The Devil Made Them Do It—the Three Movies that Defined the Satanic Scares of the ‘70s

 

Beginning in the late 1950s, the relaxation of censorship laws governing motion pictures, as well as an increasing sophistication on the part of audiences, a number of newer topics and themes began to be explored in American cinema, especially in the Horror genre.  One of the most popular and persistent involved Satanism, Witchcraft, and Demonology.  There were a scattering of such films between 1958 and 1968, but after the end of the Production Code in 1967, the subgenre virtually exploded, and the 1970s became, in many ways, the decade of the Devil in film. 

There were many such films produced after 1967.  A few became classics—The Sentinel (1977), Inferno (1980), The Wicker Man (1973), or Suspira (1977).  Some were okay—Race with the Devil (1975), El Diablo se Lleva los Muertos –aka— Lisa and the Devil (1974), or To the Devil a Daughter (1976).  Most were just bad.  Movies such as Ruby (1977), Abby (1974), or Simon, King of the Witches (1971), while undeniably inferior movies, still packed audiences into Drive-Ins and Grindhouses.

Three films, however, would stand out from the crowd, and be recognized as outstanding examples of filmmaking, and not just in the Horror genre.  These would be Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby, released in 1968; William Friedkin’s The Exorcist, in 1973; and Richard Donner’s The Omen, from 1976.  Together, they would come to symbolize the Satanic films of the ‘70s.

While Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby wasn’t the first Horror film with satanic themes (1913’s The Student of Prague, directed by Stellan Rye, probably holds that distinction), it was one of the first to take advantage of the newfound realism of the late ‘60s cinema.  Prior to Polanski’s groundbreaking film, themes of Satanism, Devil Worship, Witchcraft, and Cults were approached with caution by Hollywood, if at all.  The Production Code, put into place by the Hays Office in 1930 in an effort by the studios to avoid official censorship, was fully in control by 1934, severely restricting the content of motion pictures.  Though depictions of Satanism or Devil-Worship weren’t specifically forbidden under the code, the major studios were generally unwilling to approach, much less push, the boundaries set by the Hays Office.

One of the last Satanically-themed films produced before the Production Code took full effect was Edgar Ulmer’s 1934 classic The Black Cat, by Universal.  With overt themes of satanic worship and implied necrophilia and virgin sacrifice, it would have been impossible to release just a year later.  As it was, studio executives ordered the film to be cut in order to lessen the violence and horror, while allowing Ulmer to slip some of the movie’s most decadent bits past them.

In 1943, working within the confines of the Code, RKO Pictures produced The Seventh Victim, directed by Mark Robson and produced by Val Lewton, RKO’s hired gun brought in to compete with Universal’s Horror franchise.  The film concerned a young woman’s search for her missing sister, and her discovery that her sister was a member of a Satanic cult.  Though in my opinion it’s the best of the Horror films Lewton created for RKO, a very ham-fisted job of editing meant that the theatrical release was a confusing mess, and it did poorly at the box office.

The Production Code was officially in place until 1967, though in reality numerous factors had been whittling away at it for many years prior to that date.  First, the code only applied to films produced in the US.  While other nations’ cinemas had their own censorship issues to deal with, those tended to be more politically, rather than morally, oriented.

The second circumstance that led to the downfall of the Production Code was that, with increasing rapidity, Courts were conferring greater and greater protection to motion pictures under the aegis of the First Amendment.  The Supreme Court, in 1915, had ruled that motion pictures were a business, not art, and thus weren’t protected speech under the First Amendment.  However, that view had been shifting since the early 1950s, coinciding with the end of the Studio System.  As local censorship laws began to be struck down, there was increasing pressure on the Supreme Court to revisit their earlier decision, to bring order out of the patchwork quilt of censorship laws which covered the nation.

Third, and most importantly, the Code was entirely voluntary.  The major studios were the only ones bothering to abide by the code, and were the least interested in fighting censorship.  That fight was left to the independent Exploitation filmmakers, those who fought a constant battle with local censors for the right to exhibit their wares.  It was they who dragged the majors, kicking and screaming, into the modern era, which rendered the Production Code an archaic afterthought.

As the code began to crack and come apart, Satanically-themed films began to appear sporadically at Drive-Ins and Conventional theatres.  One of the best of this era was a British import, based on the M. R. James novel “Casting the Runes,” and directed by Jacques Tourneur.  Night of the Demon, released in the US as Curse of the Demon, was heavily edited prior to its theatrical release (approximately twelve minutes were cut); in its original form, it was a well-written and –directed, if at times slow paced, Horror film.  Literate, mature, and intelligent, it was the framework upon which the best of the Devil-Worship films were constructed.

Ten years after Night of the Demon hit theatres, low-budget Horror producer/director William Castle brought a project he was interested in developing to Robert Evans at Paramount.  Castle had gotten the advance galley proofs of a new novel by Ira Levin entitled Rosemary’s Baby from the book’s publisher, Random House.  Evans loved the story, and could see its potential as a feature film.  His only stipulation involved William Castle.  Well aware of the latter’s reputation for camp and gimmickry, Evans said that he could produce the film, but he wanted another director to helm the project.  They gave the job to an up-and-coming Polish filmmaker who was developing a solid reputation in Europe. 

Roman Polanski, then thirty-five, had just filmed a supposed Horror-Comedy, The Fearless Vampire Killers, released in the US by MGM (I say “supposed” because in my opinion it fails at both genres).  Polanski, best known for his 1965 film Repulsion, which had drawn critical praise, seemed a good fit for Rosemary’s Baby, at its core a psychological horror similar in tone to Repulsion.  And with the increased freedom following the demise of the Production Code, Polanski had the opportunity to make the first truly serious, mature Horror film.

