Under Capricorn (1949)

 

Director: Alfred Hitchcock

Screenplay: Hume Cronyn and James Bridie

Based on the stage play by John Colton and Margaret Linden, adapted from Helen Simpson’s novel Under Capricorn

Cast: Ingrid Bergman as Lady Henrietta Flusky; Joseph Cotten as Samson "Sam" Flusky; Michael Wilding as Hon. Charles Adare; Margaret Leighton as Milly; Cecil Parker as Sir Richard; Denis O'Dea as Mr. Corrigan; Jack Watling as Winter

Canon Fodder

 

Under Capricorn presents a bad moment for the career of Alfred Hitchcock, where after beginning his American part of his filmmaker career, working under producer David O. Selznick from 1940’s Rebecca to The Paradine Case (1947), he stepped out with Sidney Bernstein to start his own film making company Transatlantic Pictures. Under Capricorn was the film he was focused on making, with Swedish actress Ingrid Bergman, yet irony holds that the film quickly made beforehand, the experiment in long takes Rope (1948), became the film of the two more easy to fit in the image of its director, with its own idiosyncratic and compelling traits to dissect technically and in its content. Under Capricorn, as a melodrama adapted from a novel, had the unfortunate existence that, as an expensive colour production, Bergman became a pariah to the United States, a big source of potential revenue for the production’s release, as by when the film was released, her controversial adulterous affair with Italian director Roberto Rossellini had transpired causing scandal. Under Capricorn was taken by one of its investors, Bankers Trust Company, when a box office failure to coup the lost finances, not seen until the sixties when made available to see again, and the studio Transatlantic Pictures was to be no more into the fifties. Thankfully, Hitchcock’s fifties period onwards would produce some of his most iconic films, even contenders for some of the best ever made for people, but Under Capricorn itself is a curious film to think about. Simply to watch and actually digest this lesser known production is a lot to chew on, and this is factoring in the number of voices championing the film over the decades when you dig into its history.

Set in 19^th century colonial era Australia, this follows an British ex-patriot Hon. Charles Adare (Michael Wilding) wishing to make his fortune there, only to come to Sydney and come under the wing of Joseph Cotten’s Samson "Sam" Flusky. He is for many a suspicious figure, and as the story continues, his pariah status despite his own fortune is learnt of by Charles. A place where convicts are said to be able to step back into respectability, this proves hypocritical as Sam was such a case, still shunned due to the circumstances around his case, murder, as a former tender of the horse stables where he met his wife, Lady Henrietta Flusky (Bergman), who loved each despite their class differences only for tragedy to strike. A luscious film, yet set in a place where shrunken heads are traded secretly in the streets, the film is stepped in melancholia despite its lush colour aesthetic shot by legendary cinematographer Jack Cardiff. Bergman’s lead is ill, explicitly an alcoholic whose addiction is caused by the anguish of the time having had to wait for Sams release from prison in the colony, neither helped by it being very clear the head maid Milly (Margaret Leighton), in love with Sam, has been gas lighting and feeding her mistress’ drinking for control of the house.

It is an odd folly for Hitchcock as much as I can see this be a legitimate grower in its riches, where in contrast to later films which were maligned, digging the virtues out of this one means tackling a film which is out of step from the director’s many trademarks. As much as Torn Curtain (1966) for an example was viewed as a lesser production, his Cold War spy thriller, that at least has stand out set pieces, and his cynical whit written everywhere in its tone, whilst this was one of a few tangents away from the thrillers and suspense dramas Hitchcock rebuilt and innovated in whilst providing more to them. Rope, made quickly before this film, was an experiment that fed into this one’s production, with that tale being told entirely in ten minute long takes, but that was still a taut thriller based on a stage play based on the moral corruption of the heart, the perfect murder. This in contrast is a depressed melodrama, compelling but one that with hindsight would have not been a success for his own studio, even if Bergman’s affair was not a factor, unless the mood of the audience was in his favour, moments in danger of pure dourness, even next to the melancholia soaking in Rebecca which this can be compared to. 

The biggest issue with Under Capricorn, truthfully, is that there are times this feels like it could be directed by anyone else but Hitchcock, and that is factoring in how much is clearly his craft, but with pockets where the film lacks some finesse to match when this triumphs in other moments.  That is an issue, as even Rebecca, notoriously a jostling competition between Hitchcock and his producer O. Selznick for influencing its content, feels fully a piece to the director’s career, whilst here it does feel its length with some padding. Thankfully you see a lot to Capricorn which clearly comes to this, a mature drama about accepting the demons of the past and jealously, even with humour, as fittingly for a known food connoisseur, Hitchcock has an extended joke about breakfast preparation with deadpan expressions at some horrifically cooked eggs. The qualities of the acting help what does feel its length without feeling methodical, and one of the biggest aspects of its production which can be missed, its long extended takes, does lead to moments where the viewer fully engaged with the emotion of the drama. Bergman’s introduction into the film, or her eight minute confession of her traumas, are some of the best moments, which are helped by Hitchcock deciding to force the film to extend takes for longer than usually done, forcing you into the space with these scenes. There are moments where this style clearly did not work, where honestly the film feels morose in its pacing, or where the drama is undercut by scenes of dialogue which have not got the snap of his work before and after, where the film as a technical level, and the tone of the film, needed to be rethought.

His sense of black humour may have also helped as someone, despite rarely writing his scripts, visibly influencing them, as it would have actually helped make the strongest emotional parts more meaningful. Considering how this nudges to some very adult content even in terms of cinema in the decades after, the film is trying at a deft hand at a really serious subject needing to not always lean on these extended long takes and slow pace – Henrietta’s confessions, alongside his alcoholism, seemingly evoke even prostitution or at least a life of squalor part of her life in the slums of Sydney whilst waiting for Sam’s release, either subjects still taboos a century on for some, are where the themes of the film really do become some of the darkest of Hitchcock’s career among many times he entered into this territory, in spite of not explicitly showing a lot. It would have not been inappropriate if the film had embraced its more macabre edges more, or used its languid technical style as a weapon by occasionally stepping into some editing once or twice, especially as where the film feels its weakest is in its lighter moments, too fluffy or insubstantial next to the best comedy in his films, sticking out in contrast to the richness of the emotional angst and pained love, including class bias, for Sam to Henrietta. Tellingly it is the character of Charles where most of this comes from, though he is an important part of the love triangle within the film itself, so there is a sense that the optimistic and lighter moments of the story, and effectively him as a character allowing the viewer into this world of Sam and Henrietta, needed to be rewritten even if in one or two touches as with these few drab moments.

