Isle of the Dead (1945)

Isle of the Dead

An often overlooked entry in the renowned Val Lewton cycle of atmospheric chillers for RKO, Isle of the Dead (1945) is one of three films Lewton made with Boris Karloff, who, typecast despite his diverse acting talents, was a fugitive from Universal’s fun yet increasingly juvenile monster mashes. With Lewton he had an opportunity to showcase his acting chops free of monster makeup or a mad scientist’s white coat. Where else but in Lewton’s hands could Karloff play such a complicated character as Nikolas Pherides, a Greek general during the 1912 Balkan Wars. Nickname the “Watchdog,” his grim, unsympathetic style is on display at the start of the film, commanding an officer to shoot himself for the crime of allowing one of his units to arrive to the battlefield late. But as we get to know General Pherides through the eyes of audience surrogate Oliver Davis (Marc Cramer, The Canterville Ghost), an American reporter, we begin to see him as something of a broken man, just trying to do right by his particular sense of nationalism and justice. Pherides decides to visit the crypt of his wife on a nearby island, and Davis joins him, but they find the tomb violated, the body destroyed. A siren-like voice whispers through the trees and stark rocks, and following it, the two discover an Old Dark House and a gathering of strangers. An old woman in the home, Madame Kyra (Helene Thimig, Cloak and Dagger), warns that there is a vorvolaka on the loose, the Greek equivalent of a vampire – pointing the finger at a young woman named Thea (Ellen Drew, Christmas in July), whose beauty seems to flourish while a plague spreads throughout the house.

A statue of the three-headed dog of the Underworld, Cerberus, overlooks the pier on the Isle of the Dead.

A statue of the three-headed dog of the Underworld, Cerberus, overlooks the pier on the Isle of the Dead.

Isle of the Dead was directed by Mark Robson, who also directed for producer Lewton The Ghost Ship (1943), Youth Runs Wild (1944), and two genuine horror masterpieces, The Seventh Victim (1943) and Bedlam (1946, with Karloff). Post-Lewton, Robson would go on to a robust directing career: his credits include Peyton Place (1957), The Inn of the Sixth Happiness (1958), From the Terrace (1960), Von Ryan’s Express (1965), Valley of the Dolls (1967), and Earthquake (1974), among many others. Robson was adept at creating the suffocatingly macabre atmosphere that Lewton demanded – as with The Seventh Victim, Isle of the Dead and its cast of characters are obsessed with death; they are like zombies that haven’t had a chance to visit the grave yet, which perfectly sets up the film’s final act. Screenwriter Ardel Wray (The Leopard Man) had the unenviable task of adapting not a novel but a painting. The film is based on Swiss painter Arnold Böcklin’s famous series of images known as “Isle of the Dead” (1880-1886). One of these pictures previously appeared in a Jacques Tourneur film for Lewton, I Walked with a Zombie (1943, also written by Wray), and here is featured as a backdrop for the opening credits. It is also adapted into a matte painting, briefly glimpsed as General Pherides and Oliver Davis take their boat to the Greek island, Karloff like the ferryman Charon guiding Davis’s doomed soul. This is a common interpretation of the ferryman in the Böcklin painting, and it’s given extra emphasis in Robson’s film, with a statue of three-headed Cerberus – a snake around its neck – awaiting them at the island’s dock.

Three Isles of the Dead: the film's opening credits; one of the original 19th century paintings by Arnold Böcklin; Boris Karloff and Marc Cramer ride a boat to the island in a scene from the film.

Three Isles of the Dead: the film’s opening credits; one of the original 19th century paintings by Arnold Böcklin; Boris Karloff and Marc Cramer ride a boat to the island in a scene from the film.