Despite my personal animus towards Polanski as a person, which I have written of prior to this, I will give him his due as a talented director.  And Rosemary’s Baby might be his best film; certainly his best early work.  With a cast led by Mia Farrow and John Cassavetes, Polanski crafted a slow, suspenseful build-up to a shocking ending.  Critics loved it.  Moviegoers loved it.  And Hollywood took notice, and began developing similar properties in order to cash in. 

In the wake of the blockbuster success of Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby, every studio, from the Hollywood Majors to low-budget exploiteers, wanted their own Satanic, demonic, or cult-themed film.  That’s the nature of the business; one innovates, everyone else imitates.  Within a year or two, Horror films involving witches, covens, and Devil-Worshippers were a standard trope in low-budget Horror films.  Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder General, directed by Michael Reeves and starring Vincent Price, actually beat the Polanski film into theaters, at least in Great Britain.  Though not strictly speaking a Horror film (though it was marketed as such, especially in the US where it was retitled The Conqueror Worm, after an Edgar Allan Poe poem), it nonetheless demonstrates that such topics were beginning to permeate the zeitgeist.

1971 saw an explosion of such movies, and titles such as The Brotherhood of Satan, The Mephisto Waltz, Tombs of the Blind Dead, and The Devil’s Nightmare were popular low-budget entries into the genre.  Similar films would be released in 1972, including Daughters of Satan and Horror Rises from the Tomb.  But it would be 1973 before the majors came back to the subject of demonic movies, and when they did, it would be with a vengeance. 

In 1971, author William Peter Blatty, inspired by a 1949 case of reported demonic possession, published a novel telling the story of a young girl, tormented by such a occurrence, and two Catholic priests who fight to save her soul from a demon.  The Exorcist was a runaway best-seller in print form, and it was only a matter of time before it was adapted for the screen.  Warner Bros. purchased the film rights to the book, and chose William Friedkin, coming off directing The French Connection, winner of five Oscars including Best Picture and Best Director, to helm it. 

With a script by Blatty, the author of the source novel; a cast comprised of veteran actors such as Max Von Sydow and Lee J. Cobb, lesser-known performers like Ellen Burstyn and Mercedes McCambridge, and a host of unknowns, such as Linda Blair and Jason Miller; and armed with a budget of $12 million, Friedkin crafted the definitive movie about demonic possession, one that would earn nearly $450 million at the Box Office, as well as ten Academy Award nominations, including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Adapted Screenplay.  It won two, including Best Adapted Screenplay for Blatty’s script.  It is still regarded by many to be the most frightening Horror film ever.  And every studio and independent producer wanted to duplicate it.

Seemingly overnight theaters and Drive-Ins were swamped with demons and devils, witches and warlocks.  Time magazine might have declared God dead, but Satan was alive and well and living in Hollywood.  As is often the case with efforts to capitalize on a newly burgeoning trend in Hollywood, most of these low-budget Exploitation film takes on the subject weren’t very good.  However Italian and Spanish filmmakers, with deep roots in Catholic theological tradition, generally fared better with these themes, perhaps as an expression of rebellion against the cultural domination on the part of the Church in those countries.  In particular, a Spanish director named Jesús Franco showed a marked antipathy towards the Church, so much so that the Vatican declared him, along with fellow Spaniard Luis Buñuel, the most dangerous filmmakers in the world.

Sometime in 1973, Bob Munger, a friend of producer Harvey Bernhard, suggested to the latter that a movie about the Antichrist, the son of Satan, would be good box office.  Bernhard agreed, and immediately hired David Seltzer to turn the idea into a screenplay.  Seltzer, who had gotten his start in the business with an uncredited rewrite of Roald Dahl’s script for Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, took a year to finish the assignment, but when it was completed, everyone connected with the project felt that The Omen would be a winner.  Richard Donner, an experienced film and television director, was selected to helm the project for Warner Bros.

Starring Gregory Peck, Lee Remick, and David Warner, the story concerns an American diplomat and his wife, whose adopted son turns out to be the Antichrist foretold in the Book of Revelations.  Just as Rosemary’s Baby dealt with Satan from what might be described as a secular viewpoint, and The Exorcist was a study in Catholic theological dogma, The Omen was grounded in the Protestant Fundamentalist views on Armageddon and the Apocalypse.  This becomes more noticeable when one considers that most of the Catholic clergy are depicted as being in league with the Devil, certainly a Protestant prejudice.  Though the film failed to garner the critical praise that had been heaped upon the previous two linchpins of the subgenre, it was a box office hit, earning $61 million on a budget of $2.8 million.

As the Slasher films began to dominate the Horror genre in the late 1970s, the Satanic films waned in popularity, though never completely disappearing.  In the decades since, they have remained a staple of the Horror fan’s diet, holding their own against the vampires, ghosts, aliens, and zombies that populate modern Horror films.  I don’t see that changing anytime soon—after all, the battle between Good and Evil is as old as Mankind itself.

Lost but Found: Peter Jackson’s Recreation of the “Spider-Pit”

Between its initial release and the mid-1950’s, KING KONG underwent several cuts designed either to make the film conform to changing moral standards or to fit artificial time constraints. Most of the cuts came from the 1938 re-release of the film, and were mandated by the Hayes Office. Many of these cuts were restored when an intact print was found in Great Britain in the early ‘70’s.

However, there was one sequence that was cut prior to the film’s general release, and this sequence does appear to be gone forever. This is the famous “Spider Pit” scene, which showed what happened to several of the crew of the Venture after Kong tossed the log into the chasm. There seems to be no doubt that this scene was shot; notes from director Merian C. Cooper state that he removed it himself following poor audience reaction in test screenings. Fans and historians have searched for decades for this missing footage, to no avail. If, as it would seem, the sequence were cut from the negative prior to most of the prints being manufactured, then there simply may not be any footage to find.

However, thanks to the efforts of KING KONG remake director Peter Jackson, we have the next best thing. He and his special effects crew at the WETA Workshop set out to reconstruct this lost scene, and they did it the old-fashioned way, with 1932 cameras identical to the ones Willis “Obie” O’Brien used to shoot the original sequence, and with painstakingly recreated animation models. They not only filmed it, they filmed how they did it, and included it on the original KING KONG Collector’s Edition DVD.