This juxtaposition of where the film succeeds and does feel like it could have been better paced is found in how more vibrant the last quarter is, where its gothic and melodramatic storytelling becomes more prominent, with the machinations of Milly and playing to more lurid suspense in the attempts to psychologically ruin Henrietta come to the fore, including the shrunken heads referenced earlier in this review make their return. It is done without it seeming inappropriate for the rich characterization, and where this film fully succeeds including with the character depth, by writing and acting, of the tale of Sam and Henrietta. It is not a surprise how the film has managed to win more and more respect over the decades - Peter Bogdanovich was a huge admirer of the film¹ – and honestly, this is the kind of production that could easily grow in respect from me, especially if it was readily available in the best restorations to allow its aesthetics to be emphasized, the contrast of rich late forties colour cinema against its bleak heart one of its more enticing favors. I am still going to say, even when the film may become flawless the more times seen, where I find its sluggish moments of pacing dissipate to full admiration, that this was a film that was going to be doomed back in the day as a box office film or be a risk to have even committed to. Some of this is simply Hitchcock’s name had already been cemented to thrillers, but a lot of this feeling comes simply from what this film is, a production even when it offers a happy ending that finds itself intentionally wallowing in its melancholia.

The shadow the film had thankfully subsided. Ingrid Bergman was welcomed back into American cinema with films like The Inn of the Sixth Happiness (1958), and whilst Transatlantic Pictures was the real casualty of this film’s failure, some of Hitchcock’s most legacy defining films in terms of pop culture and cinema, even really difficult ones which force one to challenge him as a human being within his own work, came after this to the end of his career. Under Capricorn is a production lost and in need of more assistance in being brought into attention, especially as what you can get is a slightly hazy DVD only release from a lost vanished distributor in the United Kingdom, in spite of the fact this was Hitchcock’s return to his homeland as a British production. It is not a film to immediately return to, next to the murder’s row of iconic and underrated films in Alfred Hitchcock’s career, but it fascinates and rewards as a serious, somber minded drama with ambitious in dealing with its themes.

 

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1) My favourite Hitchcock: Under Capricorn, written by Joe Walsh for The Guardian, published 14th August 2012.

Ghosts on the Loose (1943)

 

Director: William Beaudine

Screenplay: Kenneth Higgins

Cast: Leo Gorcey as Muggs McGinnis; Huntz Hall as Glimpy; Bobby Jordan as Danny; Bela Lugosi as Emil; Ava Gardner as Betty; Rick Vallin as Jack; Ernest Morrison as Scruno; William 'Billy' Benedict as Benny; Stanley Clements as Stash

A Night of a Thousand Horror (Movies)

 

Remind me when we get into town to give you the Iron Cross for bravery...to your skull.

[Some Major Spoilers]

From b-movie kings Monogram Pictures, Ghosts on the Loose is part of a series of films with the "East Side Kids", a franchise which combined actors from the Dead End Kids, part of a group of young actors from New York City who appeared in Sidney Kingsley's Broadway play Dead End in 1935, brought to Hollywood in 1937 by Samuel Goldwyn, and the Little Tough Guys, a group of actors who made a series of films and serials released by Universal Studios from 1938 through 1943. Over 22 films, made within 1940 to 1945, this was a franchise which was produced on mass by Monogram Pictures, with over thirty exact members in a variety of roles. This was not a troupe with everyone being the same each production, instead a representative of a band of boys who have their jokes and puns, here in this form beginning this film preparing to sing at one of their member's sister's wedding.

Said older sister is Ava Gardner, playing Betty, surprising to see her when she would be off a film like The Killers (1946) only some time later. This early in her career in a Monogram Pictures film shows everyone starts somewhere, and as much as you can tell how much she stands out, even in a William "One Shot" Beaudine production, she is as much just part of the cast as everyone. This also includes an older Bela Lugosi, in a wilderness period, taking work in these films after his golden one. All of them exist within a tale of Betty and her fiancée trying to get a house Bela Lugosi does not want them in, so there is already suspicious shenanigans afoot, decades before there would be a concern with the house even being on Elm Street. With the estate next door being apparently haunted, and the groom convinced to not go to the home after the wedding, the East Side Kids presume all they need to do is redecorate and head over.

The film is more comedy than horror, the latter entirely in how this is a haunted house scenario as Lugosi tries to scare them off. The humour at times has not aged, coming from this early forties b-picture time, having not travelled to ours with connections to what is humorous now. This is cruel to write, but is merely in mind that a lot of it is innocuous and not land even in terms of being funny in a modern context. Some of the humour is just innocuous in a more positive way, if not exceptional, be it the banter or someone deciding to cook the rice that is thrown at weddings first. Some jokes do land - such as stealing funeral wreaths for dead gangsters for the wedding, especially wreaths that were gifts from those who shot him and "did not" want to - this is a type of comedy based on the East Side Kids cast being goofs. They were clearly created to be humorous, to be able to sing, who do also struggle as a unit, and with most of them suffering from the group being too large for everyone to stand out, a motley team in a Monogram Pictures genre hybrid.

There is also many single takes of talking to tell the film cinematically, to the point it is not a William Beaudine thing, despite his infamous "One Shot" nickname, but also is what would presumably be the b-movie style of the time. This is instead not an infamous and prolific director showing a trademark, but that which is quick and efficient, pulp for sale and audience interest. In this case, very silly jokes are in the centre, from a seven dwarfs like group in the East Side Kids, even one who is sleepy all the time, if you replaced the leader with a wise guy who uses mock gangster lingo. Place them into a haunted house, and cash in on Bela Lugosi's legacy from Universal horror films, playing off his name recognition, and you get a film as a result. It is very silly. I have never seen someone, with the traditional joke of sweeping dust under a rug, be done instead under a cobweb, especially as they still stick the end of the web back down, or that most of the "haunted house" plot is merely to do with paintings, a Napoleon portrait that can revolve and show him without a coat and with one, or when the Bela Lugosi portrait sneezes and growls at you.