But this is not a literal Underworld, only a metaphorical one, and the structure of the rest of the film shares traits with a locked room mystery. It’s one of the talkiest of the Lewton series. People are dying, but it is almost certainly the plague, not the vorvolaka to which Madame Kyra refers. In his skepticism, General Pherides is joined by Dr. Drossos (Ernst Deutsch, The Third Man). Pherides quarantines the island, but soon Drossos himself succumbs to the plague. Davis falls for Thea, who is caring for the ill Mary (Katherine Emery, The Maze), the wife to a diplomat, St. Aubyn (Alan Napier, Alfred to the TV Batman). St. Aubyn also dies, while Kyra continues to finger Thea as the supernatural culprit. Also in residence is a Swiss archaeologist, Albrecht (Jason Robards Sr., Bedlam), who blames himself for uncovering the island’s tombs which were subsequently robbed by the same peasants who disturbed the grave of Pherides’ wife. As the deaths pile up, the general’s staunch skepticism begins to erode, and in secret he makes a sacrifice to Hermes to protect them from the vorvolaka – but he, too, begins to grow ill. There is a parallel here to what was happening behind the scenes. Shooting had to halt when Karloff required back surgery (Karloff had lifelong back problems); when he returned, the cast and crew had moved on, and so Lewton enlisted him for the Robert Louis Stevenson story The Body Snatcher (1945) instead, teaming him once more with Bela Lugosi. Then production on Isle of the Dead resumed. Karloff looks frail, gaunt, and downright haunted – appropriate for the story, bringing something vital to it.

Thea (Ellen Drew) pursues strange noises coming from a tomb.

Thea (Ellen Drew) pursues strange noises coming from a tomb.

Actual chills are late in coming, but potent when they arrive. Martin Scorsese listed the film as one of the scariest films of all time in a story for The Daily Beast: “There’s a moment…that never fails to scare me. Let’s just say that it involves premature burial.” Well, it’s not exactly The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, but it’s true that Isle of the Dead delivers the creeps just when it counts the most. After a solid hour of talking and not quite as much dread as one would hope from a Lewton picture like this, Robson suddenly ratchets up the tension following the burial of Mrs. St. Aubyn. The widow is a cataleptic and previously expressed a recurring nightmare of premature burial. Of course this occurs, in a plot twist straight out of Edgar Allan Poe. But Robson has the Val Lewton playbook, which means silence as deep as the shadows enveloping the screen, an eerie moaning, and fleeting glimpses of Mrs. St. Aubyn, gone mad, flitting across the screen. At one point she procures a trident of Poseidon, which she uses as an effective murder weapon.  General Pherides, weak from the plague, stumbles through the dark toward Thea, convinced now that she is the vorvolaka, unaware that a real undead killer now stalks through the house. Isle of the Dead benefits from a crackerjack final fifteen minutes, but the build-up takes its sweet time, not always communicating precisely what the stakes are. With such an absence of visual evidence, we don’t really believe in the vorvolaka, which is a miscalculation on the part of the filmmakers. Nonetheless, part of what makes the Lewton films so special is the feel of risky experimentation with genre convention; if Isle of the Dead doesn’t entirely work, one nonetheless appreciates that Robson, Lewton and Wray are attempting to break from the usual rules, to emphasize character development and the themes at play: of modern day science vs. primal fears; of the responsibility of the living to the dead; of the blurry line between life and death. Isle of the Dead almost makes more sense as another chapter in a continuing thesis that runs through the Lewton thrillers, but regardless, it’s a genuinely haunting film that lingers after the ending credits.

Isle of the Dead posters

Posted in Theater Caligari | Tagged , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Isle of the Dead (1945)

The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953)

Beast from 20,000 Fathoms

Blasted out of the Arctic ice with atomic testing is a prehistoric creature called the Rhedosaurus, scaly, spiny, and massive jawed, stomping on four legs, and sending a scientist toppling over a ridge. Later that man, Thomas Nesbitt (Paul Hubschmid, aka Paul Christian, The Indian Tomb), tries in vain to convince others that what he saw was real – and that the creature just witnessed off the waters of Nova Scotia is the same beast, swimming southward. Eventually he gains support from a young paleontologist, Lee Hunter (Paula Raymond, Devil’s Doorway), who sees the alarm on his face when he recognizes the creature in her collection of dinosaur sketches. He convinces her that if the Canadian witness identifies the same drawing, it would be evidence that the prehistoric behemoth is real. When the witness does indeed corroborate, they take their case to her mentor, paleontologist Thurgood Elson (Cecil Kellaway, Harvey), who is able to persuade a skeptical Col. Jack Evans (Kenneth Tobey, The Thing From Another World, It Came From Beneath the Sea) to support an expedition to find the creature, whom Elson is convinced is headed to the Hudson River, the only spot where Rhedosaurus fossils have been found. In a diving bell in shadowy submerged canyons, Professor Elson finally discovers The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953) – right before it swallows him.