As I stated in my review of the KK33 Collector’s Edition, this was a labor of love on the part of Jackson, a life-long Kongophile. It had to have been; I’m sure that more money was spent on reproducing the few minutes of missing footage than was spent filming the original movie. Certainly, the time spent resurrecting long-forgotten techniques and obsolete equipment represented a significant allocation of resources, even for someone of Jackson’s means. Was it worth it?

As those involved in the project stated, their intention was never to “complete” the original KING KONG. They simply wanted to know what the missing sequence would have looked like, based on what information still survives about the scene. They began with a still that does survive, showing at least two crewmen standing alive in the pit, as a monstrous spider approaches. Using that as a jumping-off point, they used Obie’s sketches for the film, many from Jackson’s own collection, to recreate the various pit monsters.

As this was going on, Jackson and a small group of directors and screenwriters, including Frank Darabont, examined the original movie frame-by-frame, matching the filmed sequences to the shooting script for the film. In doing this, they made a significant discovery.

Many fans have wondered why, when the crew of the Venture began crossing the log-bridge, only to find Kong blocking the route, they didn’t just back up to the other side. Jackson and team found that, along with the pit sequence, footage was removed showing the crew being chased by a Styracosaurus onto the log, to be trapped there and flung to their deaths in the pit below. They decided to recreate this as well, and Jackson had an item in his collection that was particularly helpful in that: The original animation model of the Styracosaurus.

Originally built for use in O’Brien’s planned-but-never-filmed CREATION, it was resurrected for KING KONG, but its scenes were left on the cutting room floor. It did finally get its shot at stardom, however, when it was used in 1933’s SON OF KONG. With its foam rubber body rotting away, it was of course impossible to use for filming the recreation, but the animators were very curious to see how it had been constructed. Unable to see the armature (the model’s poseable skeleton…) underneath the layers of rotting rubber, they did the next best thing: They took it to a local hospital for a full series of X-rays. (In an interesting side note, those of you who have the recent DVD tribute to Forry Ackerman, THE SCI-FI BOYS, look closely at one of the scenes of Forry giving a tour of the Ackermansion in the ‘70’s… there, in the background, sitting quietly on the shelf, is our friend the Styracosaurus, rotted rubber and all!)

This level of commitment and dedication was shown throughout the filming of the recreation, from using period photographic equipment to sampling Fay Wray’s unforgettable scream to use for constructing the various creature howls and roars. I may be in danger of redundancy, but you can feel the emotional attachment this group of filmmakers has for this classic movie.

So, after all this effort, was the finished product worth it? Yes, I think so. Is it what Cooper and Obie originally shot? No, but it’s probably close, damn close. And for me, as far as this is concerned, close is close enough.

The Short, Amazing Career of Val Lewton

In a brief, four-year association with RKO Pictures, Val Lewton produced eleven films, nine of which were Horror Films, eight of which were successful to some degree. Those nine movies were films that took Horror fans in directions that had not been explored previously in American genre cinema. These were not the Monster-laden Classics of Universal, or their cheaper-than-dirt clones from the half-dozen or so “Poverty Row” studios. Though the titles were as lurid and enticing as anything from Monogram or PRC, these were Horror Films for the thinker. These were serious in a way that Universal had never tried to be.

Born Vladimir Leventon in Yalta, Crimea in 1904, Lewton’s mother and aunt moved the family to Berlin in 1906, then to the United States in 1909. Lewton, a born storyteller, began writing as a teen, selling his stories to anyone who would purchase them. Mainstream magazines, pulps, even pornographic publishers—if they would pay him for it, he would write it. Several of the less savory tales were published under the pen name of Carlos Keith, a name he would use again in Hollywood.

Lewton worked under David O. Selznick at M-G-M as a story editor, contributing ideas and scenes to many films, though usually without credit. One scene he is responsible for came about due to one of the few wrong decisions he made about a movie. He was reportedly opposed to the filming of GONE WITH THE WIND, feeling it would be a Box-Office flop. The legend has it that Selznick made him contribute one scene to the film. Not wanting to be associated with the movie, he set out to write a scene that would never get shot, a scene that would be cut before production. However, Selznick loved the scene, it was filmed, and it became one of the signature images of the movie—the scene in the Atlanta railroad depot, as the camera pulls back from Scarlett to reveal the hundreds of dying and wounded men.

In 1942, RKO Pictures was on the verge of bankruptcy. Orson Welles’ twin epics CITIZEN KANE and THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS, though well received critically, were financial failures of the first order. Charles Koerner, head of the studio, canned Welles and ordered that no more “Artistic” movies be made. The success enjoyed by rival Universal Studios inspired him to launch a Horror unit at RKO, and Lewton, remembered as a writer of genre fiction, was hired to run it. Koerner may have expected typical, “Universal-style” monster movies from his new producer. What he got was anything but.

For the next four years, Lewton and his handpicked group of writers, directors, and actors produced nine of the most intelligent, serious, adult Horror Films ever made, certainly for those times. Gone were the popcorn plots and made-up monsters that defined 1940’s Horror. The fiends that haunted Lewton’s nightmares were all the more monstrous because they were so very normal; outwardly looking like the rest of us, yet inwardly evil and terrifying. These films are: THE CAT PEOPLE; I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE; THE LEOPARD MAN; THE SEVENTH VICTIM; THE GHOST SHIP; CURSE OF THE CAT PEOPLE; THE BODY SNATCHER; ISLE OF THE DEAD; and BEDLAM. All have been released within the past few years, in a pricey, though tremendously well-done, five-disc collector’s set from Turner Home Entertainment.