There was a huge concern, with one of the Kids being a young African American actor, Ernest Morrison, that he would be painted as a scaredy cat against the white cast, a trope from this era that actors like Mantan Moreland played in his career at this time. Thankfully, alongside doing a nice backwards fall stunt off a ladder onto a sofa, everyone in the group is a scaredy cat, all goofy in how they react to spooky things, be it one that literally climbs up the walls on top of a mounted moose head or the lead being so scared his hat flies off. Honestly only one joke feels of its era, and it is a weird one, even before it becomes the punch line for the film's ending. It is about catching German measles, in a World War II era film, which leads someone having black swastikas marked on his face. That definitely came from another period, but continuing in mind to this being a time capsule, you have a film, made when the United States entered the Second World War, that reflects when alongside being real enemies of the world, Nazi Germany could also be stock villains in these b-pictures and have strange punch lines like that one, alongside the main MacGuffin being a printing press and Nazi propaganda being made from it.

The film is, over only an hour, watchable, a public domain production which is more interesting for its quirks and as a cultural item of the past, for its many dated moments and for its curious nature. It is fascinating for what it is, a film coasting on horror tropes, in a comedy, which spends a lot of its time still being an adventure romp putting one over the Nazis, who barring the propaganda are incredibly vague goons ran by Lugosi. That, also from the director of Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter (1966), in itself makes it a strange concoction, and certainly interesting.

Voodoo Man (1944)

 

Director: William Beaudine

Screenplay: Robert Charles

Cast: Bela Lugosi as Dr. Marlowe; John Carradine as Toby; George Zucco as Nicholas; Wanda McKay as Betty; Louise Currie as Sally; Michael Ames as Ralph; Ellen Hall as Mrs. Marlowe; Henry Hall as Sheriff; Dan White as Deputy Elmer

A Night of a Thousand Horror (Movies) #253

 

I have a good mind to report you to the Chamber of Commerce!

Another Monogram Films production, though they were more a distributor of this than its producer, but here we also can talk of Bela Lugosi. His life, and in mind to when this film was made, does admittedly cause me to feel sad. This will be a fun review, but it should be considered this is close to when he started making whatever films he could to make the bills, the tragedy of not only the man who played Dracula ending in the position he did, but an acclaimed theatre and film actor in his homeland of Hungary who did so to his death in the late fifties. And yet even here in Voodoo Man, a very silly film, Bela does stand out. It softens this thought, and the mood, that this fun film still has Lugosi stand out. That and being to refer to this being a William Beaudine film.

Beaudine for me was dubbed "One Shot", christened to him by the Michael and Harry Medved with their book The Golden Turkey Awards. The man is arguably more than his notoriety - he was working from the 1910s to the late sixties, over countless genres between The Bowery Boys film series to the notorious Mom and Dad (1945), an exploitation sex education film. What likely did not help Beaudine over the years, and was how I first heard of him, were the notoriously "bad" films in his career in the horror genre. Beaudine helmed Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla (1952), which is at the point Lugosi was in the midst of the era of a drug addiction and having to get work for money, and whilst I look to them with interest to see again, my younger self did not appreciate The Ape Man (1943), also with Lugosi, or Beaudine's last film Jesse James Meets Frankenstein's Daughter (1966). His is the type of career undermined by merely picking at it rather than seeing how large it was, over a hundred credits, and whether a large percentage of them were good or not, Beaudine was still a man who worked and had a life, whether working on obscure Disney films, exploitation sex hygiene movies, or here with the horror genre.

Voodoo Man, as one of these titles, is unabashedly goofy. With a nearby gas station to his home in cahoots, Bela Lugosi and his associates, including John Carradine and George Zucco, are abducting women off the highway and using the voodoo rituals of "Roombuna" to transfer the souls/consciousnesses of the victims into his young dead wife to resurrect her again. Multiple attempts have failed when we get into the narrative, which means mindless female zombies have to be kept locked up, and Hollywood screenwriter Ralph (Michael Ames) finds himself stumbling into this when the bridesmaid of his upcoming wedding is the latest victim. As a film ending with a note onscreen asking the audience to buy war saving stamps and bond notes, this is of another era onscreen, mid World War II, a type of horror cinema including its cast which has its own legacy and its own ticks. One, admittedly, is questionable cultural appropriation of Haitian and Voodoo beliefs, likely made up here, with white people using for evil means. That is definitely something to raise an eyebrow on.

Admittedly this is summed up with George Zucco, who played Professor Moriarty in The Hound of the Baskervilles (1939) with Basil Rathbone, in silly "tribal" makeup, and a very confused looking John Carradine playing bongos in a set full of deliciously exaggerated skull ornaments, so the problem is more having to use another's "other" culture and calling the film "Voodoo" Man, not the idea of the film being about occult arts to resurrect a noticeably younger wife. Aside from that, nothing is really problematic here at all, in terms of how it has aged, instead entirely innocuous. It has definitely aged in how stiffer this is from, say, Revenge of the Zombies (1943), also from Monogram Pictures. Yet the most rewarding thing about the film is that it feels as if it knows this, and almost has an air of parody of itself, least a banality creeping into what is meant to be a horror film which is intentionally funny.

I think of the perpetually annoyed Sheriff and his deputy Elmer for example - the former once had an easy job, whilst Elmer talks of his wife constantly shouting at him for always being at work - and see how the film has a banal matter-of-factness to admire. Our main lead Ralph, ultimately useless when he has to come to the rescue in the finale, only gets involved at first due to forgetting to have the station attendant fill his gas tank when he drives off, having the audacity to threaten to go back and punch the attention for taking his money. Throughout this, the movie feels like a comedy, even to the point, predating meta-horror of decades later, especially into the nineties, where the film ends with a script for a film also Voodoo Man being finished and someone suggesting Bela Lugosi should be the star in dialogue.

Even for an ultimately cheesy film, this tone helps so much. It is also, taken seriously, from an era where you could bolster them with recognisable and prolific actors who were capable hands onscreen. It says a lot of John Carradine for example, in his diversity, that he could go from being a debonair and calm Nazi scientist in Revenge of the Zombie, to here playing Toby, a simpleton obsessed with "pretty women", his fawning over the zombies thankfully never becoming further creepier than it is, and leading to one escaping from the glass pods they are stored in. And Lugosi even in context of this historical time, when his career was declining, is always compelling, even tragic here as a man whose love for his wife sadly has led him to what he should not be doing. His performance does carry over some emotional weight to this, even if in the end this is a silly movie, and that is something of a testament to him as a charismatic figure and his acting skills, the reason actors like him, especially in genres viewed as disreputable, gained cult audiences over the years after. Voodoo Man is a ridiculous movie, but for these various reasons, it was a pleasure to see, and as I sample more of this era, their simplistic natures, working around limited sets and clichés, become jumping boards to appreciate the people in front and behind the cameras trying to squeeze out the material in an entertaining way even if for a pay check.