Prof. Thomas Nesbitt (Paul Hubschmid) describes the Rhedosaurus to Prof. Thurgood Elson (Cecil Kellaway). The skeleton in the background was borrowed from "Bringing Up Baby."

Prof. Thomas Nesbitt (Paul Hubschmid) describes the Rhedosaurus to Prof. Thurgood Elson (Cecil Kellaway). The skeleton in the background was borrowed from “Bringing Up Baby.”

The special effects-driven Beast became the breakthrough film for Ray Harryhausen, who had previously created stop motion animation and other effects for the stellar Mighty Joe Young (1949) with his idol and mentor Willis O’Brien (King Kong). Beast is often credited with kicking off the cycle of Atom Age monster movies, preceding Godzilla (1954) – which would bring a more somber take on the effects of radiation – as well as Them! (1954), Tarantula (1955), The Amazing Colossal Man (1957), and all the rest. It’s also a damn good example of the genre, one of the best. Here you will see the stock characters which will recur in so many later films – square jawed hero, female scientist, egghead professor. That all these characters are likable goes a long way. You also get a destructive finale in an iconic location – Coney Island, in this case. (Later Harryhausen films of the 50’s would deliver climaxes in Rome’s Colosseum and San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge.) Unfortunately the film also features a newsreel-style narrator explaining events while we watch them in the opening scenes, a dated technique to add “realism” that was popular in SF films (and crime movies) of the decade; a modern viewer will just find it a weakness in screenwriting. And stock footage – another unfortunate staple – is abundant, but one shouldn’t expect less from a 50’s B-movie. The final attempt to bring down the monster, in which scientists dressed in radiation suits board a roller coaster, looks like a satirical moment from Brazil. But Beast delivers where it really matters – high quality special effects, respectful (if clumsy) attempts at delivering science, and moments of genuine thrills.

Prof. Elson dives deep to uncover the Rhedosaurus.

Prof. Elson dives deep to uncover the Rhedosaurus.

The following year, Them! would provide nail-biting tension through its masterful use of silence – without bombastic music cramming the soundtrack, the audience anticipates the tell-tale chitter of the giant ants; the calm before the storm. Silence was put to similar effect in the earlier The Thing from Another World (1951). On this recent viewing of Beast I was impressed that director Eugène Lourié (a noted art director from French cinema who had worked on Jean Renoir’s Grand Illusion) also uses the quiet to elevate suspense. This is first evident in the initial Arctic encounter with the Rhedosaurus, but recurs in the aforementioned diving bell exploration of Kellaway’s Prof. Elson. Elson is delighted to be exploring the watery depths – we’re treated to a shark vs. octopus battle – and his delight only increases with the appearance of the creature he’s been seeking. He resists raising the diving bell, and realizes his mistake too late, as the creature zeroes in on his fragile sphere, the mouth opening toward the camera. I remembered this as being one of the best scenes in the film, but had forgotten that Lourié and screenwriters Lou Morheim and Fred Freiberger actually had the nerve to kill off such an appealing character.

The Rhedosaurus assaults a lighthouse.

The Rhedosaurus assaults a lighthouse.

