The Best Laid Plans of Not-So-Nice Madmen

We’re all waiting with bated breath as the world’s finest medical and scientific minds tirelessly work to come up with a vaccine for the coronavirus. When it happens, it will rank among humanity’s greatest medical achievements, right up there with Alexander Fleming’s discovery of penicillin and Jonas Salk’s polio vaccine.

The difference being that there will almost certainly not be an individual man or woman to point to as the latest hero of the 21st century (although no doubt some politicians will try to take credit). The complexity of the challenges and the resources needed to address them dictate that literal armies of brilliant minds work cooperatively and collectively, versus leaving it up to an eccentric lone wolf scientist burning the midnight oil in a secluded lab.

"It's okay doc, I'm feeling much better now... really I am!"

Society is deeply ambivalent when it comes to brilliant lone wolves. On the one hand, we say we cherish individualism, ambition and initiative, and yet also seem to be smugly satisfied when some modern-day Icarus flies too high and comes crashing back down to earth.

One of the purest expressions of that love-hate relationship is the B-movie mad scientist. Whether they’re busy stitching together body parts and animating them with life, or concocting serums that can turn human beings into mind-controlled zombies, there’s nothing more fascinating or more deserving of punishment than the mad doctor dabbling in things better left alone.

It seems as if we value intelligence up to a certain point -- then, when we’re confronted with extraordinary genius, we’re deeply suspicious that such a gift is a license to disregard the value of “normal” human life. The movies help us work out the conundrum and restore order to the universe, at least on celluloid.

The mad doctors and scientists profiled below -- represented by some of the greatest names in classic horror -- are all inheritors of the Frankenstein tradition of lonely brilliance, a tendency to flout society’s norms, and hubris bordering on a God-complex. They up the ante by being willing to experiment on live people; no digging up subjects from the local graveyard for them.

While the mad theories, serum formulas and lab equipment vary from film to film, some plot elements pop up time and again:

• A brilliant but highly eccentric scientist is denounced and/or ostracized by his colleagues for his mad theories
• Seething with resentment, he locks himself away in an isolated lab, often in a large, remote mansion, working round the clock to prove himself to the world
• To anyone who will listen, the scientist compares himself to the great thinkers of history who were misunderstood in their day
• An innocent woman -- a daughter, niece, sister or colleague -- initially stands by the beleaguered scientist, holding out a slim hope of redemption for him
• The scientist is not just content to prove his discredited theory, but has to exact revenge on his disbelieving colleagues, even those who still respect him but don’t understand his mad obsession
• A young man, the boyfriend or fiance of the scientist’s daughter/niece/colleague (and often a newspaper reporter), becomes suspicious and starts nosing around

Please note: Thanks to the amazing Embed-O-Magic process, the full-length movies shared on this page are queued to a clip illustrating each mad doctor’s peculiar modus operandi. If you want to see how he gets his just deserts for flouting the laws of humanity and Nature, you’ll have to watch the full movie.

The Man Who Changed His Mind (aka The Man Who Lived Again, 1936)

The Man: Dr. Laurience (Boris Karloff)

The Plan: Dr. Laurience is a brain specialist whose eccentric theories got him kicked out of the research institute he was working at in Genoa. Now on his own, Laurience hires brilliant neurosurgeon Clare Wyatt (Anna Lee) to assist him with his experiments.

Laurience claims that he can “take the thought content from the mind of a living animal and store it as you would store electricity.” This content can then be transferred to another living being. To Clare’s amazement, he exchanges the minds of two chimpanzees, one gentle, the other fearful and aggressive.

Against his better judgment, the doctor takes up the offer of Lord Haslewood (Frank Cellier), a newspaper mogul and patron of the sciences, to relocate his equipment and experiments to Haslewood’s institute.

When Laurience presents his theories to a distinguished group of colleagues and is promptly ridiculed as a fraud, Haslewood fires the doctor and tells him that all his equipment and notes are the mogul’s property to do with as he sees fit. Laurience decides on the spot that he has the means to make the rich blowhard change his mind…

Man Made Monster (1941)

The Man: Dr. Paul Rigas (Lionel Atwill)

The Plan: When Dan McCormick (Lon Chaney, Jr.) becomes headline news as the sole survivor of a bus crash into power lines that electrocuted 5 other passengers, electro-biologists Dr. John Lawrence (Samuel S. Hinds) and Dr. Paul Rigas (Atwill) offer Dan room and board on Lawrence’s sprawling estate if he will agree to let the doctors examine him to find out why he is so immune to electricity (yes Virginia, there really is a branch of science called electro-biology).

Lawrence has a normal scientific curiosity with regard to Dan, but Rigas sees the potential for so much more: “I believe that electricity is life, that men can be motivated and controlled by electrical impulse supplied by the radioactivities of the electron. That eventually, a race of superior men can be developed, men whose only wants are… electricity!”

Lawrence’s niece June (Ann Nagel) and her fiance, newspaper reporter Mark Adams (Frank Albertson) are leery of Rigas. Adams sums up his impression of the doctor: “I bet he spent his childhood sticking pins in butterflies.”