Revenge of the Zombies (1943)

 

Director: Steve Sekely

Screenplay: Edmond Kelso and Van Norcross

Cast: John Carradine as Dr. Max Heinrich von Altermann; Gale Storm as Jennifer Rand; Robert Lowery as Larry Adams; Mantan Moreland as Jeff Jackson; Veda Ann Borg as Lila von Altermann; Barry Macollum as Dr. Harvey Keating; Mauritz Hugo as Scott Warrington; Madame Sul-Te-Wan as Mammy Beulah; James Baskett as Lazarus; Sybil Lewis as Rosella

A Night of a Thousand Horror (Movies) #249

 

Nothing of what I've seen came out no bottle!

"Presented in HorrorScope", least in the public domain DVD release I saw, I can proudly include a Monogram Pictures Corporation film into my reviews even if, after all these years, I only learned much later this is meant to be a sequel, to King of the Zombies (1941), if with only a tentative connection and only two returning actors. The legendary studio even got a credit from Jean-Luc Godard at the end of his debut Breathless (1960), their productions varying from crime pictures to horror movies. Moody is thankfully a word I can use here as much as for a crime film, revisited this film fresher eyes than previous times before. Even a public domain copy like the one I have grown accustomed to is still gaining a new atmosphere upon revisiting it. Also worth raising is how this is a nineteen forties film which is, yes, about zombies. This is specifically the Haitian zombie lore, where in real life, people were drugged in a way presumed dead, to be dug up and become forced labour for those who paid for their "zombification". Obviously, alongside some issues to talk of, this is cultural appropriation and is part of the greater issue with how films appropriated Haitian beliefs, and the likes of Voodoo practice, in negative forms. It is also fascinating to know that, when George A. Romero created a fictional form of the zombie which would dominate what that word meant in the modern day, once beforehand, you would have to reach out to this form which, even if used in troubling appropriation, was actually based on real history.

In this case, admittedly, these zombies are now bulletproof, which is not a common aspect of this earlier lore, and it is a surprise to revisit the film and hear a piece of dialogue know, almost predating those modern Romero influenced zombies, that these zombies are entirely as powerful as they are due to their brains controlling them. The man creating these ones is Dr. Max Heinrich von Altermann (John Carradine), a Nazi scientist undercover in the swamps near Louisiana wanting to create a new race of super men as soldiers. The brother of Ottoman's wife, Lila von Altermann (Veda Ann Borg), has abruptly died, comes to the manor with help, eventually between them learning what von Altermann has been doing alongside the fact Lila is now a zombie as well. This is squarely of its time, mid World War II, their b-movies as much as Hollywood also was involved in the American war effort. Beyond this however, this is purely a pulp narrative, lower budget and just close to an hour long, part of the many churned out by Monogram and others. These later films from the forties for me yet feel different even from the Universal movies of the thirties, a form of pulpy genre filmmaking which is creeping ever closer to the b-movies of the fifties onwards, its own era of genre filmmaking, alongside the others made by Monogram and those that fell in the public domain like Revenge of the Zombies, that has its own culture for me.

There is one issue that is entirely of this older period of cinema however, and always has been something for me to contend with for Revenge of the Zombies, and that is how the African American cast is depicted. Ironically, the two actors who returned from King of the Zombies are among this side of the cast, Mantan Moreland replaying a character named Jeff Jackson, who is the driver for the leads, and Madame Sul-Te-Wan playing another character, a maid in von Altermann's house with an extensive knowledge of zombie techniques. This is a film with a larger African-American cast for such a small film, but all playing staff at von Altermann's house or Moreland's Jee being a driver. Truthfully, the biggest issue for me is with Mantan Moreland and his character, as he slides into a stereotype common in these older films of comedic black characters whose comedy, including being scared easily, was deemed insulting to African Americans¹. Spike Lee, when he covered these archetypes alongside other racist iconography from the United States' past in Bamboozled (2000), explicitly referred "Mantan" in reusing his first name in that film, and when these types of roles were deemed as more and more inappropriate, unfortunately a double edged tragedy came about alongside these problematic images existing in the first place, in how actors like Mantan Moreland worked far less. Going from a lot of roles in the forties, and barely appearing in films in the fifties onwards, I realise this remembering how he has a small cameo in Jack Hill's Spider Baby (1967), and how in the background to his casting, as a postman unfortunately caught up in the homicidal family he knocks on the door of, including Moreland being out of work as the most prominent detail. Even if he kept making films into the seventies to his death, unfortunately his own career was likely marred by these roles in his career as a buffoon¹.

Mantan Moreland is providing the broadest of roles here, which adds a greater shame as he has a good comedic timing. His character is a case of a patronising role, not necessarily in the character here by himself, but in how the roles from this time from actors including him how common these portrayals were proved a concern. The film in general though, even as pure pulp, proved more complicated in terms of all the other depictions even if by pure accident.  Yes, the black actors here are playing a driver or maid, yet paradoxically none of them are demeaned and, whilst in the background to the main narrative, everyone gets a prominent moment even in a film just nearing only an hour. No one is on von Altermann's side either. The youngest maid there hates working there, his own driver has been turned into a zombie slave, to lead the other zombies, and Madame Sul-Te-Wan despite being the stereotype of the older black woman with occult knowledge is not on his side either, in fact helping the protagonists with the mechanics of how the zombiefication works and watching as, to von Altermann's surprise, his own wife despite being turned into a zombie has a will of her own.

Even factoring the actors themselves complicate this as, to consider them as working individuals, you have figures who stand out with greater meaning whether their roles are seen as problematic or not. Madame Sul-Te-Wan is a really good example I only learnt of through this film: to go on a slight tangent, she is a fascinating figure, working since the 1910s in cinema, including D.W. Griffith's The Birth of a Nation (1915), with even her pseudonym (born Nellie Crawford) as much of note both as a way to market herself and as a mark of confidence to avoid being patronised. In her era, already a theatre actress before cinema and working for decades, she was held with great regard as an actress by African American viewers back in this era². Particularly with roles which can be seen as problematic in older cinema, such as how African Americans were depicted, black actors who took these roles raise a complexity as one is reminded they themselves were working figures, Sul-Te-Wan well regarded in spite of likely having to take on roles like in Revenge of the Zombies a lot. Look no further, for a surprise example for me too, as James Baskett, who plays von Altermann's zombified driver Lazarus and is virtually unrecognisable, with his shock of white hair, to playing Uncle Remus in the contentious Disney film Song of the South (1946), the epoch of this era of cinema and difficult issues of how portrayals and archetypes have to be dealt with.