The things that critics so rightly hail Hitchcock for doing in the ‘60’s, Lewton and directors Jacques Tourneur, Robert Wise, and Mark Robson were perfecting in the ‘40’s, such as the famous “Bus” shot from THE CAT PEOPLE and the dark, atmospheric lighting that blankets all the Lewton Horror Films. Most importantly, Lewton’s films let the audience fill-in the ‘dark corners’ with their imaginations, painting details far more frightening than any studio, then or now, could produce. And while most producers have little effect on the style of a film, Lewton was hands-on with every aspect of production, and all nine of these movies unmistakably bear his imprint.

Working with titles mandated by RKO executives for their sheer luridness, he nonetheless crafted intelligent, effective tales of terror to fit those pulp titles. Where most producers would’ve been content simply to give the studio what they thought they wanted, Lewton fought to keep his people together, and to make the movies he wanted to make.

RKO’s Production Supervisor Lou Ostrow wanted Jacques Tourneur fired four days into the production of CAT PEOPLE; Lewton went straight to Koerner in order to keep him on the film. Following the success of the first few of his Horror Films, Lewton was offered to chance to move up to an A-grade production; he turned the offer down when told he couldn’t use Mark Robson to direct it. In a business where some people would throw their own mothers to the sharks for fifteen minutes to pitch a script, Lewton displayed a unique level of loyalty to his creative people.

As the Horror cycle wound down following the end of World War II, Lewton finished his run at RKO with three Period horrors, all starring the Master of terror, Boris Karloff. The first of these, THE BODY-SNATCHER, was the also the best, featuring Bela Lugosi in the final pairing of the two horror icons.

Lewton left RKO in 1946 to form an independent production company, though the mainstream success he sought would elude him. He would make only three more pictures, all somewhat lackluster, prior to his premature death from a heart attack in 1951. He was less than two months shy of his 47th birthday.

The legacy Val Lewton left behind far outweighs the number of his contributions to, or the brevity of his work in, the horror genre. Without Lewton, there might not been a Hitchcock; at least, not as we know him. Without the shower scene in THE SEVENTH VICTIM, would there had been a much more famous shower scene 16 years later? I don’t know, but I doubt it. No director, not even the great Alfred Hitchcock, works in a vacuum. He was at the least familiar with the Lewton film, if not directly inspired by it.

While nothing can supplant my love and respect for the great Universal horrors, that love is not blind. I see them for what they are, at least what the 1940’s vintage Uni-Horrors are: mindless, popcorn-selling, seat-filling ways to kill an hour or so. And while Lewton’s films did the same, they also did something else: They showed us that Horror could be smart, and that the scariest place in the world is in our own imaginations.

Giant Monkey Love: Celebrating Kong on his 75th Birthday

April 7th, 1933 is a Red-Letter date in the history of genre films, for that is the day that the greatest of the giant monsters was born. On that day, an ape named Kong first roared across the screen, a blond beauty screamed her way into the hearts of moviegoers, and audiences everywhere were amazed. On that day, KING KONG premiered, and changed movies forever.

The creation of Merian C. Cooper and Ernest Shoedsack, brought to vivid life by the artistry of Willis O’Brien, and starring Robert Armstrong, Bruce Cabot, and the incomparable Fay Wray, KING KONG stormed through the 1933 Box-Office as easily as the jungles of Skull Island. In its wake, it left a legacy that has inspired fans and filmmakers alike for three-quarters of a century. The careers of such genre notables as Ray Harryhausen and Peter Jackson were encouraged and influenced by the “Eighth Wonder of the World!”, as Carl Denham so eloquently described him to his captivated audience. Generations of MonsterKids have grown up watching Kong battle man, machine, and beast for his “beauty.”

Remade twice in the years since 1933, with varying degrees of success, KING KONG is a masterpiece of filmmaking. The story captures you, pulling you into the film as only the best can. The 1976 remake certainly didn’t do that, and while Jackson’s 2005 version came close, it just couldn’t match the original’s sense of pure, adventurous, escapism… the feeling that you were traveling, with the crew of the Venture, to some place completely undiscovered.

Most of what makes the original KING KONG so special is the depth of the characters. Each one is so well drawn, in such broad strokes, that they defy attempts to update them in the subsequent remakes. In 1976, no attempt was made to remain faithful to the original; the resulting characters are so poorly rendered as to be completely unlikable. Robert Armstrong’s Denham is replaced by a slimy, sniveling oil company executive in the person of Charles Grodin, who plays the role as if Al Gore himself wrote it. Jessica Lange plays Dwan, a beautiful blonde with the I.Q. of a butternut squash, as though it were her goal to confirm every Blonde stereotype in existence. Gone are the courageous Captain and First Mate, originally played by Frank Reicher and Bruce Cabot. Instead, we have Jeff Bridges as Jack Prescott, a hippie environmentalist/ape expert, and the role of the captain has been almost entirely eliminated. No one in this cast of cast-offs manages to approach their counterparts from the original, and the weak script and weaker direction can do nothing to overcome the poor characterization.

In contrast, the Jackson remake brought back the original characters but altered them to such a degree that they became unrecognizable. Carl Denham, the renowned adventurer and filmmaker of the original film, became a two-bit hustler and con-man in the remake, not above lying, cheating, and stealing to get his way. Jack Driscoll went from being the First Mate of the Venture, a strong heroic figure, to a whining little nebbish of a playwright, destined to be “odd man out” in a very weird romantic triangle. The First Mate, played by Evan Parke, was very much the type of character the story needed Driscoll to be, and would have made a suitably strong love interest for Ann Darrow; yet he was relegated to a minor role, and was dead before the battle in the Spider Pit had even begun. The character of the Captain, played by Thomas Kretschmann, was the only one that improved over the original, with more depth and complexity than Reicher’s weathered old salt.

Then there’s Ann Darrow.

