of the talented director but not his preferred stable of actors. From the perspective of how sequels might be more trivialized than the originals, in looking for identifying images, there's simply no other that can be used for this film than that of Lanchester's famous screen upon being confronted with her supposed mate. This is the film, despite the presence of returnees like Karloff and Clive. Does that make it a gimmick? Maybe. But I think much of the imagery present stands on its own, as well.

Werewolf of London (1935)- Wait! Not The Wolf Man? No. That film wouldn't emerge for a few more years and it was this one that would set the tone not only for lycanthropes in Universal's series, but also for Hollywood, in general. The concepts of bipedal wolf/man hybrids, changing under the full moon, and transmission of the disease/condition by bite were invented right here and are now considered bog-standard, despite having nothing to do with the original folklore. That's to the credit of writer, John Colton. OTOH, his story approach and director Stuart Walker's pacing did make it pretty reminiscent of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, a Paramount production from 1931, and for which this film was criticized at the time of its release. On the topic of alternate identities, it's interesting that the main "villain" role is taken by Warner Oland as Dr. Yagami, as Swedish actor who may have had enough Sámi in his origins to present enough of a stereotypically "Asian" look that he was routinely slated for Chinese roles in American films. An unfortunate parallel for him here is that he was a hardcore alcoholic which frequently led to erratic behavior during his career, so very "man deals with inner beast." The film is kinda slow and most of the moments of tension are fairly obvious, so it's not a real high point in the course of the series, but it's interesting enough to get the first look at Jack P. Pierce and Armand Triller's makeup effects (alongside John P. Fulton on SFX) that would be built upon by werewolf filmmakers from this point forward. Also, I challenge anyone in the vicinity of my age to not see this title and immediately begin hearing the piano introduction from Warren Zevon's most famous track.

I think that's a good stopping point, having introduced the five "archetypes" and the first sequel that would define the tenor of the series as a whole. Next up, another sequel in the form of Dracula's Daughter...

Batman: Mask of the Phantasm

Batman: Mask of the Phantasm is now heralded as the first film in the DC Animated Universe (since everything must have a label for marketing purposes.) The project was started as a direct-to-video idea and clearly drew directly from the angle on the mythos laid down by Batman: The Animated Series, not least because most of the regulars of the crew on BTAS (Bruce Timm, Paul Dini, et al) were the leaders on Mask, too. But when the series became a hit, both commercially and critically, Warner decided that they could really make a splash by releasing it in the theater. It was a big gamble and it didn't really pay off, since the audience for BTAS was dedicated, but film was a very different (ahem) universe to television back in the day and Mask failed to make its money back until it was later released on home video, as originally intended. What turning it into a production intended for the (literal) big screen also meant was that it had a target date and one sooner than most animated features work with. A typical two-year production process was reduced to eight months. That meant a lot fewer notes and input from the studio which, in the end, probably made it a better story, since Timm and Co. had much more control over what turns it would take.

Of course, they also kinda had it mapped out for them, since Mask, um, borrows from Mike W. Barr's Batman: Year Two extensively; right down to the appearance of the primary villain (The Reaper in Barr's story; The Phantasm in the film.) There was initially some pushback from the studio, but Barr pointed out the extraordinary similarities of both plotline and visuals and they eventually conceded the creative license that had been taken. Like Steve Engelhart, Barr received an initial payment. Unlike Steve, that was followed by royalties, since those were easier to identify in the case of a film release, as opposed to a single episode of a series (again, different formats, different function.) And, right from the outset, you can see the difference in production value from the TV series, as well. The opening sequence that takes us through the skyscrapers of Gotham City was entirely computer-generated, a very rare thing at that time which had exploded into the public mindset six months earlier with the release of Jurassic Park. But even in the regular course of the animation, it's immediately obvious that more frames are in use and more time and attention was poured into the artwork. To the enormous credit of primary screenwriter Alan Burnett, he avoided the typical origin story nonsense and simply used those elements of Year Two that drive the young Bruce Wayne into making some crucial decisions about just how he would carry out this personal (caped) crusade. Burnett was latter joined by Paul Dini, Martin Pasko, and Michael Reaves on script duties and there's some debate about whose decision it was to include the Batman's primary nemesis, the Clown Prince of Crime, not only in the plot of the film, but also as a way to show his deeper connection with his opposite number as young Bruce is just getting started. Burnett initially didn't want to include any of the regular rogues' gallery, precisely to avoid weakening the story with a marketing angle and including the Joker is a very obvious sop to regular audiences but weaving that story into the not-quite-an-origin plot also brings them closer together and heightens that deeper understanding between both characters and audience. It also gave Mark Hamill the chance to do the performance of a lifetime, unhindered by TV's "children's programming" censors. It's without question his best appearance in the role and that's saying quite a bit.