If anything, from once being jarred by the film's portrayals, it is entirely Moreland's exaggerated comedic performance, as he is scared by everything, instead that is still an issue returning to the film that is still an issue. It also cannot be helped but be read into, because it is not even subtext whether accidental or not, that this is a horror film about a Nazi scientist turning people, his zombies cast with people of multiple ethnicities, into subservient drones stripped of their humanity. Even if this has stereotypes to consider, they are not as prominent and as bad as they could be, whilst here in the middle of World War II, we thankfully have a reminder even in ridiculous pulp to always the Nazis were villains and will always make perfect villains for that reason.

A film like this, breezy to sit through, is not a masterpiece. Made with limited locations, quickly paced and simple, these are the sort of movies if you watched a few of that could become an obsession for a viewer in terms appreciating their mood and style of storytelling with the exception of key titles of well regard. Even how films from this period have a very specific type of orchestral score have become the little traits that cause them to grow in greater interest for me, even though this may not even be considered a great film from Monogram Pictures' dalliances with horror cinema. As much of this review's positivity is this having been one of the first I had a real acquaintance with, seen a few times thanks to the wonders of public domain DVDs, especially when this shared the disc (befitting earlier references to George Romero) with Night of the Living Dead (1968). The pair together, even if likely slapped together as two "zombie" films, was befitting, as Romero's film was seen as a huge moment in horror cinema, not only in terms of a sub-genre which would dominate even the mainstream, and led to countless films being churned out, but being viewed as a stark reflection of the times politically even as a horror film first. The older film in comparison, though built in with real history as pulp archetypes fight a Nazi, is a warm blanket in comparison, but with both of worth, now returning to Revenge of the Zombies I can see myself diving further into this area of horror cinema now with delight.

 

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1) A more detailed biography on Mantan Moreland can be found here.

2) A more detailed biography on Madame Sul-Te-Wans, which I partially drew on but barely scratched, can be found here.

Portrait of Jennie (1948)

 

Director: William Dieterle

Screenplay: Paul Osborn, Peter Berneis and Leonardo Bercovici

Based on the novella by Robert Nathan

Cast: Jennifer Jones as Jennie Appleton, Joseph Cotten as Eben Adams, Ethel Barrymore as Miss Spinney, Lillian Gish as Mother Mary of Mercy, Cecil Kellaway as Matthews, David Wayne as Gus O'Toole, Albert Sharpe as Moore, Henry Hull as Eke

Ephemeral Wave

 

A failing, poverty stricken painter Eben Adams (Joseph Cotten) finds his muse, a young girl named Jeanne (Jennifer Jones). Every time he encounters her, however, she increasingly ages up to adulthood, with the added sense that, unaware of his world, she is a figure from the past. Already this is a distinct premise to begin with, but any film which starts with a lengthy monologue about the nature of life and love, over clouds, and manages to not only have one quotation onscreen, but two, for Euripides and Keats, is going to not be a conventional Hollywood film from the forties.

The back-story about the film adds a strange tragedy too. Its producer David O. Selznick was a wunderkind of MGM studios, given his own creative control, and was responsible for Alfred Hitchcock's only Best Picture Oscar, for Rebecca (1940), and Gone with the Wind (1939), a cultural monolith even if a problematic one. He also became romantically involved with actress Jennifer Jones, born Phylis Isley, Portrait of Jeannie as a result effectively a love letter to her made at the end of their relationship. Theirs is a really difficult and complicated romance which makes the film in a larger context more disquieting. Both married originally when they had their relationship, Selznick effectively destroyed himself, alongside issues like gambling addiction, trying to control and shape her image over films which did not succeed, and theirs is not a relationship in the modern day that would be seen as wholesome at all. He would die in 1965, and Jones would live to 2009, with other marriages and a life beyond, but with mental health issues throughout her career, it is not surprising after her film career she decided to devote herself to de-stigmatising mental illness with her institution the Jennifer Jones Simon Foundation for Mental Health and Education.

Even by itself, Portrait of Jennie feels like a totem to a love off-screen finally waving goodbye, even if they would live together as a couple until his death decades later. Unstuck in time, not quite a Kurt Vonnegut character, Jennie is a figure from the 1910s, already dead but appearing to Joseph Cotton's impoverished painter at various times, beginning as a young girl and eventually becoming a woman. All of them are played by Jones, the first time acting with a higher pitched voice and childlike innocence, alongside a strategic placement of Cotten and the film camera. As he grows in talent, under the watchful eye of an art seller, he encounters Jennie over and over again, replaying her as a living breathing spectre he becomes increasingly obsessed with, building to the ultimate portrait of her as an adult.

Portrait of Jennie's oddness is compounded, as in any case, by the context of when the film was made. Forties Hollywood means sumptuous monochrome unless in rare cases, such as the finale here using silent cinema colour tinting, matched by romantic melodrama and extensive use of an orchestral score to add a haunting mood. A gamut of character actors flesh out this cast immensely, such as Ethel Barrymore as the watchful eye becoming increasingly concerned by Eben's mental state as he obsesses over a figure no one else has seen, or his best friend Gus (David Wayne), who gets Eben work painting a nationalist mural at an Irish-American bar. All of them, but especially Barrymore's character, add a level of emotional weight that helps the film immensely. And of course, Joseph Cotten is a huge advantage here. It is great to see Cotten in a lead role, particularly as his inherent talent helps adds conviction to a peculiar premise. His earnestness in a film, to a nun played by Hollywood royalty Lillian Gish, about the immortality of love for an unknown figure is the sort that would collapse into kitsch were it not for a great actor like Cotten being there to speak it.

Jennifer Jones as an actress, the idolised figure, is placed in a curious place with this film. This is a case, even with a director William Dieterle an acclaimed figure behind the likes of The Devil and Daniel Webster (1941), where the producer has more auteurist influence, which leaves this with an intense level of reality as a metaphor of love for someone is if there will never be there, and is an openly self-destructive romance where Jennie due to the plot who will depart from Eben's life no matter how hard he tries to steer the course of time in another direction. 