Embodied by Fay Wray, the character of Ann is a singular achievement in the history of Horror Films. No other female character of the first fifty years of Horror was as recognizable or had a more lasting impact on the genre, and none has been more integral to the success and longevity of the movie itself. Wray so perfectly captured the innocence, the vulnerability, of ‘Beauty’ that it’s hard to watch the film and not be captivated by her… just as Denham is, just as Driscoll is, just as the crew of the Venture is, and just as Kong himself is.

In comparison Ann, as essayed by Naomi Watts, has no innocence or vulnerability, at least not until she’s on the island, and even then precious little of it is evident. In New York, she’s hit rock bottom… a beaten, careworn woman searching for something to believe in, someone who won’t disappoint her the way every one and every thing else has. She finds that someone… in the form of a 24-foot tall ape named Kong. He demands nothing of her, yet from the first repeatedly risks, and ultimately loses, his life simply in order to be with her. But where Jackson’s version deviates from the original is where his film loses some of its shine, and the true quality of the Cooper film shows through.

Where Wray’s Ann is quite naturally terrified and traumatized by her status as a giant ape’s object of infatuation, Watts’ reaction is just the opposite—she seeks him out after he’s escaped from Denham’s spectacle, showing not a trace of fear as he takes her in his massive hand. She turned her back on Denham, and Driscoll, over the capture of Kong, and she again chooses to stand with Kong, in essence turning her back on humanity. One is left to wonder if, given the choice between which of the two ‘males’ in her life would plummet to their death from the top of the Empire State Building, events would not have transpired differently.

Of course, Watts’ Ann wasn’t dealing with the same Ape that Wray’s character was. Cooper’s Kong was a monster. An innocent monster, to be sure; one that did not wish to be taken from the place where “…he was King…”—but a monster nonetheless. Jackson anthropomorphizes Kong, giving him a humanlike personality, and transforms him from a monster into a 24-foot tall pet monkey… Tarzan’s Cheetah, on the Major League Baseball diet.

But it’s not just the depth of characterization that makes the original so much better than either attempt to remake it. It’s the perfect synergy of concept, story, design, and execution that sets the work of Cooper, Shoedsack, O’Brien, and the rest apart… a synergy that’s almost impossible to duplicate. John Guillermin didn’t even try, and though Peter Jackson came close, his humanization of Kong ultimately defeats the attempt.

In the end, Guillermin film isn’t as bad as it could have been, and Jackson’s KONG is without a doubt a great movie, but neither can be what the original was, and is… the greatest monster movie ever.

Giant Gorillas in our Midst

One of the most enduring images in cinema is King Kong battling Army Air Corps fighters atop the Empire State Building, as Fay Wray huddled helplessly nearby. For seventy-five years now, that scene has remained ingrained in the consciousness of the movie-going public, and Kong himself remains one of the most popular characters in Horror and Science-Fiction, with a number of remakes, sequels, and outright rip-offs of the big ape feeding the movie-going public’s love of mega-monster mayhem.

Three years ago, director Peter Jackson added to that list with his spectacular, special effects-laden, mega-budget blockbuster remake of the 1933 original. One of the most innovative and impressive genre directors working today, Jackson has been a rising star since 1987’s BAD TASTE, and the blockbuster success of his epic LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy gave him the opportunity to make a long-held dream a reality: To remake what some consider the greatest Monster Movie ever made.

In honor of the 75th anniversary of the release of the original KING KONG, and in recognition of the fact that there would not have been a Gojira, or a Gorgo, or the Ymir without the Grand-Pappy of them all, let’s take a close look at some of the films in Kong’s family tree.

The Original

KING KONG (1933)

The first, and the best, of the Giant Monsters, KING KONG captured the imagination of moviegoers in 1933. Working from a story by prolific mystery writer Edgar Wallace, (who died as the production was beginning) producers-directors Merian Cooper and Ernest Shoedsack created one of the most enduring relationships in cinema, in the person of a 24-foot tall ape, in love with a five-foot, three-inch willowy blonde with a piercing scream.

Thanks to the incredible effects work of Willis O’Brien, the first true master craftsman of motion picture special effects, KING KONG was a giant leap forward compared to what contemporary audiences were used to seeing on the screen. While giant animals such as dinosaurs had been done on-screen before, never had they been done as convincingly true-to-life as here. O’Brien’s models may look dated, even hokey, to today’s audiences, but when viewed from the perspective of the time, they were every bit as earth-shaking and awe-inspiring as the CGI and green-screen technology of today.

The cast as well contributed much to the success of the film, but one person in particular has helped insure its longevity: Fay Wray.

Born Vina Fay Wray in Alberta, Canada in 1907, her family moved to Arizona when she was three years old. Though she began acting after relocating to Southern California, with her screen debut in 1923’s GASOLINE LOVE, she received her break into stardom as Mitzi in Erich Von Stroheim’s 1928 drama THE WEDDING MARCH, a role she considered her favorite until her death in 2004.

After appearing in 1932’s DOCTOR X, Wray began a short run of Genre films that included such classics as THE MYSTERY OF THE WAX MUSEUM (1933) and BLACK MOON (1934). Though the latter film was her last entry in the Horror Genre, in a run lasting just two years, she will forever be remembered as the screen’s original “Scream Queen.”

The Sequel

SON OF KONG (1933)

Released a short 9½ months after the blockbuster premiere of KING KONG, the sequel is a pale shadow of it’s progenitor. Shot in record time to capitalize on the success of KING KONG, the whole production shows a lack of quality, from the plot, which, apart from the somewhat novel opening premise, (that of Carl Denham, responsible for the capture of the original Kong, fleeing the mass of lawsuits resulting from Kong’s rampage) is hackneyed and unbelievable; to the acting, which is at best inadequate. Though Robert Armstrong is acceptable reprising his role from the first film, the remainder of the cast is a drastic comedown from the previous adventure. Helen Mack has the unenviable task of filling Fay Wray’s formidable shoes, a task at which she fails miserably. The rest barely deserve mention.