While Lawrence is away at a scientific conference, Rigas pumps poor Dan with higher and higher doses of electricity in an effort to create an electro-man obedient to his will. When Lawrence returns and finds out what Rigas is doing, the madman must silence his colleague…

The Mad Monster (1942)

The Man: Dr. Cameron (George Zucco)

The Plan: Cameron’s mad theory -- that you can pass on the characteristics of animals to humans via blood transfusions -- has gotten him denounced by his colleagues and dismissed from his prestigious academic post.

When he succeeds in transforming his simple-minded gardener Petro (Glenn Strange) into a wolf-man, he imagines bringing together all his critics for an “I told you so” session:

“Just picture gentlemen, an army of wolfmen, fearless, raging, every man a snarling animal! My serum will make it possible to unloose millions of such animal men, men who are governed by one collective thought -- the animal lust to kill without regard to personal safety. Such an army will be invincible!”

But Cameron is not satisfied to just deliver tongue-lashings in his daydreams. He devises a diabolical plan to get his chief rival, Professor Blaine (Robert Strange), alone in a room with Petro, and have Blaine himself inject the handyman with the serum that turns him into a mindless killer…

The Ape Man (1943)

The Man: Dr. James Brewster (Bela Lugosi)

The Plan: Brewster, a famous gland expert but a sloppy scientist, uses himself as a guinea pig in his experiments and ends up as a hairy, hunched over human-ape hybrid. With the help of his colleague Dr. Randall (Henry Hall) and his sister Agatha (Minerva Urecal), he stages his own disappearance and hides out in the cellar of the family manor, desperately seeking a cure for his condition.

There is one hope, but there’s a catch. Human spinal fluid might help him return to his normal self, but it has to be harvested from living bodies, meaning instant death for the donor. When Randall draws the line at killing people, Brewster explodes in a fit of self-pitying rage: “It’s my life against somebody else’s -- I don’t want to live the rest of my life this way, and I WON’T!”

When a wisecracking reporter (Wallace Ford) and his photographer (Louise Currie) start snooping around the manor, the pressure is on. Brewster, with the aid of his pet gorilla, takes matters into his own hands to secure the precious spinal fluid…

The Unearthly (1957)

The Man: Dr. Charles Conway (John Carradine)

The Plan: Conway runs a private sanatorium in the middle of nowhere, where a number of people, including the beautiful but vulnerable Grace Thomas (Allison Hayes), are convalescing. They’ve been referred to the sanatorium by a duplicitous crony of Conway’s, Dr. Wright (Roy Gordon), to become unwitting guinea pigs in Conway’s secret experiments with glands (there are those glands again!) None have any family members who will notice if they go missing. Lobo (Tor Johnson), a hulking giant with the mind of a child (and a product of Conway’s experiments), is on hand to make sure the “patients” stay put.

In his research on human glands, Conway has found a way to “control the flow of vitamins” to them in order to create giants like Lobo, but he has also created a new artificial gland that in theory is the key to eternal youth: “I can prolong life for thousands of years, perhaps forever! Think of it, to be always, exactly as you are now. Suppose you could wake up every morning and see your face untouched by time!”

But to prove his theories, he needs a “completely sound physical specimen, mentally and physically perfect!” He thinks he has such a specimen in Mark Houston (Myron Healey), a fugitive criminal that Lobo found lurking around the property, and whom Conway has blackmailed into sticking around.

In the meantime, Conway continues to experiment on the other patients who have been lured to the house of horrors…

Lions and tigers and Atwill, oh my!

Now Playing: Murders in the Zoo (1933)

Pros: Lionel Atwill is pitch-perfect as the quietly menacing villain; Shock scenes keep the viewer off balance; Kathleen Burke is captivating
Cons: Charlie Ruggles quickly becomes tiresome in his comic relief role

Did you hear the one about the Chinese zoo officials who tried to pass off a dog, a large Tibetan mastiff, as a lion? Apparently they got away with it for awhile until the "lion" started barking at the zoo visitors.  The official explanation was that the real lion had been temporarily sent off to another facility to breed. Apparently it didn't occur to them to put up a sign. Although, switcheroos like this have apparently been a common practice. The same zoo people placed a white fox in a leopard den and another dog in the wolf enclosure. (To be fair, the Tibetan mastiff is a spectacular-looking animal. I'd never seen one, even in photographs, before reading the article. It might just be worth a couple of bucks to see one up close.)

I was tempted to think that this was all a big put-on, that the zoo officials were just having some fun and the visitors were being spoilsports. But then it occurred to me that there has never been an official or bureaucrat in the history of the human race that had anything that could remotely be called a sense of humor. That is exactly why they get put in charge of things -- someone has to pretend to be the adult while the rest of us are lobbing spitballs and running with scissors. So how to explain such a lame charade?

The Tibetan Mastiff is a magnificent-looking beast.

I can't speak to China, but its seems that in this country, officials at every level harbor a deep, abiding disrespect for the intelligence of the common folk. Magnificent, meretricious b*st*rds like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Anthony Wiener dare the commoners not to vote for them. And in between marathon viewings of The Kardashians and Honey Boo Boo, we fall for these con artists (almost) every time. Passing a dog off as a lion is kids' stuff compared to the epic cons that are run every day in the good ol' US of A.