Jones herself, performance wise, does have a challenge in having to play a character that changes from a child to an adult, and does her best. There is a sense, though, of her being a precious figure captured in the prism of the film's camera as much as the paintings in the film. Said film is entirely about the male perception of a loved one, thankfully never straying into a gross obsession but instead wistful, never patronising but pretentious in a sentimental and applaudable earnest way, a weird hybrid of fantasy and the supernatural, possibly even science fiction depending how you interpret Jennie's state. It was not a success when it was made, with Selznick's constant work on the film and the over increasing budget causing this to leave a black eye, enough to push him forth to working overseas on productions like The Third Man (1949).  Portrait of Jennie is a rewarding film for me, truly unique, but its back-story does make it as disquieting as it is compelling.

 

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1) The podcast You Must Remember This, which tackles the first century of Hollywood and classic Hollywood especially, covered this relationship in Episode 66, and it is a tumultuous narrative when read of.

Down Argentine Way (1940)

 

Director: Irving Cummings

Screenplay: Darrell Ware and Karl Tunberg

Cast: Don Ameche as Ricardo Quintana; Betty Grable as Glenda Crawford; Charlotte Greenwood as Binnie Crawford; J. Carrol Naish as Casiano; Henry Stephenson as Don Diego Quintana; Kay Aldridge as Helen Carson; Leonid Kinskey as Tito Acuna; Chris-Pin Martin as Esteban; Robert Conway as Jimmy Blake; Gregory Gaye as Sebastian; Bobby Stone as Panchito; Charles Judels as Dr. Arturo Padilla

Ephemeral Waves 

Get in...you beautiful brat.

I had hoped this review would lead to something distinct to cover, as shot in Technicolor and made in the cusp of a new decade, this 20th Century Fox production original influenced by World War II. If Europe was no longer a viable place to sell their films to¹, then the studios looked to South America. It also has political notions beyond this, as this is connected to President Franklin D. Roosevelt's "Good Neighbour Policy" toward Latin America, with the concern of a growing German influence within the region leading to the United States finding ways to bring about a harmonious relationship between them. So we have American actors playing Argentineans (like Don Ameche), and the film a musical which plans to introduce Latin musicians and singers onto the screen.

We follow Ricardo (Don Ameche), a horse trader who, with a father who was once a famous breeder of race horses until he moved of show jumping, is sent to the United States. Selling horses over a pretty face, and five thousand and a Martini together, is a flaw of Ricardo's, leading him to encounter Glenda Crawford (Betty Grable). Glenda, becoming obsessed with him, goes to Argentina under the guise of wanting to acquire a real horse, but it is not helped she is a relative of someone his father hated as far back as college.

There is a promise for at least a light hearted piece of fluff at the get-go, and I will not hide this review stems as much, alongside wanting to see the film, from wishing to see anything from 20th Century Fox before the House of Mouse will probably bury them. It has promise of a romantic comedy, one with some very catty one-liners to add some appropriate use of salt to this cinematic.  

I came to this expecting stereotypes mind as well. No one in this film for the most part is actually Latin American or of Latin heritage, the one real exception being Chris-Pin Martin, who is of Mexican descent, and even in terms of hiring Latin American singers and dancers that could be of suspect as well. To their credit, they at least try in terms of things like lyrics not being in English, but the production is not exactly one with authenticity, so much in fact it was actually banned in Argentina due to its lack of cultural accuracy. Regardless of my final opinion or this fact though, there are many things to admire in terms of the music, finding highlights such as the Nicolas Brothers.  Fayard and Harold Nicholas, real African American brothers who made their name in their dancing, are a standout and it is great to know there is a lot of their work still out there to see, and even with their home movies preserved as historically important; looking almost like identical twins here (despite Fayard being older) their great synchronised dances in their few scenes were a stand-out.

This film's other distinct feature is the first appearance in a Hollywood film for Carmen Miranda, the legendary Brazilian dancer and singer whose cultural image, even over her work, has lasted for a considerable amount of time. Her work here does show something very enticing for me, though it is surprising how small her filmography was, due to how sadly short her life actually was. Contrary to the advertising however, which promotes her on the cover, she is in only one scene so that does dampen the experience a little.

It has its charm as a film. In another film, a character like Tito would be a stereotypical con artist. Here, able to be charming and able to be with clients happy to pay to see all the best music of Argentina, he can be a good con artist with his extensive family contacts, helped because actor Leonid Kinskey can make the character interesting. There is also the aunt of Glenda, played by a singer/dancer too, who says she is young and whose last birthday was "thirty one", or the chauffer who sleeps at the wheel of the car when un-required. There is enough here, in characters like this, to win you over with a playfulness.

What happens however is a film that is slight, suddenly turning into the premise of a nineties family film, which is not bad until it dwindles into a dull narrative rather than be a fun musical, about a horse being taught to race again against the will of Ricardo's father. This is where Down Argentine Way stopped being a promise for an enticing review but something exceptionally bland for me. The historical context is more fascinating. Betty Grable, as the lead, gained as a result of this film in terms of ongoing success as an actress, able to develop legacy with musicals alongside a legendary 1943 pin-up photo.  The fact this was meant to be a way of good neighbourly interaction with South America, ordained by the government, is inherently fascinating, especially as this idea of Hollywood trying to sale their films to other countries has been with us long before their interest with China in the 2010s. That includes all the complications to be found, this particular film completely failing in its goals even if it was included in the National Film Registry and nominated for three Oscars, for Best Cinematography, Best Original Song and for Best Art Direction. As for the film itself, maybe I was hoping for something else, better or deeply kitsch, but even with its revealed problematic ideas of Argentina it could have been something greater. Instead, it is not even vanilla for me, unfair to that ice cream flavour to ever use that metaphor, but eventually really average.

 

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1) And even then, it was not an immediate reduction of films being distributed to Nazi Germany but only until a later point, so it was not necessarily for noble reasons for most of the studios when they stopped.

Scared to Death (1947)

 

Director: Christy Cabanne

Screenplay: Walter Abbott

Cast: Bela Lugosi as Prof. Leonide; George Zucco as Dr. Joseph Van Ee; Nat Pendleton as Bill Raymond; Molly Lamont as  Laura Van Ee; Joyce Compton as Jane Cornell; Gladys Blake as Lilybeth; Roland Varno as Ward Van Ee; Douglas Fowley as Terry Lee; Angelo Rossitto as Indigo

A Night of a Thousand Horror (Movies) #203

 

Metabolism. That's a good word. I wonder what it means?

You could pad out your writing just on bad horror films, which can cause a lot of grief through the act of forcing yourself to churn through a lot of disappointing work. If your expectations are to just review good ones, that in its self can be as pointless as, with horror cinema a subject covered greatly, everyone else has likely covered said films and it lacks interest for me particularly to repeat what everyone else does. Far more rewarding are the personal favourites, discoveries or those films which, whilst not great, allow you a lot to write about.