The beast itself is the big attraction, and of course it looks great, even though the design isn’t quite as interesting as, say, the Ymir from 20 Million Miles to Earth (1957) or the Cyclops from The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958). (Actually, the fictional Rhedosaurus looks more like Sinbad’s dragon than an actual dinosaur.) Its bestial design also leaves little room for the trademark Harryhausen empathy, though we still feel a little sorry for it, since it’s just following its evolutionary function, an orphan trying to find other Rhedosauruses and confused by the modern civilization surrounding it. Its fate at Coney Island, crashing through the middle of the Cyclone Racer roller coaster, is a visual highlight, but so is the more lyrical image of the creature rearing up in silhouette before a lighthouse – an image drawn from Ray Bradbury’s short story, “The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms” (later anthologized as “The Fog Horn”). As the story goes, the treatment for the film was presented to Harryhausen, who recognized elements from his friend Bradbury’s story; the chagrined producers sought out the story’s rights. Therefore this film marks a rare collaboration of sorts between the two famed Rays, both of them avowed dinosaur and King Kong buffs. It’s essential monster movie viewing, and fortunately is available on a Blu-Ray box set from Warner Bros., the Special Effects Collection, appropriately matched with Mighty Joe Young, Them!, and Son of Kong (1933).

Beast from 20,000 Fathoms

Posted in Theater Fantastique | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953)

Die, Monster, Die! (1965)

Die Monster Die

In the evening I asked old people in Arkham about the blasted heath, and what was meant by that phrase “strange days” which so many evasively muttered. I could not, however, get any good answers, except that all the mystery was much more recent than I had dreamed.

-H.P. Lovecraft, “The Colour Out of Space”

Die, Monster, Die! (1965), based on H.P. Lovecraft’s 1927 story “The Colour Out of Space,” is one of a handful of Lovecraft adaptations produced by American International Pictures, who were otherwise focused, as far as horror was concerned, on the work of Edgar Allan Poe. Previously, AIP had delivered a Lovecraft adaptation under a title borrowed from Poe: The Haunted Palace (1963), starring Vincent Price and based (very loosely) upon Lovecraft’s novel The Case of Charles Dexter Ward. After 1965’s Die, Monster, Die! with Boris Karloff, AIP would revisit Lovecraft with another Karloff film, The Crimson Cult (1968, inspired – again, loosely – by “Dreams in the Witch-House”), followed by the superior The Dunwich Horror (1970 – now available from Blu-Ray from Shout! Factory). The latter film was directed by Daniel Haller, the virtuoso, Corman-approved art director behind such Gothic AIP classics as Pit and the Pendulum (1961), Tales of Terror (1962), and The Raven (1963), along with A Bucket of Blood (1959), The Little Shop of Horrors (1960), X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes (1963), and The Haunted Palace. Die, Monster, Die! marked his directorial debut, and he chose an appropriate subject. By diving into the surreal world of Lovecraftian horror, he was giving himself the opportunity to play with colorful camera tricks, decrepitude, and psychedelia.

Boris Karloff as Nahum Witley.

Boris Karloff as Nahum Witley.

But as a Lovecraft adaptation, it’s a mixed bag. The film was shot in England, where Karloff lived (next door to Christopher Lee), with a largely British cast and crew: therefore, Arkham, New England, becomes Arkham, England. Although the bones of the film are Lovecraft’s, additional elements, to pad out the running time, come straight from the AIP stock Gothic department: Karloff’s Nahum Witley lives in an isolated, fog-enshrouded manor house occupied by cobwebs, creepy (silly) family portraits, and secret chambers. In the mid-60’s, genre fans knew Lovecraft, but he wasn’t widely known to commercial audiences. (Amazingly, even on the 2015 Shout! Factory Blu-Ray, the label doesn’t drop the name Lovecraft into the film summary – which would surely be a selling point in this era of Lovecraft-branded everything.) Yet the film doesn’t shrug off the original story, either; at one point, our hero pages through an old volume called Cult of the Outer Ones, and we do glimpse some mutated humans which are very Lovecraftian in design. Nonetheless, it would not be until The Dunwich Horror that Haller would have license to fully embrace the world of the author; by that point – post-Rosemary’s Baby – the Corman style of Gothics were out of fashion. Die, Monster, Die! also has a Hammer horror feel, and not just because it was shot in England with a vibrant color scheme. The charming lead actress, Suzan Farmer, would soon be starring in Dracula: Prince of Darkness (1966) and Rasputin: The Mad Monk (1966). Also present is Freda Jackson, from Brides of Dracula (1960) and The Shadow of the Cat (1961). In smaller roles are Sydney Bromley (Horrors of the Black Museum, Night Creatures, Paranoiac, Slave Girls, The Fearless Vampire Killers) and the prolific British character actor Patrick Magee, best known for A Clockwork Orange (1971), but who also appeared in Hammer’s interesting Demons of the Mind (1971). The one element jarringly out of place is, alas, the lead actor, Nick Adams, the American star of the TV series The Rebel, whose style of acting is from the James Dean school (Dean was his friend) – nothing wrong with that, but it has no place in this kind of film. At one point he’s raging with such anguish at Karloff that it’s easy for your sympathies to switch from the hero to the villain.