Murders in the Zoo features a.) a zoo (duh!), and b.) a con of sorts on the part of one of the characters, but in this case the dishonesty is just the tip of a jealous, raging psychotic iceberg…

The film opens in an especially gruesome fashion -- so much so, you may wonder how it could be an American movie of the 1930s. (It's important to note that it was released by Paramount in Hollywood's pre-Code days, before the Motion Picture Production Code -- devised by chief censor Will H. Hays and others with 19th century Victorian sensibilities -- went into practical effect. The Code aimed to protect innocent moviegoers from scenes just like this and other Very Bad Things.) After establishing the setting as the jungles of French Indo-China (later to become Vietnam), we see a couple of native men holding the legs of a man struggling on the ground, while another older man (Eric Gorman, played by Lionel Atwill), is positioned at the victim's head, furiously working his arms up and down. A native and some conveniently placed vegetation in the foreground screens most of what is going on, but it doesn't look good.

As he finishes up and observes his work, Gorman blithely observes, "he'll never lie to a friend again… or kiss another man's wife!" After Gorman and his henchmen leave, the man, his hands bound, struggles up, and we see to our horror that Gorman has been practicing his cross-stitching-- on the poor man's mouth! Back at camp, when Gorman's wife Evelyn (Kathleen Burke) wonders where Bob Taylor is, Gorman tells her that he ventured out on his own. "Well what did he say?" she asks. "He didn't say anything," Gorman responds, barely suppressing the faintest of evil smiles.

Millionaire sportsman Eric Gorman (Lionel Atwill) looks very much
in his element surrounded by wild animals of every description.

On board the ship bound for home, we learn that Eric Gorman is a millionaire "sportsman" who has collected a menagerie of wild animals for the Municipal Zoo. He may be good at capturing animals, but he's not so good at capturing young women's hearts -- Evelyn seems to gravitate to just about anything wearing pants except her creepy husband (and who can blame her?). First she gets poor Bob killed, then, on the ship, she meets secretly with debonair young Roger Hewitt (John Lodge), who's also wealthy, but better yet, not psychotically jealous. Hewitt tries to convince Evelyn to leave the madman, but she is justly afraid… very afraid.

When the ship arrives in port, the zoo's new press agent Peter Yates (Charles "Charlie" Ruggles) is dispatched to meet Gorman and the zoo's latest acquisitions. Peter apparently has a problem with the bottle, and has gotten himself fired from every newsroom in town-- the zoo press agent gig is his last chance. He also is afraid of his own shadow. So naturally much of the film -- way too much -- is devoted to Yates' not-so-hilarious encounters with a varied assortment of wild things. (We also have to forgive the filmmakers and moviegoers of the era for thinking that alcoholism was something of a hoot.)

Along the way we also meet the zoo's resident toxicologist, Dr. Jack Woodford (Randolph Scott) and his assistant (and naturally his fiancee), Jerry Evans (Gail Patrick). Gorman introduces Woodford to one of his acquisitions from India, a new, deadly species of green Mamba snake, telling him that it's responsible for hundreds of deaths a year. Woodford good-naturedly takes on the assignment of finding an antidote for the venom (which will save his life later).

Randolph Scott looks a bit out of his element surrounded
by lab equipment. Where's the cowboy hat?

After inspecting Gorman's menagerie, the zoo curator Dr. Evans (Harry Beresford) expresses his concern that due to recent budget cuts, the zoo doesn't have the resources to take them all. Bumbling but good-hearted Yates proposes that they hold a fund-raising dinner for generous society types-- to be held right in the zoo among all the lions and tigers and bears. After a brief pause, the curator and Gorman pronounce it a splendid idea-- Gorman in particular is very keen on it, so we know he's up to no good.

Gorman makes a special trip to Hewitt's penthouse apartment to persuade the young millionaire to come to the fundraiser and help out the zoo. While he's talking with Hewitt, he sees lipstick on a glass on the coffee table, confirming his suspicions that his wife is seeing the young man. Hewitt will pay for his indiscretions--- bwwwaaahahahahahahahha!!!

And pay he does. At the gala affair, held appropriately enough in the carnivore house, the cream of the city's financial elite gathers to partake of a sumptuous banquet amidst the caged big cats and other assorted beasts. Yates rises to make his clumsy opening remarks, trying desperately to get the bored newspapermen in attendance to take photos. In the middle of his speech, Hewitt yells, then drops to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. It looks like he's been bitten, but by what? The staff quickly discover that the green mamba is not in its box, and all hell breaks loose as the society guests scramble for the exits.

Evelyn (Kathleen Burke) is bummed by the death of her
lover. (Actor John Lodge would ultimately recover and
become a congressman and governor of Connecticut.)

For Evelyn Gorman, her lover's death by escaped mamba is just a bit too convenient. Alone with Gorman, she accuses him outright of killing Hewitt. "Evelyn!" he protests, "you don't think I sat there all evening with an eight foot mamba in my pocket, do you?" (Freud help us! As we see later, it wasn't the mamba, but rather a mechanical, pocket-sized snake's head devised to inject venom through needle fangs.)

While Dr. Woodford, who wasn't born yesterday, is pondering why the spread of the puncture wounds in Hewitt's leg don't match the fang spread of the real mamba, Evelyn decides she can't wait any longer-- in the dead of night she hurries to Woodford's lab on the zoo grounds to tell him her suspicions. Gorman follows and intercepts her on the quaint wooden bridge that spans -- of all things -- the zoo's alligator pit (where is OSHA when you need 'em?). His efforts to placate her are to no avail. It looks like the alligators might just get an unexpected midnight snack… Before it's all over, Woodford gets to test his new mamba venom antidote on himself, and a desperate Gorman really gets in touch with his wild side by releasing all his animal friends from their cages.