Even Willis O’Brien’s effects suffer, albeit to a much lesser degree than the rest of the production. While the Kiko (though not mentioned in the film, the Son of Kong’s name had been used in earlier versions of the script) model is excellent; every bit as well done as Kong had been, the animation appears rushed, and scant little time is given to develop the ape’s character. With KING KONG, whole sequences had been devoted to making him as real as possible; to giving him a personality. There’s none of that attention to detail here. In fact, Kiko is barely a presence in the film, a Deus ex Machina to move the story along when it needs help. And it needed a lot of help.

While an interesting addition to Kong’s family tree, it’s not one he’s likely to brag about, and not one we should ponder on too long.

The Remake

KING KONG (1976)

While a huge financial success for Paramount Pictures, shot on a budget of $24,000,000, and grossing more that twice that, the first remake of KING KONG was received less than enthusiastically by fans of the original film. Purists decried what they considered the ruining of a classic; fans of the original’s stop-motion animation were horrified to learn that the new Kong would be a man in a monkey-suit; every faction of Horror fandom weighed in on the film, with most coming down against the film. For a long time, I, too, was in that camp.

Recently, however, I pulled my dusty VHS copy off the shelf and watched it for the first time in at least fifteen years. Though it will never appear on one of my top ten lists, or even a top one hundred, it’s not nearly as offensive as I remembered.

While most of the complaints that were lodged against the remake were valid, and the film does suffer from a number of problems, still, it does a very credible job updating the Kong story for contemporary audiences, while taking advantage of increased technical sophistication. The script, while overly political for my personal tastes, is decent, with a believable plot and good character development for most of the cast. The exceptions to that are the characters played by Jessica Lange and Charles Grodin.

Grodin’s Fred Wilson, an oil company executive, is played as though written by the staff writer at Greenpeace—evil, conniving, greedy, the type of character that would club baby seals to keep his golf swing in shape. While such characters can be interesting, they need some depth to balance them out, and there’s none to be found in Wilson. He’s simply a caricature who might as well be named “Big Oil.”

However, Grodin comes off as lucky when compared to the treatment given to Lange’s Dwan. If she had been written as any more of a vacuous airhead, she would’ve needed a helmet and dribble-bib.

In retrospect, now that I can view the remake with somewhat more mature eyes, I can see that, while it falls far short of the original, it can’t do anything to detract from the greatness of the 1933 version. On it’s own, it’s a decent little movie, and a tolerable addition to the family tree.

The Sequel to the Remake

KING KONG LIVES (1986)

If SON OF KONG was the relative no one brags about, then KING KONG LIVES is the one locked up in the attic. A ridiculous plot is laid out in tedious fashion, involving a still-living Kong needing a blood transfusion in order to undergo the implantation of an artificial heart. Suddenly, a female Kong is found, captured, and, after providing Kong with the blood he needs, is given an 800-lb. sugar cookie and 500 gallons of juice. Not really, but it would’ve made more sense and been more interesting than what did ensue.

Dedicated fans of the Horror, Science-Fiction, and Fantasy genres occasionally have to sort through a lot of movies to pluck the wheat from the chaff. This member of the Kong family is definitely chaff.

The Remake of the Original

KING KONG (2005)

If fans of Peter Jackson’s LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy can vouch for anything, it’s that the man shows deep respect for the source material from which his films are derived, whether that source is the epic fantasy novels of J. R. R. Tolkien, or a 1933 Monster movie that changed the course of film history. Jackson’s remake is everything the 1976 Guillerman film wasn’t; interesting, spectacular, entertaining… and most of all, it was faithful. Not necessarily to the original; there were some very significant departures from Cooper’s version, most notably in the characters and how they were developed. But it was faithful to the fans, the ones who share Jackson’s love of the 1933 film, and did not want to see it disrespected as happened in 1976.

While not all of Jackson’s alterations worked, (i.e., “Monkey on Ice”, or the way Kong and Ann “signed” to each other…) in no way did he make light of the original, or treat it with anything less than the utmost deference. The characters themselves, however, received far less consideration. Robert Armstrong’s Carl Denham was an honorable man; secretive, but not deceitful. In the person of Jack Black, Denham’s a grifter, a con man with a camera, not above lying, cheating, or stealing to get what he’s after. Jack Driscoll, the hero of the original and Fay Wray’s love interest, endures the most in the retelling of the story. Instead of a tough, heroic Bruce Cabot, we get a skinny, namby-pamby writer in the person of Adrien Brody. Even Naomi Watts’ Ann suffers somewhat by comparison; actually choosing the monkey over the man—Driscoll only winds up with the girl by default, after Kong’s fatal plunge off the Empire State Building.

But bad characterizations and overly sentimental scenes aside, this is one kick-ass spectacle of filmmaking. While it hasn’t supplanted the original in my heart, (and never will…) it’s still a great movie, and is a fitting tribute to the original film, and Peter Jackson’s love of it.

The Distant Relations

While it’s own progeny have never quite measured up to it’s stature, KING KONG stands as own of the most influential films of the genre. It inspired the Japanese Kaijû films of the ‘50’s, ‘60’s and ‘70’s; led to the explosion of giant mutated lizards and insects that rampaged across American movie screen in the ‘50’s; even Roland Emmerich’s 1998 GODZILLA owed as much to the giant ape as it did to the Toho classics. Giant monsters, whether spiders, T-Rex’s, or apes, continue to enthrall and delight audiences today, and I doubt that will change any time soon. I think it bodes well for the genre that Jackson’s remake was such a huge hit, and that we still see, in films such as THE HOST and CLOVERFIELD, Giant Monsters prowling the screen.