Susan Witley (Suzan Farmer) is attacked by vegetation in her father's greenhouse.

Susan Witley (Suzan Farmer) is attacked by vegetation in her father’s greenhouse.

Adams, who looks and dresses like an American Tintin, plays Stephen Reinhart, a college friend of Susan Witley (Farmer), invited to Arkham by her ailing mother Letitia (Jackson). On the way to the Witley House he encounters a crater in the earth, and surrounding the area, nothing grows. In the manor he encounters Nahum Witley, who urges Stephen to leave, but is overruled by his wife, as well as the ecstatic Susan, who doesn’t waste time making out with Stephen. Nahum and his servant Merwyn (Terence de Marnay, Confessions of an Opium Eater), who wears blue-tinted spectacles, guard a secret which has something to do with the crater near the manor, the pulsing green light coming from the Witleys’ greenhouse, Mrs. Witley’s illness, and a green-glowing rock surrounded by images of skulls and demons in the catacombs of the home. Adding to the strangeness: a shadowy, veiled figure who keeps popping up at windows, a la The Innocents (1961), but who proves to be very real, at one point attacking Reinhart with a knife. When Reinhart finally breaks into the greenhouse with Susan at his side, he encounters giant plants and tomatoes, and a room which he describes as “a zoo in Hell” – Haller’s team doing the best they can to create Lovecraftian horrors using 1965 special effects. (It’s fine. And fun.) Reinhart realizes the plants and mutations are caused by little green rocks, which have an effect even more potent than uranium. Susan is attacked by living plants in the greenhouse, like something out of the same year’s The Day of the Triffids. Reinhart also breaks into the secret chamber beneath the Witley House, where he finds a giant, green-glowing rock, which has been transforming – or, rather, melting – Mrs. Witley, and already turned her nurse – the veiled woman – into a mutant psychopath. In the final transformation caused by the cosmic rock, Karloff becomes a hulking silvery monster.

The things in the greenhouse.

The things in the greenhouse.

With all this incident packed into one film, Die, Monster, Die! certainly sounds exciting, but it still doesn’t quite fill out its 80 minute running time; the film can drag if you don’t fall into its languid spell. I took to it more on this second viewing, when I was aware of its flaws going in. One key problem is that the padded elements feel out of place. These include the axe-wielding nurse whose face is melting, and references to rituals to the “Outer Ones,” as performed by Nahum’s father Corbin Witley, who “went insane.” There’s no need for any rituals in the plot, really, as much as one might want to squeeze in the Necronomicon. A straightforward telling of the corruption of a small village by an alien poison from outer space, as in Lovecraft’s original, would make for a more interesting, and cohesive, story. Nonetheless, the film has so much that’s outré, and such a rich atmosphere thanks to Haller’s gifts, that it remains a notable installment of AIP’s 60’s horror. Karloff, whose health was failing, is as committed as ever to his performance, even though there’s nothing much that really separates Nahum Witley from the prior decades’ worth of creepy old men with secrets living in Old Dark Houses. There’s a particular, unexpected integrity in Die, Monster, Die! Haller knew the worth of Lovecraftian horror, even though, in this early film adaptation, the author’s interest in the terrifying unknowable doesn’t perfectly fit into the 60’s AIP brand, where the genre elements were often cookie-cutter.

Die Monster Die

Posted in Theater Caligari | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Comments Off on Die, Monster, Die! (1965)