In my last post on Dead Men Walk (1943), I related how that film, with its leisurely pace and action taking place off screen, seemed to be about 10 years behind its time. Murders in the Zoo seems vastly ahead of its time, and perhaps from a different universe altogether. For the gore hounds, it's got that unforgettable opening shock scene. It dispenses with the traditional whodunnit mystery, choosing instead to let us know right upfront how psychotic Gorman really is. Instead of wondering whodunnit, we wonder who he's going to do next and how. It unsentimentally takes the most beautiful and sympathetic character (Kathleen Burke, who the year before had been the Panther Woman on Island of Lost Souls) and literally feeds her to the alligators. And it features some of the more uncomfortable "strange" lust scenes between a husband and wife you're likely to see.

Kathleen Burke seems to be pondering how she got stuck
in the second depressing horror film in as many years.

Murders in the Zoo does make some concessions to its decade. The most egregious is the presence of character actor Charles Ruggles in an unfortunate comic relief (or should I say grief?) role. Charlie must be in about 2/3 of the movie's 62 minute runtime, bumbling around, stammering and getting spooked by the zoo's inhabitants at every turn. Like Jerry Lewis, a little of Charlie goes a long way. A scene or two of his shtick might have been acceptable, but he's so ubiquitous in this thing, he's given top billing! Charlie would go on to bigger and more popular films like Ruggles of Red Gap (1935, with Charles Laughton) and Bringing Up Baby (1938 with Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant), but in Murders he kills the menacing mood and suspense at every turn.

Ruggles does have at least one good moment. After the disastrous banquet, he's enlisted by the curator to help clean out the animal cages. As he's moving some straw around, he looks down and realizes the escaped deadly green mamba is trapped under his pitchfork. Paralyzed with fear, he yells for help. After the mamba is recaptured, he still seems unable to move.

Jerry Evans: Peter, Peter, listen to me! Say something to me!
Yates: Is there a good laundry in this town?

Hey, who let the Tibetan Mastiffs out?
Wait, those are lions! Run!!!

But of course, the real morbid attraction of Murders in the Zoo is the slimy, psycho presence of Lionel Atwill. He cavalierly dispatches perceived rivals for Evelyn's affections, while reserving his most passionate intensity for clumsy attempts to woo back the woman who's come to loathe him. In an early scene with Ruggles in the hold of the ship, surrounded by caged beasts, he sums up his philosophy of the jungle:

Gorman: Mr. Yates, never be afraid of a wild animal. If you leave them alone, they'll leave you alone-- that's more than you can say of most humans.
Yates: You don't mean to say you really like these beasts?
Gorman: I love them. Their honesty, their simplicity, their primitive emotions… they love, they hate, they kill.

Eric Gorman is faithful to his philosophy through the entire film -- he loves, he hates, he kills. In his book Hollywood's Maddest Doctors: A Biography of Lionel Atwill, Colin Clive and George Zucco (Luminary Press, 1998), Gregory William Mank suggests that the real Atwill was not all that different from the villains he portrayed (or at least that's what he wanted his public to think). Mank quotes liberally from an interview Atwill gave to Motion Picture magazine around the time of Murders in the Zoo. Atwill sounds like he's channeling Eric Gorman as he tells the reporter about his home life:

"My wife tells me that I am cruel -- that I have a streak of cruelty. And what do I do when I am cruel? Nothing. NOTHING! To do nothing is the most blood-curdling, most demoniacal form of cruelty there is. Because it is mental cruelty… And so, I do nothing when I am being cruel. I am cold. I am silent."

Is he acting, or is this the real Lionel Atwill?
Who cares? Enjoy the show!

Later in the early '40s, Atwill's eccentricities would get him in hot water. An orgy held at his home resulted in sensational rape charges. Mank details how Atwill bribed friends into lying to the grand jury. He plead guilty to perjury charges, but a loophole in the law allowed him to withdraw his plea and he was ultimately exonerated by a lenient judge. However, by the beginning of 1943 the disgraced actor was finding it hard to get work except in ultra-low budget Poverty Row studio films. He died on April 22, 1946, at the age of 61.

Whatever you think of his personal life, Atwill -- one of the best B movie villains ever -- gives one of his most masterful performances in an unusual horror-thriller that managed to test boundaries right before Will Hays and his gang stepped in and killed all the fun. Fortunately, a very nice print is available from TCM's Universal Cult Horror Collection.

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Where to find it:

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"He'll never lie to a friend again… or kiss another man's wife!" WARNING: Contains graphic depiction of cross-stitching!

Countdown to Halloween: 13 Classic Fright Flicks

Have you noticed that big box retailers don't even wait for the end of October to start stocking Christmas goodies? One aisle over from the fake headstones, foam rubber bats and plastic skeletons at my local Target store is an advance guard of Christmas lights, ornaments and wreaths, waiting to take over and shove the Halloween stuff into the sale bins the moment the clock strikes midnight, November 1.

As much as I appreciate the winter holidays, they need to wait their turn. This is the season of big ol' full moons, howling dogs, leaves blowing in the wind, Halloween, and of course, horror movies. If Christmas can have twelve days, then I think it's only right that Halloween gets thirteen frightful nights. And what better way to celebrate than with a nice, cozy horror film each night?