So let us be thankful for Scared to Death. It is not a great film, part of the time period, after his success with Dracula (1931), when Bela Lugosi had difficulty finding work but took anything he could get to pay the bills. Thankfully, legacy allows figures like Lugosi to shine, where even this public domain production intrigues as much as his successes. Also bless, this Golden Gate Pictures Inc. Production, from the era of independent low budget genre filmmaking, whilst a convoluted mess, also happens to be a charming one with so much to write about a swell.

For starters, the film is inspired by a real 1933 murder case involving Dr. Alice Wynekoop, a well-known and respected physician, civic leader, and lecturer who was charged for and eventually imprisoned for the murder of her 22 year old daughter-in-law¹. The film barely, frankly, re-tales the subject but merely uses it for a jumping pad for its own bizarre story. We start off in a morgue, moving to the body of Laura (Molly Lamont), which flashes back to when she was alive and tells the story up to that moment there. I have probably referenced old horror radio broadcasts from the United States in the past, but at first, this is literally one filmed in tone and attitude, worth bringing that up again.

In mind to its gristly real life tale, where Wynekoop was a very devoted mother to her son, Laura is a woman with a fragile continence, always watching behind her back for shadows, especially green masked ones, all whilst her relationship with her husband is close to separation and frayed, her father-in-law a psychiatrist possibly wanting to help his son in nefarious means. The film has no real interest in adapting the real case at all, and it can be lost within the film entirely. Instead, when Prof. Leonide (Bela Lugosi) enters their home as a guest as a mysterious figure, the premise gets more complicated and moves closer to a radio show like Suspense even in terms of the music, whilst with more constant orchestra, and using dialogue to convey the narrative rather than using the visuals.

Scared to Death is far more bloated than this comparison suggests though. Lugosi comes in with so much charisma that it is tragic, whilst he helped sell the film in its day in the advertising, he plays a secondary role to an overlarge cast. His assistant, a deaf-mute dwarf, is also Angelo Rossitto, a prolific actor most known for Tod Browing's Freaks (1932), bared used as an actor at all throughout. There is a reporter, a chauvinist and bland one, and his dim-witted if so much more sympathetic beau, a telephone operator who joins him at the house. The other character of note is Bill Raymond, the bowler hated cop wanting to woo the house staff and hoping even for "one slightly murdered body" to get back his job with the police from. A giant lummox of a man, Raymond is at first way too broad a comedy foil, until after a while winning me over.

Simple minded, wishing to be a great detective, and with a propensity for very flourished and smarter vocabulary that appears in his speech, which he does not understand the meaning of, Raymond won me over. The actor himself Nat Pendleton is another figure of interest too which helps considerably. Looking like a heavy for a crime film from the era, awkwardly here of all places, Pendleton was originally a wrestler who won the silver medal at the 1920 Summer Olympics in Antwerp in Belgium, before transitioning to pro wrestling. He transitioned to acting in the 1920s, one of his most prominent roles in The Great Ziegfeld (1936), the 9th Academy Awards Best Picture winner. By Scared to Death, this would be his penultimate film before the end of his cinematic career and, bless him, he was memorable and helped me love this film legitimately

Examples like Pendleton are why even this production could win me over. It is a production not helped by the fact that it feels like an overstuffed stage play, shot in a way that you could with some modification actually stage it for theatre but with a lot of unnecessary plot baggage. Considering Lugosi is your main get, even in the period before his encounters with Ed Wood. Jr. in the fifties, he is lost here in the shuffle and there is so much put in for a film only an hour and seven minutes long. What you get thankfully is still compelling because of its odd quirks. Production wise, it is very conventionally shot as mentioned. Striking however is the fact this late forties low budget film is shot in "natural colour". Even this is a distinct thing of interest as it was shot in Cinecolor, a two colour process that, even in a public domain version that looks muddy, has a curious history, one of many vying for use before Technicolor took hold and left the likes of this process lost by the wayside. One touch which is just weird is the constant flashes back to Laura's head on the morgue table with her voice stating the next event in the plot whilst an eerie music cue is used. It is constant, they can last a few second, and are deeply silly, a sign of how over baked and charmingly shambolic Scared to Death is.

Particularity because of its vintage, as a forties pulp tale in its own ballpark, it is of its era, such as how much of an arse that reporter is to his girlfriend in his patronising ways, but there are plenty of odd touches to like. Working to actual violence, it has to racket up ghoulishness with a striking looking dummy's head but not a great deal of illicit content or any real threat, which is not an issue at all. In mind to the original Wynekoop case, her daughter-in-law Rheta was said to have died, by her own testimony, whilst treating her with pain with a chloroform anaesthetic, only for her heart to have stopped. [Spoiler Warning] Here, well, that title the film has surely would have given the plot twist away before you watched the whole film. [Spoiler Ends] What you do not expect is the film, partially in horror, to get a morality edge involving betrayal, hypnosis, karmic revenge, and a back-story including someone being betrayed to the Nazis and Parisian nightclub entertainment crammed into this slight length production. It is as if all the pulpy tropes which would vanish from modern horror were blended together into something compelling here. It is goofy, but with an undeniable charm.

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1) The full tale can be read of HERE.

Secret Beyond the Door (1948)

From http://www.doctormacro.com/Images/Posters/S/Poster
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Director: Fritz Lang

Screenplay: Silvia Richards

Cast: Joan Bennett (as Celia Lamphere); Michael Redgrave (as Mark Lamphere); Anne Revere (as Caroline Lamphere); Barbara O'Neil (as Miss Robey); Natalie Schafer (as Edith Potter)

Synopsis: Celia (Joan Bennett) meets Mark Lamphere (Michael Redgrave), a handsome architect theorist, during a vacation and immediately marries him. She finds herself however in a position of immense mystery from the get-go. That he can be constantly aloof or away all the time. That he had a late wife and a surviving son he did not tell her about before they were married. That his home includes his likable sister Carol (Anne Revere) but also a mysterious secretary Miss Robey (Barbara O'Neil) who has her head constantly covered in a scarf. That he likes to collect rooms, exactly transporting rooms to his home where murders have taken place, the seventh door at the end kept locked with no one allowed to enter it...