DVD Review: KING KONG Collector’s Edition Tin-Boxed Set (1933)

Title: KING KONG (Collector’s Edition Tin-Boxed Set)

Year of Release—Film: 1933

Year of Release—DVD: 2005

DVD Label: Warner Home Video

THE MOVIE

How much do I need to say about this, perhaps the greatest Monster movie of all time? This movie was the progenitor of every Giant Animal film that followed, from GOJIRA to EIGHT-LEGGED FREAKS; it continues to thrill generations of monster fans; and it has inspired dozens of future filmmakers, from Ray Harryhausen to Peter Jackson.

The brainchild of Merian C. Cooper and Ernest Shoedsack, (whose real lives are worthy of an adventure film or three…) KING KONG is the story of Carl Denham, a filmmaker who specializes in wildlife pictures, who’s been told by the executives that he needs some romance in his films, some beauty… in short, a woman. Desperate to find someone, anyone willing to undertake a long sea voyage for the chance at fame and fortune, he begins searching out the skid row flophouses and soup kitchens.

About to give up, he intercedes in an altercation between a fruit vendor and a young woman. Denham comes to the girl’s assistance, and realizes that he has found his star. Her name is Ann Darrow, and she is soon convinced that this is her ticket out of the poverty of Depression-era New York. She quickly finds herself aboard the Venture, bound for Indonesia, and for terror.

Kong was brought marvelously to life by the genius of Willis O’Brien. Obie, as he was known, began his career in the art of Stop-Motion Animation with the 1918 film THE GHOST OF SLUMBER MOUNTAIN, and became recognized as the leading animator in Hollywood with 1925’s THE LOST WORLD. With KING KONG, Obie hit his professional zenith, designing creatures and effects that still fascinate and amaze audiences, most notably Kong himself.

But the big ape wasn’t the only star of the movie, and this film elevated his leading lady to legendary status. Fay Wray was one of the rising stars in the Hollywood of the early ‘30’s, and had been since appearing in Erich von Stroheim’s 1928 film THE WEDDING MARCH. Beginning in 1932, she appeared in several Horror Films, most notably THE MYSTERY IN THE WAX MUSEUM, earning her the title of the Screen’s first “Scream Queen.” If those films had been her entire contribution to the genre, she would still be fondly remembered by Horror fans, but her starring role in KING KONG forever cemented her place in film history.

Taken as a whole, this film must rate as one of the greatest achievements in cinematic history. Everything about it is superlative, as demonstrated by the effect it still has on audiences today, 73 years after it premiered.

As soon as I got my set, I sat down to watch it. My mother, three years Kong’s elder, had never seen the film and, much to my surprise, decided to join me. To my continued surprise, she loved the movie. The fact that KING KONG can still connect with viewers so long after it was released simply proves its greatness.


THE DISC

In my year-end 2005 in review column over in CreatureScape’s The Unimonster’s Crypt, I called this the DVD release of the year, and three years of subsequent releases haven’t changed my opinion at all. In fact, if I’m still doing this in January 2011, it just might win Release of the Decade.

First, the film itself is the best looking print I’ve ever seen of KONG, with all the footage that was edited out in 1938 restored from an intact print found in Great Britain. Though this footage was found and restored in the ‘70’s, the movie has received a thorough cleaning and restoration for this release, and it really benefits from the process.

Add in the multiple subtitle and audio tracks and you have one of the best two-disc sets you likely to see.



THE SPECIAL FEATURES

To say that this collection has some special features is like saying Bill Gates has a little cash. This baby is packed; it seems that WHV really wanted to please the fans of the film with this offering, and they succeeded. The list of extras contained in the KING KONG Collector's Edition Tin-Box set includes (courtesy of http://www.imdb.com/):

2-Disc Special Edition DVD
Collectible tin packaging
20-page reproduction of original 1933 souvenir program
King Kong memorable scenes postcards
Vintage King Kong poster mail-in offer
Disc 1: The Movie
Original 1933 Film classic in Glorious Black and White, Newly Restored and Digitally Mastered
Commentary by Ray Harryhausen and Ken Ralston, with Merian C. Cooper and Fay Wray
Merian C. Cooper Movies Trailer Gallery
Disc 2: King-Sized Special Features
I'm King Kong!: The Exploits of Merian C. Cooper -- 2005 documentary
RKO Production 601: The Making of Kong, Eighth Wonder of the World - 7 Part Documentary including...
The Origins of "King Kong"
Willis O'Brien and "Creation"
Cameras Roll on Kong, The Eighth Wonder
A Milestone in Visual Effects
Passion, Sound and Fury
The Mystery of the Lost "Spider Pit" Sequence
King Kong’s Legacy
Creation Test Footage with Commentary by Ray Harryhausen

I’m not sure where to begin with this… it’s simply overwhelming, in both quantity and quality. For example, the 1933 souvenir program is a reproduction of one that was given out at the premiere… and that had been bound with a sheet copper cover. While WHV didn’t go to quite that extent in reproducing it, the cover of the reproduction has been given a coppery metallic sheen, neatly replicating the look, if not the heft, of the original.

But the jewel of the special features, at least for me, is the 7-part documentary RKO 601: THE MAKING OF ‘KONG, THE EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD’. At over two-and-a-half hours in length, it’s one of the most informative and entertaining “making-of” documentaries I’ve had the pleasure to watch. And while the documentary as a whole is excellent, the highlight has to be the look at how Peter Jackson’s WETA workshop ‘recreated’ the lost Spider-Pit sequence, using hand-made duplicates of the original animation models and 1932 equipment in an attempt to faithfully reproduce the original look and feel of the film. Only someone with a true love of the original movie would go to such trouble and expense, and Jackson’s reverence for the film is clearly displayed.

I could go for another 10 pages on the bonus features included with this disc, but suffice it to say that if you’re a Kongophile, you’ll be happy.