So, for the next thirteen nights, I'll be using this blog to let you know what I'm watching. We all have our favorites that we like to dust off and pop in the DVD player this time of year -- use the comment box or send me a note about what you prefer to watch as the night wind whistles through the eaves and the dogs howl outside.

#13: Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933)

HAlloween MoVie rating:
Perfectly Ghoulish

In 1921 London, brilliant sculptor and wax museum proprietor Ivan Igor (Lionel Atwill) learns to his delight that his wax figures of Joan of Arc and Marie Antoinette have so impressed an influential art critic, that the critic intends to submit Igor's work to the Royal Academy of Art. His dreams are short-lived, however, as that very night his disgruntled business backer tells him that they're completely broke -- the public seems to prefer the morbid exhibits of Jack the Ripper and other notorious murderers at a rival museum. He tells the startled artist that the only way they can recover the money they've lost is to burn the museum down and claim the insurance. Igor tries to stop the desperate businessman from lighting the place up, but after a bitter struggle, he ends up dazed, watching his beloved figures melt in the conflagration.

Flash ahead 12 years, to 1933 New York. In the midst of a raucous New Year's celebration, the body of socialite model Joan Gale (Monica Bannister) is carted off to the morgue, an apparent suicide. Wisecracking, fast talking female reporter Florence Dempsey (Glenda Farrell) is desperate for a story, as her editor (Frank McHugh) keeps threatening to fire her if she doesn't come up with something newsworthy. On a visit to police headquarters, she gets a tip that Gale may have been murdered by her wealthy playboy boyfriend George Winton (Gavin Gordon). Things really look suspicious when Gale's body is reported missing by the morgue attendants. Florence has her scoop. Visiting Winton in lock-up, she begins to believe he's innocent. Then there's the fact that 8 other bodies have gone missing in the city in the last 18 months.

Winton is released for lack of evidence. In the meantime, Florence accompanies her roommate Charlotte (Fay Wray) to the new "London Wax Museum," where her fiance Ralph works as a sculptor. The museum is being readied for its grand opening. Nosy Florence slips into the building as Charlotte and Ralph talk. She takes a long look at the main attraction, an amazingly lifelike Joan of Arc, who also happens to look amazingly like the recently deceased Joan Gale. The museum is run by Igor, now bound to a wheelchair, with horribly burned hands and legs. He employs the bedraggled, drug-addicted Professor Darcy (Arthur Edmund Carewe), and Hugo, a sinister deaf-mute (Matthew Betz).

As Igor confronts Florence and shows her the door, he spots roommate Charlotte, who is the very embodiment of the cherished Marie Antoinette figure he lost in the London fire. Entranced with Charlotte, Igor is oblivious to Florence, who does some more snooping. She discovers Joan Gale's morgue tag near the Joan of Arc figure. As she grabs Charlotte to leave the museum, she blithely tells Igor, "So long Pops, see you in jail!"

Later that night at the museum opening, Florence enlists Winton to help her follow Darcy, who she suspects is somehow tied in with the morgue theft. Following him into a dark building, she finds a long box -- just the size to contain a body -- down in the cellar. She hides as a hideously scarred man in black comes down the cellar steps and starts dragging the box. The man hears footsteps and quickly steals away. She summons the police, some of whom take off after Darcy as he tries to run away, with the others accompanying Florence to the cellar to examine the contents of the box. They discover that it's filled with illegal liquor-- the building is home to a bootlegging operation, run by none other than Igor's old nefarious business partner. The police capture Darcy who apparently works for both the museum and the bootlegger.

As the police search and interrogate Darcy, they find the engraved watch of judge who had gone missing some time before. Florence has yet another scoop as Darcy, and his employer Igor, are now connected with a second disappearance. Desperate for a fix, Darcy gives it up, telling the police that the new wax museum is in reality a morgue itself, with the wax-covered bodies of Joan Gale, the judge, and others serving as "lifelike" attractions.

The crazed Igor promises Charlotte immortality.

Meanwhile, Charlotte, looking for fiance Ralph at the museum, instead finds creepy Igor. The old man, entranced with his "Marie Antoinette," gets up out of his wheelchair-- obviously not quite as crippled as he let on. He stalks her, then corners her, promising her immortality as an exhibit in his museum…

Directed by Warner Bros. master craftsman Michael Curtiz (who would later win an Oscar for Casablanca), Mystery of the Wax Museum is a lively, if somewhat jarring, mix of wise-cracking reporters, spooky wax figures (some portrayed by live, but very still, actors), and shadowy, expressionistic sets. Employing top talent in every department, it's a true mystery-thriller-horror classic of the 1930s.