Speaking of that lack of censorship, you didn't even need the sharper edge to the Ace of Knaves to realize that this story was created with a mature audience in mind. Not only was both the violence and the effects of that violence (an often overlooked aspect to much of American media) more prominent, with the lasting wounds, visible blood spatter, and the Joker losing a tooth at one point, but there's also the even greater taboo of American sensors: implicit sex! Bruce Wayne and Andrea Beaumont (a very capable Dana Delany) are shown kissing for lengthy periods and, at one point, retire to Bruce's bedchamber only to later emerge with him wearing only pajama bottoms and her wearing only the shirt he had on when they went there. That, of course, lends itself to the presentation of more complex characters (People have sex!) and, thus, a more complex story. There was a limit, though, as although the best use of the Jokervenom in the BTAS sphere was present, as we see Councilman Arthur Reeves laughing hysterically and in obvious agony, but the script stops short of the end of most encounters with that substance in the comics (aka death.) There are also some deeper emotional angles explored, as we watch Bruce struggle not only with losing the love of his life, but also with the implications of holding on to her and abandoning the mission of vengeance he swore on the lives of his parents. There's a great reference to that when Alfred speaks of how "vengeance blackens the soul", which is what he feels happened to Andrea and what he feared would happen to Bruce, who instead tempered that rage with the concept of justice, even if it restrained him from doing what he'd really like to.

That's not to say that everything was positive from a writing angle. In Batman: Year Two, Barr didn't have to explain how The Reaper acquired the technology he uses. It's just comics and things are sometimes like that. But not only did Andrea, who declared her desire for vengeance based on the mob ruining her family and leading to her father's death, show up with a fancy gauntlet weapon while ostensibly "broke", but also the ability to dissolve into self-generated mist and reappear elsewhere. That's a superpower whether it comes from fancy tech or a radioactive spider. There's no origin story for that stuff, which is good because that breaks the narrative and forces exposition, but it's also something of a plot hole when the driving force for much of the plot is that personal motivation that has everything to do with money (that her father owed and that the mob extracted.) On a smaller level, I fail to see what the rationale was for the Joker rigging the entire park to explode in the final action sequence. Granted, asking for a "rationale" from that character is usually a pointless endeavor, but this just seemed to be kind of a ham-handed deus ex machina to add threat to a situation that otherwise wouldn't have had as much. The counterpoint to adding elements is also reducing them. Much was made in act 1 about The Batman being suspected of killing off the mob. That whole angle blew away in the breeze, despite all of the revelatory moments being very personal ones between Bruce and Andrea. In the TV series, there would at least have been a brief mention of this resolution in a final scene, however treacly. But those are pretty minor flaws for what is, in the end, a solid story and among the better DC films that I've seen, although that bar is not set particularly high. The entire production was done with a great sense of style and that's exemplified no better than in The Batman's final swing from a building ledge, cloak billowing us into darkness and the end credits.

Batman: TAS, episode #65: The Worry Men

The Worry Men was the last episode produced of the first season and it's an odd one in many ways. There are many indications that this was the end of a cycle and that perhaps the well of ideas was running a bit low. Right from the beginning, we're aware that this is going to be one of the less "serious" episodes, based on the appearance of Veronica Vreeland (Marilu Henner), who last appeared as kind of a pseudo-villain/distraction in Birds of a Feather which, of course, is a Penguin episode and so won't generally be of the highest caliber. That follows along here in that the primary opponent is the Mad Hatter (Roddy McDowall) who, despite being the primary figure in one of the best-written episodes of the entire series (Perchance to Dream), has always been a bit of a hackneyed character, more of an emblem of just how crazy The Batman's opponents can be, rather than a significant threat.