With Secret Beyond the Door, you find yourself within a sub-genre of psycho-dramatic films from the late forties and so forth which, in spite of the Hays Code, tapped into areas of psychology and symbolism for pulp melodrama which, even if it may be naive at points, now drips with a murkiness and macabre nature that's immensely powerful. Alfred Hitchcock acquired the assistance of surrealist artist Salvador Dali with Spellbound (1945) and merely tapped into the gothic mists for Rebecca (1940) five years earlier. Films like The Spiral Staircase (1946) or The Seventh Veil (1945) - between some phantom zone of melodrama, horror, sometimes even supernatural, maybe all the above - with mainly female protagonists and all shot in rich monochrome that makes the atmosphere more palpable, feeling like shadow drenched hallucinations. Secret Beyond the Door brazenly wears this as its evening gown with the opening narration by Joan Bennett describing the symbolic meaning of lilies and boats in dreams as such objects are presented onscreen at the same time, as if daring you to object to how blatant it is.

From https://sarcastig.files.wordpress.com/2011/
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With a solid foundation in Bennett as Celia - charismatic, able to play both feistiness against Michael Redgrave but also vulnerability - the resulting story is a dark tinged melodrama where, like many of this sub-genre of Hollywood cinema, the character drama is writ large and practically decorates even the interior decor. The rooms which Mark Lamphere has actually come much later in the narrative, revealing a darker sense of his personality as they revolve around scenarios like a man drowning his mother in the basement during a flood, but long before their appearance everything proceeding it builds a sense of problematic emotional currents which Celia has to negotiate. His secrets, his disconnect with his smart and polite speaking son, the issue of his first wife dying with as much emotional baggage as many describe it to Celia, and various emotional strafes which paint the walls of Mark's mansion home. A large portion of these films are how they take the melodrama and mix it with other genres like mystery or the gothic to such extremes, the former becoming more heightened whilst filtered through the later.

From http://crimsonkimono.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/54242872.png

A lot of these films also have very female-centric perspectives, usually with female protagonists or with a substantial amount of female side characters nearby to dominate the screen. Ironically while its now in the current decade where women have more influence and a chance in having diverse roles in films, an argument can be substantially made that the more feminist and stronger choice of roles came about in films like this from decades before in vast contrast to the gender inequality that might've taken place off the silver screen. Even if you have to skirt around the dated gender politics once in a while, the sense of dominance found in the women in this film - Bennett, Revere, O'Neil, Natalie Schafer as the talkative, overactive friend of Celia's Edith Potter - and how vital their performances are for the story are pronounced. Annoyingly though Secret Beyond the Door bungles its ending. At two points it has the chance to finish its narrative in two completely different ways, eventually deciding to complete itself in a way that feels like a compromise goes against its tone, a happy ending that needed for more time to justify or different writing to make work. It's either in lieu to giving the audience a happy ending regardless of it being appropriate for the tone, without building it far enough, or because of Hays Code concession. Because of this, the strange mood created before is dampened from what was built up perfectly beforehand.

From https://amjohnson3.files.wordpress.com/
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[Spoiler Warning]

The first event, capped by an incredible mist bound sequence in the woods, suggests Celia has been killed by Mark, which would've such a grim ending to leave on. This is less of an issue when this is not the case as, per a lot of Fritz Lang's pulpier films, plot twists like in a serial are common in his filmography, leading to one of the most overtly strange moments where, with Redgrave as his own defendant, judge and prosecutor, Mark puts himself on trial for his desire to kill her. The second time however is when Secret Beyond the Door falters, Celia trying to cure Mark of his desires for murder, a built upon misogyny that has yet to lead to actual murder but keeps threatening to appear, dealt with so abruptly in the ending. In spite of the moral muddiness of the whole narrative, and whole sub plots like the son being ditched and unresolved, all it takes is Celia to council him with psychobabble and everything is all okay, left to cosy up in the sunny in the final shot on the same sun lounger together, resulting in an utterly absurd finale jarring against what came before.

[Spoiler End]

From https://newgranadarecreationcenter.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/
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Technical Detail:

As this is a Fritz Lang film, it would be criminal to not touch upon the quality of his films technically. An auteur, he is yet someone who predominantly made genre films and works were openly about enthral his viewers, the exceptions like M (1931) standing out in their potency against the other great pulpier films. His auteurist status for me is found in how you can tell you're watching a Lang film in style, in the mood and atmosphere of his movies. Films in colour exist in his filmography, but Lang's worldview makes greater sense in black-and-white, every corridor or street with potential secrets and surprises to be found hidden in the shadows. The bar he raised in terms of style - composition, use of shadows etc. - was so high from his twenties silent epics to a film like Secret Beyond the Door that it's enough to qualify as a style of his own.

From http://p7.storage.canalblog.com/79/51/110219/54242914.png

Abstract Spectrum: Expressionist/Weird

Abstract Rating (High/Medium/Low/None): None

A large portion of this sub genre of Hollywood psychodrama would not likely be added to the Abstract List or is on film-by-film basis. They're mainstream Hollywood pictures in that, even if they have overt moments of strangeness like Spellbound's Dali created dream sequence, have straightforward plots and presentations. It entirely depends on each film whether any dig into the furrows of the abstract necessary to get on the List. In the case of Secret Beyond the Door, it doesn't especially after its ending compromises the mood it perfectly generated before, even going as far as ripping off the ending of Rebecca for itself in a pointless plot twist.

Nonetheless, it feels absolutely necessary to cover these films on the blog as they're films I cannot believe didn't have a pronounced influence on some of the directors whose back catalogue would get on the Abstract List. Dario Agrneto is one - contrary to popular belief of viewing him as the Italian Alfred Hitchcock, Argento is far more influenced by Fritz Lang, and the kind of bizarre psychodrama here, including the whole subplot of the murder rooms, would fit the entire Italian genre of giallo mysteries to a tee. Cementing this is knowing Joan Bennett, three decades later, would translate from Hollywood to Argento's Suspiria (1977), having experience the psychological weirdness of Michael Redgrave's mansion to becoming the head principal of a sinister ballet school in Germany, in some semblance of connective tissue. Then there's Guy Maddin, the one man film depository who must've been fed on this sort of psycho-melodrama alongside his obsession with silent cinema. Whilst this film wouldn't qualify for the list, to tip my hat to its likely influence is vital.

From https://i.ytimg.com/vi/6_Q14j8rC3E/maxresdefault.jpg

Person Opinion:

A fascinating gem in Fritz Lang's filmography somewhat marred by a pointless ending, tied up in too clean a bow and deserving the murkier quality of the story. Still utterly rewarding and gorgeous to look at, but with some concessions to deal with in terms of the full result.