Key player: Lionel Atwill, playing a literal two-faced villain in Mystery, fancied himself a sort of Jekyll and Hyde type. In a 1933 interview with Motion Picture magazine, he had this to say about his dual nature: "See, one side of my face is gentle and kind, incapable of anything but love of my fellow man. The other side, the other profile, is cruel and predatory and evil, incapable of anything but the lusts and dark passions. It all depends on which side of my face is turned toward you -- or the camera. It all depends on which side faces the moon at the ebb of the tide." (Paul Meehan, Horror Noir: Where Cinema's Dark Sisters Meet, McFarland, 2011)

Frightful Factoid #1: Mystery was the last major studio movie to be released in the two-color Technicolor process (red and green dyes were combined to produce a limited color spectrum). Three-color Technicolor had already been introduced in 1932, and audiences were clearly not enamored with the more primitive technology. (Wikipedia, Mystery of the Wax Museum)

Frightful Factoid #2: After two-color Technicolor became defunct, many studios threw away the negatives of the obsolete films. Mystery was thought to be a casualty of this policy and a lost film until 1970, when a good 35mm print was found in Jack Warner's personal vault on the Warner Bros. lot. (Wikipedia)

Horrifying Health Care

Night Monster (1942)

Several weeks ago I was joking with a co-worker that my pets (3 dogs and 3 cats) enjoy far better health care than I do: I can always get them an appointment within a day or two; the office wait time is minimal; and the vets and the techs are always smiling and giving the critters lots of love and attention. I, on the other hand, sometimes wait weeks for an appointment, and when I do get there… well, let's just say I've gained a wealth of knowledge about not-so-current events and sports from thumbing through dog-eared magazines in the waiting (and waiting, and waiting) room.

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be wealthy enough to afford the kind of lavish attention that my animals get-- cheerful, top-notch professionals who have all the time in the world to listen to your complaints, empathize, and do something about them. Of course, money doesn't always buy happiness, or even competent doctors-- Michael Jackson being a recent spectacular example.

Night Monster's wealthy recluse Kurt Ingston (Ralph Morgan) seems to have been similarly cursed with incompetent medical help, leaving him a bedridden quadriplegic. The film opens on an ominous note, as Ingston's anxious sister Margaret (Fay Helm) confronts the housekeeper (Doris Lloyd) hunched over on the main stairs of the family mansion. It appears-- at least to Margaret-- that the housekeeper is mopping up blood. The housekeeper, whose attempt at a poker face is a clear failure, dismisses the idea as ridiculous, but Margaret is having none of it:  "Blood-- the whole house reeks of it. The air is charged with death and hatred and something that's unclean!"  She knows what she's seen, but the staff of Ingston Towers seem intent on trying to convince her that she's just suffering from nervous exhaustion… or insanity.

If Margaret Ingston is insane, then Milly the maid (Janet Shaw) is too, because she's become so spooked that she's quit her job and tried unsuccessfully to get the local constable to investigate all the "funny business" going on at the Towers. The body of the local doctor has recently been discovered in the nearby slough. The locals (including Milly) are full of stories about a deadly thing that walks the fog-covered grounds at night-- and when it walks, all the frogs in the slough become deathly silent. After having words with the imperious head butler (Bela Lugosi), Milly heads out to the village to find help in moving out. Her big mistake is going back for her things-- trapped in the malignant mansion after dark without a ride, she sets out on foot-- and promptly the frogs stop croaking…

At this point, so many visitors start arriving at the Towers that it's hard to tell all the players apart without a scorecard. Dr. Lynn Harper (Irene Hervey), a psychiatrist summoned by the anxious Margaret, has car trouble just outside the estate and is picked up by Dick Baldwin (Don Porter), a mystery writer and neighbor of the Ingstons.  Meanwhile, three doctors -- King (Lionel Atwill), Phipps (Francis Pierlot) and Timmons (Frank Reicher)  -- arrive at the nearby train station. They presided over the botched operation that left Ingston without functioning arms or legs, but have been invited out to the mansion by the apparently forgiving millionaire, who promises that he will soon make "a major contribution to medical science." King is a puffed-up twit who refuses to admit that they catastrophically failed their wealthy patient; Phipps can talk about nothing but glands-- only Timmons seems truly remorseful and sensitive to the limitations of medical science. That night at dinner, the wheelchair-bound Ingston reassures Timmons and his colleagues that "you did all that medical science could do for me. You know, I don't think you've ever been properly rewarded… but you will be…"

Ingston introduces the doctors and the other guests to Agor Singh (Nils Asther), an eastern mentalist / Yogi who has been living at the Towers for some time. Intelligent, soft-spoken and urbane, Singh is a distinct contrast to the three bickering stooges of the traditional medical establishment.  The impish Ingston seems to positively revel in the doctors' discomfort as he talks about the arcane methods he has learned from Singh to allow a man to grow new tissues at will. The arrogant Dr. King stalks off, muttering that he doesn't have time to watch "the cheap sideshow tricks of a charlatan." But the rest of the dinner party is treated to an amazing demonstration of Singh's power to tap into universal "vibrations" and materialize objects with just the power of his mind. After the spooky demonstration, there is no doubt that the incompetent doctors (even the remorseful Timmons) will soon be getting their just rewards…

As the doctors come to their "rewards" one by one in the gloomy mansion, Dick and Lynn (along with crusty, homespun constable Beggs played by Robert Homans) go into super-sleuth mode, breaking into locked rooms and puzzling over blood spots that don't appear to be from the victims. Late into the proceedings, Margaret insists to Dick and Lynn that her brother Kurt is behind the killings-- he's been brooding over his crippled condition to the point of insanity, and has lured the doctors to the Towers to punish them for their incompetence. Figuring that he's been faking paralysis, Dick convinces the constable to confront the master of the house, only to discover that Ingston has been covering up the fact that he has no legs!  But then, maybe, just maybe, this Eastern-mystic notion of mind over matter isn't so crazy after all.

Bela does his patented arched eyebrow.