That holds true here, as the basic premise is a bit of a gimmick, with chip-laden "worry men" somehow hypnotizing Gotham's wealthy into handing over their money to the Hatter. To execute the plan, he recruited a Mayan shaman (Roger Rose), who appears to be the main opponent early on and presents as more of a villain-of-the-week situation, lurking about on rooftops and threatening the rich people at Ronnie's party. To writer Paul Dini's credit, the shaman does use traditional Mayan weaponry to take on our hero in the first act, although The Batman refers to him as a Mayan "witch doctor", which is not at all in line with the usual intelligence that we associate with our guy. Alfred also unwittingly becomes an accomplice to the Hatter's scheme when he places a worry man under Bruce's pillow out of good intentions (road to Hell and all that.) This is an interesting aspect to Alfred's character that took a large jump forward in the 1980s and in the era of the production of the animated series, rooted in the perception of The Batman expressing his mental health problems by dressing as a bat and hanging out on rooftops. Alfred, formerly a character of resolute obedience to Bruce/Batman, becomes a bit more cynical about the whole venture and expresses sincere concern about his employer's health, mental and physical, in the comics, in the films that would begin with Tim Burton's Batman, and in BTAS. This is one of those moments where it comes to the fore and is mildly frustrating because it seems a bit too obvious.

When we do finally encounter the Hatter directly, the episode becomes a bit of a Rogues' Gallery mishmash, as we we end up encountering the Penguin, the Riddler, Harley Quinn, and the Joker, even if all of them are simply automatons set up as deathtraps by the Hatter. We can clearly see the end of a production cycle here. We also get a healthy dose of villain monologuing as the Hatter explains his entire plot, including a flashback to meeting Ronnie somewhere in Central America. But it's obvious that this script was slightly on the short side, as we spend a significant amount of seconds spotlighting moments that really have nothing to do with atmosphere or story, but simply action, such as the Hatter backing into a room and looking in multiple directions for the approach of The Batman. It feels padded. In the end, the Hatter is defeated rather routinely and there seem to be no lessons or impact to draw from the story. On top of that, the visual distortion of the Hatter's character kind of stuck out to me here. His teeth were the most notable feature at all times. They're prominent in his original design, but here it was somewhat over the top. The only other really interesting point of the episode was the brief appearance of Levar Burton of Star Trek: The Next Generation fame, playing a wealthy financier friend of Ronnie and Bruce's named Hayden Sloane.

So, kind of a weak ending to the production schedule, but that's how these things work sometimes. I'm going to follow this with a bit of an interlude piece before moving on to a critique of Batman: Mask of the Phantasm.

Batman: TAS, episode #64: Read My Lips

I don't think John Wagner and Alan Grant get enough credit for their contributions to comics and The Batman in specific, when the two were a regular writing team. After all, Wagner is the co-creator (with Carlos Ezquerra) of the legendary Judge Dredd for 2000 AD. When he and Grant teamed up in the 80s, they continued their partnership in the latter stages of that decade in Detective Comics, often with pencils by Norm Breyfogle, for a single year, but in that period developed some lasting creations. The villain star of Read My Lips, The Ventriloquist, is probably the greatest. The entire concept of the simpering Ventriloquist (George Dzundza) being bossed around by his dummy, Scarface (George Dzundza), who needs the former to exist, but who utterly dominates him, even when not being held, is fascinating. Admittedly, I have something of a childhood fascination with ventriloquist's dummies, having stayed awake one night at the age of nine to watch Magic, with Anthony Hopkins, who has a similar problem with his own wooden companion. Another upside of this episode is the return of Joe R. Lansdale to do the script, whom we hadn't seen since Perchance to Dream. 

With an opponent going by the name of 'Scarface', Lansdale spares no effort to ramp up the pseudo-30s theme of the series to the nth degree, as we not only get the gangsteriffic score during the robbery and chase scenes, but are also treated to the spinning newspaper effect to announce the goings-on in the world, similar to the sequences in the 1960s Batman TV series. If you're going to engage the theme, fully engage it. We also get the not-often-used in BTAS gag of The Batman leaving a conversation with Commissioner Gordon before the latter can even finish a sentence. The opening robbery scene is extremely slick and well-timed, which is a credit to both Scarface and director Boyd Kirkland. Everything feels comfortable and like a well-made gangster flick, even down to the scene where The Batman has to deal with street-level thugs by interrogating Rhino (Earl Boen) for information to try to trail the thieves ("You're breakin' my heart, Rhino!") The fact that he found Rhino by watching the tape of a "home video enthusiast" only to notice a tattoo on Rhino's arm with an exclamation ("A tattoo-!") that made it sound like such a thing was wholly unusual among Gotham's criminals is something we can just let slide. That's especially in the wake of some of the other excellent dialogue, especially from Scarface ("I want yer opinion, dummy, I'll pull yer string!") and when yelling at the Ventriloquist ("Don't put words in my mouth!")

The visual storytelling is equally well done here. When our hero slips into Scarface's bedroom, cloak flowing in a similar manner to the curtains in the breeze, we get an excellent example of his familiarity with the Gotham rooftops. He doesn't move. He simply flows. It's also a nice moment when he's evidently startled by the eyes opening on the dummy that he expects to simply be the inanimate object that it should be. It's notable that he takes a moment to close those staring, piercing eyes before continuing his investigation of the scene. I did think it was odd that they didn't take a moment to indicate that the difference in voice patterns that our hero had recorded and played on the Batcomputer was still the same person. Perhaps it was to emphasize the difference, rather than highlight the split personality disorder? On the one hand, showing that it was still the same person with two voices is creepy, but perhaps having two voices that couldn't even be compared at a base level is even more jarring. Alfred pays compliment to Grant and Wagner again when he points out "You've had your share of odd opponents, Master Bruce, but this one takes the biscuit!"

It's that focus on sound that provides another highlight to this episode. I've already cited the good use of music (just like last time) but the sound execution is excellent all over, most notably in regard to Scarface. The constant sounds of his eyes moving within his head and knocking his own head in emphasis are fantastic in providing that note of substantiveness that underlies the bizarre nature of what's happening between the Ventriloquist and his dummy (or vice-versa.) But the visuals aren't slacking, either, as there's a great still panel of The Batman in shadow in front of the Ventriloquist while fighting with Scarface's thugs. This panel is surrounded by an unusual approach to the action sequences, in which the fights are frequently interrupted by extreme close-ups of both our hero and the opponents, instead of the establishing shots that we frequently see in these moments. It's a more elaborate presentation of the action than we usually see. Also, the absurdity of being suspended above a bunch of mannequin arms carved to have talons is just one of those odd things that would only come from a horror writer (similar to the publisher-required altered scene in Salem's Lot with knives driven through floor tiles, instead of rats.) Unfortunately, one of those visuals is the victim of an editing problem, as the elaborate trap of the theft of platinum from a ship is marred by showing Scarface's thugs not having entered said ship, but with platinum already stacked on their boat. But that's all capped off by an excellent final scene, once again, in Arkham even if it is fairly predictable.

OK. Next is the last episode of season 1, finally, after four years... but, really, it's no worries, men.

Batman: TAS, episode #63: Fire from Olympus

A lot of things go into creating an animated presentation. Like anything, it begins with the writing, but then also depends on the art style of the studio doing the work, the pacing set by the director (just how many frames to a scene, etc.), and the sounds of characters (voices), events/effects, and the music that accompanies some or all of it. BTAS was hailed for its opening theme and for much of the musical work that accompanied its moody depiction of The Batman. This episode, Fire from Olympus, is no different and is among the best soundtracks of the entire series. While we open with the traditional noirish approach of a shopkeeper who knows too much being cornered in an alley, the music soon takes us to the fantastical realm of Maxie Zeus (Steve Susskind), former Greek shipping magnate (just a bit too on the nose...) and now local crimelord who imagines himself the reincarnation of the greatest of the ancient Greek gods. We're transported from our street-level noir to much more of a Doc Savage-style adventure, with the music to go with it, telling us how majestic our environs are and how fantastical all of the action is, even as the artwork in the presentation of The Batman stays close to the Neal Adams-inspired concepts first seen back in 1968. Indeed, so dark is the presentation of our hero that Maxie regularly refers to him as "my brother, Lord Hades."

The fact that they stuck to Neal's approach on the character makes sense in this respect, since Maxie is a Denny O'Neil creation from 1979, albeit long after Adams had left the character. He's also one of the goofier villains of the Batman gallery, highlighted by his appearance during the execrable Bane stories as being freed from Arkham Asylum along with the rest of the gang and promptly running himself into a tree. I'm not quite certain whether O'Neil had a higher calling for the character in mind or if it was just one of those villains you drop in to fill an issue. That was my first reaction to this episode, as well, given what I knew of Maxie, but it ends up being one of the more interesting episodes of the whole first season. There are so many nice (and sometimes odd) touches scattered throughout it that it lives in the memory longer than many others. Speaking of memory, it has to be said that, if you know Greek mythology, it's an odd juxtaposition to hear Clio (Bess Armstrong) bemoan the loss of her romantic attachment to Maxie when the original Clio, one of the three Muses and daughter of Mnemosyne, goddess of memory, was also daughter of Zeus... Not that that kind of thing was unusual among the gods, of course. It's also amusing to hear Maxie's astonishment that The Batman is, in fact, not his brother since "Batman is a mere mortal! What mortal could ascend to Olympus?" That, of course, is the entire reason that our hero is the most enduring character of DC's stable, in that he is "just" a mortal, with no superpowers attached, but is still able to function in the world of the superpowered and usually come out ahead of them.

There are a fair number of great visual notes contained in this episode, as well. When Jim Gordon and The Batman are watching the classified film about the Electronic Discharge Cannon (forgetting for the moment why a police commissioner would have access to such a thing) and the weapon fires, we see our hero step back from the screen in obvious disgust at the creation of such a weapon. Likewise, when The Batman first leaves Maxie's presence under the watchful "eyes" of the harpies' cannons (forgetting also why these harpies (creatures with half-bird and half-woman bodies) look like gargoyles, rather than harpies), he gives a dramatic toss of his cloak as he turns, which is an unusual motion for our main character, but possibly appropriate when dealing with someone who considers himself a god. That unusual use of costume extends to multiple scenes where the cowl collar, normally kept high around his throat, extends halfway down his chest, often concealing the famous chest emblem. But, again, it's the music that really drives things forward, with the grandiloquent sounds proclaiming not only the majesty of (neo) Zeus but also the theme of action story that underlies everything here. The music guides us through this dramatic foray in a way that escapes Clio's cynical assessment of it, when she complains to The Batman about Maxie: "He's not living in the real world anymore. Maybe you can relate to that...?" On that note, we also get a police blimp(!) included in the action for one of only a few times in the series, regardless of what the opening credits and regular backgrounds repeatedly show us.

All of that said, it isn't without a couple faults. One of the main ones is in the course of the story, where Clio is captured by Stavros (Nicholas Savalas), one of Maxie's goons, in the elevator right before a commercial break. When we return to the top of the Olympus, we then see Clio casually strolling right through a clearly marked 'Exit' door, apparently untroubled by recent events. Also, it seems like they couldn't resist borrowing one of the most-remembered motifs from Clash of the Titans, which is the chessboard that the gods observe while us mere mortals (and The Batman!) act out our lives on the ground. If it was an homage, fine, but it seems like something clumsier than that. And the ending is a little awkward, in that Maxie finds himself imprisoned in that selfsame Arkham Asylum, while pointing out the resemblances of our other regular villains to various gods and goddesses that he would expect to see there. Except that all of them are in their usual clothing, rather than prison grays. Maybe that's just a creation of Maxie's overworked imagination, but it makes the conclusion feel a bit more trite than it otherwise would. But there's a last nice bit of tragedy as he declares: "Now, at last, mighty Zeus is home!"

Next, we meet one of the more interesting additions to the rogues' gallery from the late 80s, not too long before this series was created, in Read My Lips.