IN CONCLUSION

I remember when I first looked my Universal Monster Legacy Set over, thinking that no one was going to top this Collection. I was actually surprised to be proven wrong, and in such a short time frame. I doubt it will happen again, at least so quickly. With a $40 list price this set’s not cheap, but how can I not recommend it? You can find it cheaper, Deep Discount DVD currently shows it for less than $30, but this isn’t the set to pinch pennies over. If you’re a Kong fan, and since you’ve come to the Crypt I’ll wager you are, then you have to have this set in your collection. Yes, you could buy a bare-bones stripped clean disc with just the movie… and you’ll save twenty bucks. I say splurge… you won’t regret it.

The Short, Amazing Career of Val Lewton

In a brief, four-year association with RKO Pictures, Val Lewton produced eleven films, nine of which were Horror Films, eight of which were successful to some degree. Those nine movies were films that took Horror fans in directions that had not been explored previously in American genre cinema. These were not the Monster-laden Classics of Universal, or their cheaper-than-dirt clones from the half-dozen or so “Poverty Row” studios. Though the titles were as lurid and enticing as anything from Monogram or PRC, these were Horror Films for the thinker. These were serious in a way that Universal had never tried to be.

Born Vladimir Leventon in Yalta, Crimea in 1904, Lewton’s mother and aunt moved the family to Berlin in 1906, then to the United States in 1909. Lewton, a born storyteller, began writing as a teen, selling his stories to anyone who would purchase them. Mainstream magazines, pulps, even pornographic publishers—if they would pay him for it, he would write it. Several of the less savory tales were published under the pen name of Carlos Keith, a name he would use again in Hollywood.

Lewton worked under David O. Selznick at M-G-M as a story editor, contributing ideas and scenes to many films, though usually without credit. One scene he is responsible for came about due to one of the few wrong decisions he made about a movie. He was reportedly opposed to the filming of GONE WITH THE WIND, feeling it would be a Box-Office flop. The legend has it that Selznick made him contribute one scene to the film. Not wanting to be associated with the movie, he set out to write a scene that would never get shot, a scene that would be cut before production. However, Selznick loved the scene, it was filmed, and it became one of the signature images of the movie—the scene in the Atlanta railroad depot, as the camera pulls back from Scarlett to reveal the hundreds of dying and wounded men.

In 1942, RKO Pictures was on the verge of bankruptcy. Orson Welles’ twin epics CITIZEN KANE and THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS, though well received critically, were financial failures of the first order. Charles Koerner, head of the studio, canned Welles and ordered that no more “Artistic” movies be made. The success enjoyed by rival Universal Studios inspired him to launch a Horror unit at RKO, and Lewton, remembered as a writer of genre fiction, was hired to run it. Koerner may have expected typical, “Universal-style” monster movies from his new producer. What he got was anything but.

For the next four years, Lewton and his handpicked group of writers, directors, and actors produced nine of the most intelligent, serious, adult Horror Films ever made, certainly for those times. Gone were the popcorn plots and made-up monsters that defined 1940’s Horror. The fiends that haunted Lewton’s nightmares were all the more monstrous because they were so very normal; outwardly looking like the rest of us, yet inwardly evil and terrifying. These films are: THE CAT PEOPLE; I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE; THE LEOPARD MAN; THE SEVENTH VICTIM; THE GHOST SHIP; CURSE OF THE CAT PEOPLE; THE BODY SNATCHER; ISLE OF THE DEAD; and BEDLAM. All have been released within the past few years, in a pricey, though tremendously well-done, five-disc collector’s set from Turner Home Entertainment.

The things that critics so rightly hail Hitchcock for doing in the ‘60’s, Lewton and directors Jacques Tourneur, Robert Wise, and Mark Robson were perfecting in the ‘40’s, such as the famous “Bus” shot from THE CAT PEOPLE and the dark, atmospheric lighting that blankets all the Lewton Horror Films. Most importantly, Lewton’s films let the audience fill-in the ‘dark corners’ with their imaginations, painting details far more frightening than any studio, then or now, could produce. And while most producers have little effect on the style of a film, Lewton was hands-on with every aspect of production, and all nine of these movies unmistakably bear his imprint.

Working with titles mandated by RKO executives for their sheer luridness, he nonetheless crafted intelligent, effective tales of terror to fit those pulp titles. Where most producers would’ve been content simply to give the studio what they thought they wanted, Lewton fought to keep his people together, and to make the movies he wanted to make. RKO’s Production Supervisor Lou Ostrow wanted Jacques Tourneur fired four days into the production of CAT PEOPLE; Lewton went straight to Koerner in order to keep him on the film. Following the success of the first few of his Horror Films, Lewton was offered to chance to move up to an A-grade production; he turned the offer down when told he couldn’t use Mark Robson to direct it.

In a business where some people would throw their own mothers to the sharks for fifteen minutes to pitch a script, Lewton displayed a unique level of loyalty to his creative people.

As the Horror cycle wound down following the end of World War II, Lewton finished his run at RKO with three Period horrors, all starring the Master of terror, Boris Karloff. The first of these, THE BODY-SNATCHER, was the also the best, featuring Bela Lugosi in the final pairing of the two horror icons.

Lewton left RKO in 1946 to form an independent production company, though the mainstream success he sought would elude him. He would make only three more pictures, all somewhat lackluster, prior to his premature death from a heart attack in 1951. He was less than two months shy of his 47th birthday.

The legacy Val Lewton left behind far outweighs the number of his contributions to, or the brevity of his work in, the horror genre. Without Lewton, there might not been a Hitchcock; at least, not as we know him. Without the shower scene in THE SEVENTH VICTIM, would there had been a much more famous shower scene 16 years later? I don’t know, but I doubt it. No director, not even the great Alfred Hitchcock, works in a vacuum. He was at the least familiar with the Lewton film, if not directly inspired by it.

While nothing can supplant my love and respect for the great Universal horrors, that love is not blind. I see them for what they are, at least what the 1940’s vintage Uni-Horrors are: mindless, popcorn-selling, seat-filling ways to kill an hour or so. And while Lewton’s films did the same, they also did something else: They showed us that Horror could be smart, and that the scariest place in the world is in our own imaginations.