Night Monster is a neat little B thriller in the "old dark house" tradition with some memorable twists and a very competent cast. Although Bela Lugosi is top-billed, he's completely wasted as the head butler who has little more to do than knit his brows, roll his eyes, and occasionally stare malevolently at the other players. Ralph Morgan (brother of "Wizard of Oz" Frank Morgan) is by turns ingratiating and sinister as he manipulates the flustered doctors like a cat playing with three cornered mice. Morgan lent his talents to several other mystery-horrors in the '40s, including Weird Woman (1944; with Lon Chaney Jr.), The Monster Maker (1944), and The Monster and the Ape (1945). Lionel Atwill is his usual screen-chewing self as the pompous Dr. King-- unfortunately he gets bumped off early (the screenwriter should have saved the best for last). Fay Helm (Margaret Ingston) had been victimized by The Wolf Man (1941) just a year before Night Monster. She appeared in a couple of dozen more programmers through the mid-1940s, including a Universal Inner Sanctum mystery with Lon Chaney Jr. (Calling Dr. Death, 1943) and the top-notch film noir Phantom Lady (1944). Baby-boomers may recognize Ingston's randy chauffeur played by a very young Leif Erikson. Erikson was a major presence on TV through the 1970s (especially in westerns), appearing in such series as The Virginian (1964-65) and The High Chaparral (1967-71).

Although it drags in places, Night Monster is a very effective and very dark B programmer. Charles Van Enger's superb cinematography and Ford Beebe's assured direction enhance some very chilling moments. Dr. Timmon's demise is particularly notable-- as he cowers in a darkened corner of his massive bedroom, a menacing shadow first covers half of his quivering form, then envelops him completely as the thing casting the shadow runs full speed at him. No less a film titan than Alfred Hitchcock is said to have admired Night Monster. Director Beebe recalled Night Monster with some fondness (quoted in Richard Borjarski's The Complete Films of Bela Lugosi):

Though it was a 'quickie,' I always was kind of proud of it. Hitchcock, who was also making a picture on the lot, screened a rough cut because he was interested in Janet Shaw for a part in his film, and was impressed with Night Monster and seemed to think it was a much more important picture than the studio thought. He couldn't believe the picture was shot in 11 days.

Night Monster is available on DVD as part of the excellent Universal Horror Classic Movie Archive set.

"There's a lot of funny business going on out here that you oughta look into before it's too late!"

Red Herrings and Blue Rooms

Secret of the Blue Room (1933)

By about the age of 12, I'd seen all the classic '30s and '40s Universal monster films -- Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolfman, the Phantom of the Opera, and all the variations -- Sons, Daughters, Houses of…, etc. -- some of them multiple times. This was in no small part due to two great, late night shows in the central Iowa broadcast area during the 60's (and of course the indulgence of my ever-suffering parents in allowing their two young sons to stay up for the weekend fright fests). The one on Friday nights out of a Des Moines station (the show's name escapes me) tended to feature low-budget sci-fi of the '50s and early '60s. But the really special night was Saturday, when WOI-TV in Ames broadcast their local horror-host offering, Gravesend Manor. The show featured a whole repertory company of zany, gothic characters in costumes and makeup that only a local broadcaster could get away with.

Manor residents/regulars included Malcolm, the stodgy butler whose shaved head was years ahead of its time; his mute, simian-like assistant Claude; the Count, a poor man's vampire with a wildly-over-the top wig and makeup; and Esmerelda, who looked like Popeye in drag after getting mauled by a pack of wolves. Every Saturday night my brother and I would plop ourselves down in front of the old black-and-white in the basement and watch the antics of the Manor crew between acts of the classic monster flicks.

In addition to the campy skits, Gravesend Manor featured the Screen Gems "Shock" television offerings, with a generous helping of the classic Universal monsters. We'd know it was a special night when the vintage Universal plane sputtered around the lit-up globe right before the title credits. One of the first non-monster Universal flicks of the '30s to really grab my attention was Secret of the Blue Room. I remember as a 10 year old being spooked by the tolling clocks, menacing shadows, and hands poking out from secret passageways in this 1933 thriller. 45 years later, I was able to obtain a DVD copy of Secret from the ever reliable Sinister Cinema to see just how well this old, dark tale had held up.

It's a rare film that can survive a second screening so many years later with the magic intact. Secret is no exception-- the uninspired plot meanders around a bunch of stale tricks and back-lot set pieces, making its 66 minutes seem much longer. Even for someone respectful and appreciative of genre film history, B movies of the '30s can be frustrating to watch. Geniuses like James Whale overcame the primitive technologies and techniques with a singular vision that resulted in rare art like Bride of Frankenstein. More often, second tier, poverty-row studio directors dutifully cranked out movie after movie with stage bound shots, glacial editing, acting that would make the most amateurish community ham blush, and endlessly recycled sets. The point of course was to get the product out fast and cheaply.

Secret certainly exemplifies the fast-and-cheap school of filmmaking, and yet, for all its failings, I was still happy to get reacquainted with this old friend. Secret starts out with a shot of an improbably large, gloomy castle, with the requisite dark clouds massed over it and wind howling through its towers. Inside, heiress Irene Von Helldorf (Gloria Stuart) is celebrating her 21st birthday with her father Robert (Lionel Atwill), and three suitors. The idea of inviting three competitors for your hand and no one else to your coming-of-age party establishes a kind of decadent, surrealist atmosphere right upfront. The weird tableau seems like a gothic take on Goldilocks and the Three Bears. One suitor -- Tommy Brandt (William Janney) is too callow and young; one, Capt. Walter Brink (Paul Lukas) is too old and jaded; and one, newspaperman Frank Faber (Onslow Stevens) seems just right.

Brash Tommy takes advantage of a lull in the party to corner Irene and profess his love and propose marriage. To his dismay, a wisely skeptical Irene rebuffs him. As the wind howls outside and an antique clock chimes midnight, the subject of the castle and its strange history comes up. Tommy encourages patriarch Robert to expound on the deadly history of the castle's Blue Room. At first insisting that it's nothing, Robert relents and somberly relates the story of how in quick succession, three people who stayed in the room died under mysterious circumstances:  first Von Helldorf's sister apparently jumped from a window and her body was found in the moat below; another visitor was shot to death; and a third was found in the morning lying dead on the floor, his face twisted with terror. In all three cases, the room was locked from the inside. Strangely, the tragedies all happened on or around 1 a.m. After the tragedies, the room was sealed up.

Tommy, apparently trying to impress Irene, proposes to his two rivals that each of them spend a night in the dreaded Blue Room. Not wanting to lose face in front of Irene, Walter and Frank agree. Tommy is the first, and in the morning, the guests find the room empty and a window open-- poor Tommy seems to have met the same fate as Von Helldorf's sister years before! Journalist Frank insists that he must keep his end of the bargain, and is the next to stay the night in the room. He assures everyone that he'll be alright, cheerfully playing a piano as the clock nears 1 a.m. As the clock strikes, a shot rings out, and horrified house guests rush up to the room to find Frank dead.

At this point, the castle's residents decide it's a matter for the police, and intimidating police commissioner Forster (Edward Arnold) arrives to investigate. Forster is a refreshing contrast to the bumbling, clownish policemen so characteristic of '30s and '40s thrillers (Sherlock Holmes' foil Lestrade as a prime example). As Forster conducts his interviews, he traps the grim butler and Robert in some inconsistent stories, and uncovers feuding and blackmail among the rest of the castle's nervous, superstitious staff.

The writers amateurishly weave some obvious red herrings into the proceedings that instead of contributing to the mystery, simply slow it down: someone sees a car outside the castle the night Tommy disappears; a mysterious stranger keeps showing up at the servants' quarters; the head butler flashes signals to someone out on the grounds; a dark figure frightens the heiress in the middle of the night.  It all adds up to a big zero-- none of it has anything to do with the mysterious room and a tragic past that seems to be repeating itself.

In spite of the police investigation, mature, debonair Walter decides to stick to his promise to stay in the Blue Room. As the clock strikes 1, Walter appears to be waiting patiently in a big stuffed chair. A panel opens behind him, and a hand carefully points a gun at his head. A shot rings out, and a dummy dressed in Walter's uniform falls over. Walter takes after the would-be assassin, chasing him down endless, musty stairs, with the now alerted police bringing up the rear. With all the side plots and red herrings wrapped up before the climax, it's not hard to figure out who the culprit is before he's caught and unmasked.

The real strength of Secret is the stellar cast. At this point in his career, urbane Lionel Atwill (Von Helldorf) had chalked up memorable roles in Doctor X (1932) and Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933). Many interesting roles in movies great and small were still ahead, including Captain Blood (with Errol Flynn, 1935), Son of Frankenstein (1939), The Hound of the Baskervilles (1939), The Mad Doctor of Market Street (1942), and Ghost of Frankenstein (1942). Gloria Stuart (Irene) had already done a far superior madcap gothic thriller the year previously, James Whale's The Old Dark House (1932). Gloria is best known for her tear-jerking scene as "old Rose" in Titanic (1997). She was still appearing in movies as recently as 2004; she passed away in 2010. Gruff Edward Arnold (Commissioner Forster) appeared in over 150 films and numerous early TV shows before his death in 1956. Paul Lukas (Capt. Walter Brink) went on to lend his quiet sophistication, foreign accent, and pencil-thin mustache to top-drawer films, ultimately winning an academy award for his role as Kurt Muller in Watch on the Rhine (1943). Director Kurt Neumann would end up in the 1950s directing low budget sci-fi films; some good -- Rocketship X-M (1950), Kronos (1957) -- and one near-great -- The Fly (1958).

Secret tries too hard on a low budget to capture the magic of earlier, better dark house thrillers like The Cat and the Canary (1927) and The Old Dark House, but it's worth a look if only to enjoy the efforts of some very talented, award-winning actors in the early stages of their careers. Others have found it very worth while for more than just the acting. Tom Weaver and Michael and John Brunas give Secret rare praise in their excellent compilation, Universal Horrors: The Studio's Classic Films, 1931-1946 (2nd edition; McFarland, 2007):

Probably one of the best of Universal's non-horror films, Secret of the Blue Room is an engaging example of the early "spooky house" mystery at or near its best. It's a low-budget film with few pretensions, but it has the advantages of a sturdy cast, a beguiling premise and plenty of atmosphere. Most of the early Universal mysteries that masquerade as horror films are fairly dismal, but Secret remains a charming bit of spookery.

Sadly, only a few brief minutes of Gravesend Manor footage has been preserved: