The Year Horror Began

Eighty years ago this month, the Horror Film, as we recognize it, was born.  On Valentine’s Day 1931, Universal Pictures premiered Tod Browning’s DRACULA, the first Horror Film produced in the United States that can be described as a “modern” horror—one where the antagonist truly was what it was purported to be.  Dracula wasn’t a lunatic mistaken for a monster, or a master criminal in disguise; he was exactly what he claimed to be—a vampire, an undead creature of the night.

The catalog of the American Horror Film wasn’t extensive by the beginning of the Sound era, and it largely owed it’s existence to the efforts of two men:  director Tod Browning and actor Lon Chaney.  Browning was the quintessential master of the macabre throughout the 1920’s and into the beginning of the 1930’s, and Chaney was his star, the “man of a thousand faces” who was the personification of Horror on the silent screen.

In a string of 10 movies produced between 1919 and 1929, the two defined Horror as a psychological experience, not a supernatural one.  In roles as diverse as Alonzo the Armless in 1927’s THE UNKNOWN, to ‘Dead Legs,’ the evil wheelchair-bound magician who sells his own daughter into white slavery in WEST OF ZANZIBAR, Chaney’s characters were no less monsters for the fact that they were human.  The hatred and darkness in them owed nothing to the paranormal, and everything to the pathological.

Browning wasn’t the only director working in Horror in Hollywood, of course.  Under contract to M-G-M, in 1923 Chaney was borrowed by Universal, for director Wallace Worsley’s THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME.  In 1925, Chaney appeared in two Horror Films—one mostly forgotten, and one that is unforgettable.  The lesser of the two efforts was Roland West’s THE MONSTER.  Chaney portrayed a mad scientist who poses as a monster in order to force vehicles to crash, thereby providing him with subjects for experimentation.  Half horror, half comedy, it was an average programmer for the period, with little other than Chaney’s performance to recommend it.  However, that same year, Universal released what is arguably the greatest Silent Horror film to originate in the United States—Rupert Julian’s THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA.  Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux, the role of Erik (the Phantom) would be acknowledged as Chaney’s defining performance.

Just as Browning wasn’t the only Horror director, Chaney was not the only star who made Horror Films.  In 1920, John Barrymore starred in John S. Robertson’s version of DR. JEKYLL & MR. HYDE.  This adaptation of the Robert Louis Stevenson classic, though eclipsed a decade later by Reuben Mamoulian’s Oscar-winning version, was nonetheless groundbreaking for it’s time.  In 1927, Paul Leni, a German émigré working for Carl Laemmle at Universal, adapted a popular Broadway play into THE CAT AND THE CANARY, the originator of the “Old Dark House” style of Horror Films, starring Laura La Plante, an attractive young contract player, as Annabelle West, heir to the vast fortune left by her ancestor, Cyrus West.  This movie saw an early version of the “scream queen” in American Horror, though her screams could not be heard.  A year later, Conrad Veidt, who was an established star in his native Germany, appeared in Leni’s THE MAN WHO LAUGHS for Universal.

All of these silent American Horrors had one thing in common—the complete lack of the supernatural.  Though supernatural creatures had inhabited silent Horrors from the rest of the world, most notably Germany; in American films they were, for all intents, nonexistent.  In German film, phantoms, vampires, and monsters existed; they were depicted as what they were.  Max Schreck played Count Orlok as a vampire, not a criminal masquerading as a vampire.  American conventions were the opposite.  However unreal or grotesque the antagonist might seem, there was always a logical explanation at the bottom of it.  Like the Scooby-Doo cartoons fifty years later, at the end there would always be an unmasking, as the “monster” was revealed to be anything but.

But as the era of the silents was drawing to a close, that was due for a change.  Universal was planning to go into production on DRACULA, with Tod Browning at the helm[1].  Carl Laemmle had recently ceded control over the studio to his son Carl Jr. (a twenty-first birthday gift), and Junior (who was christened Julius but later changed his name) was fond of the gothic tales of horror such as Stoker’s Dracula and Shelley’s Frankenstein.  “Uncle” Carl Laemmle preferred Westerns and other, “less gruesome” fare, but Junior wanted Horror pictures.

Legend has it that the senior Laemmle demanded that Chaney portray Dracula, or the picture couldn’t be made.  In truth, there’s no record such a demand was made (though Junior was hoping to lure him back to Universal for the picture, one reason he hired Browning to direct), or that Chaney was ever attached to the project (it must be remembered he was still under contract at M-G-M, though Universal often sought reasons to request the loan of one of the Silent Screen’s biggest draws).  In any case, Chaney passed away of throat cancer on 26 August 1930, and conjecture about how “the man of a thousand faces” would portray the Lord of the Undead will forever remain just that:  Conjecture.

With the question of who wouldn’t be playing the role of Dracula at least partially answered, in Chaney’s part by his unfortunate death, there remained a veritable who’s who of actors who were being considered for the job.  Names such as Paul Muni, John Wray, and Conrad Veidt were discussed for the part.  Even Chester Morris, an actor who specialized in ‘tough-guy’ roles (and had been nominated for the second Best Actor Oscar for 1929’s ALIBI), was mentioned—more by virtue of already being contracted to Universal than due to any intrinsic qualities he possessed.

The one to whom Laemmle was adamantly opposed was a 48-year-old Hungarian actor who had successfully played the role on Broadway.  In fact, he sent the production team a telegram stating, “… no interest in [this actor] for Dracula.[2]”  “This actor” was Bela Lugosi, and though the studio professed no interest in him, he definitely had an interest in the part of the Transylvanian Count, campaigning actively for it.  Despite whatever misgivings the Laemmles had about Lugosi as Dracula, he finally won the role, clinching the deal with his willingness to take the job at roughly a quarter of the salary he could’ve gotten.  Even Lugosi, not known for his sense of humor, couldn’t resist a jab at “Uncle” Carl’s legendary nepotism, telling reporters that he was cast simply because the senior Laemmle didn’t have a relative who could play the part.

Supporting Lugosi would be a cast of Universal regulars.  Helen Chandler would be the female lead, in the role of Mina, the main focus of the Count’s lustful attentions.  David Manners would portray John Harker, her love interest.  Dwight Frye would play the lunatic Renfield, slave to Dracula’s control.  And Edward Van Sloan would portray Dracula’s nemesis, Van Helsing.

Principal photography began on 29 September 1930, and would continue until mid-November.  Production went smoothly, though Browning was at best disinterested in the project.  According to film historian Michael Mallory, “The fact that Browning seemed to lose interest in Dracula during the filming, at times turning the direction over to cinematographer Karl Freund, has been interpreted as possible depression over Chaney's untimely death.[3]”  Whatever the reason, there’s little doubt that Browning’s work on this films suffers in comparison to his earlier films, and indeed, in comparison to that of George Melford, who directed the Spanish-language version of DRACULA, filmed at night using the same sets, props, and in some cases, costumes.  Melford’s version is far more complete, a full 30 minutes longer than Browning’s, and is a far more cinematic work.  Browning’s version has been criticized, and rightfully so, as being far too literal a translation of the play upon which it was based.  Everything about the movie gives the impression that one is watching a stage play, from the dialogue, to the occasionally awkward transitions, to the static cinematography.

Melford’s version, on the other hand, just flows so much more smoothly.  George Robinson’s photography has a fluidity and grace that is completely lacking from Freund’s camera work.  In every way but one, Melford’s DRACULA is superior in execution to Browning’s.  That one factor, the factor that makes one a legendary film and the other an interesting side-note, is Bela Lugosi.  Lugosi transforms this film into something that hadn’t existed prior to it’s release—a modern American Horror Film.  This one performance so perfectly captured Dracula in the minds of moviegoers that his version of the bloodthirsty Count has become the archetype for the character.  For the past eighty years, every actor who has played Dracula has had to measure his performance against Lugosi’s yardstick—and has generally been found wanting.

In February of 1931, a new genre appeared on the screen—not a mystery, not a melodrama, not a thriller—but a Horror Film.  Nine months later, in November of 1931, another film in this new genre would debut, the greatest Horror Film of all.  These two films, DRACULA and, of course, James Whale’s FRANKENSTEIN, would launch Horror’s Golden Age, transform their stars into Icons who would spend the majority of their lives competing with one another for the crown that had belonged to Chaney, and make Universal Studios the original “House that Horror Built.”

This February, eighty years after these films first frightened and captivated audiences, moviegoers, fans, and classic film buffs will have the opportunity to view these movies on the big screen once again.  Thanks to the efforts of long-time friend of the Crypt Scott Essman, head of Visionary media and the man who has led the efforts to secure a Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame to honor Jack P. Pierce, on the afternoon of 20 February 2011, these movies will once more flicker to life.  On that day, at the Pomona Fox Theater, (301 S. Garey Ave.) in Pomona, California[4], the audience will be magically transported back to 1931—back to the year Horror began.

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[1] The primary reference for this article is the superb book Universal Studios Monsters: A Legacy of Horror, by Michael Mallory.  It is a spectacular volume, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

[2] The Documentary Universal Horrors, released in 1998.

[3] Mallory 49

[4] www.pomonafox.org

The Universal Monsters: How Universal Studios Created the Horror Film

[Ed. Note: This is it—the first article I wrote for Sean Kotz at Creaturescape.com, and the first article I wrote as the Unimonster. It’s rough; though it’s not been a drastic improvement, my writing has gotten somewhat better in the nearly six years since I wrote it. I hope you overlook the flaws and enjoy the look back into the Unimonster’s past.]

How Universal Studios created the Horror film.

A pretty bold thesis, considering there were no shortage of such films from other studios in the years following the end of the First World War. THE CABINET OF DR. CALIGARI (released in 1920), NOSFERATU (1922), and METROPOLIS (1927) are all considered seminal works in the genre, and rightly so. As early as 1910, Thomas Edison’s motion picture studio produced a version of Mary Shelley’s classic novel, FRANKENSTEIN. By 1918, no fewer than 3 movies featuring mummies had been made, and between 1908 and 1920, at least ten versions of Robert Louis Stevenson’s DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE were produced, including the superior Barrymore version of 1920. So how, you may be asking in righteous indignation, can I claim that Universal Studios created the horror film?

Simple… Universal took a nascent genre, one that, while having drawn its first breath was still in its infancy, and in the space of fifteen to twenty short years, transformed it into a staple of the movie-goer’s diet. Carl Laemmle’s Universal created horror films the same way that Ray Kroc’s McDonald’s created fast food: with the franchise.

Universal’s rise to horror prominence didn’t occur overnight, and it certainly wasn’t accomplished without resistance. In the early 1920’s, Universal was considered a minor player in Hollywood, nowhere near an equal to studios such as M-G-M or Warner Brothers. The studio made low budget films, primarily westerns, with poorly paid contract actors and actresses.

Then, following the success of 1923’s THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME, Laemmle was persuaded to finance the studio’s first big budget film: Rupert Julian’s THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (1925). Starring arguably the best actor of his time, Lon Chaney, this adaptation of the classic Gaston Leroux novel opened to huge critical and financial success, and went a long way towards convincing Hollywood that horror just might have a place in motion pictures. Many hold that, had the Academy Awards existed in 1925, Chaney would have walked away with the Best Actor award, and the film would have undoubtedly been Best Picture.

That success was due in part to fantastic marketing on the part of Universal, whose executives knew the value of publicity, especially the free kind. No photographs were allowed of Chaney in make-up, except for some production stills that were circulated with the Phantom’s face redacted out (very similar marketing methods were used six years later, during the production of FRANKENSTEIN).

The popularity enjoyed by THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA inspired Universal to look for other horror properties that would be suitable for filming, and their attention turned, quite naturally, to the two most popular genre novels of their time, Mary Shelley’s FRANKENSTEIN, and Bram Stoker’s DRACULA.

While F. W. Murnau’s 1922 masterpiece, NOSFERATU, had been based (without permission) directly on Stoker’s novel, Universal, now under the control of Carl Laemmle, Jr., who had received the studio for his twenty-first birthday, wanted to produce the version made famous as a stage play; this version featured a more romantic, less ghoulish interpretation of the infamous count. With Tod Browning slated to direct, it was widely assumed (indeed, ‘Papa’ Laemmle practically demanded,) that the star of the film would be Lon Chaney, who had worked with the director in several films.

However, Chaney’s death in 1930 meant that someone else would get the job. After an extensive search for a replacement, it was decided to give a screen test to the Hungarian actor who had had great success with the Broadway release of the play. Though he was no one’s first choice for the role, his willingness to take the part at a quarter of the salary he could’ve gotten clinched the deal. It would become the role of a lifetime for a forty-nine year old, unknown actor named Bela Lugosi.

DRACULA, released in February of 1931, catapulted Lugosi to stardom, and helped give Universal Studios it’s only profitable year during the Depression, though Laemmle, Sr.’s financial bad habits continued to insure that Universal would not be in fiscally sound health. Though the critics weren’t quite as kind to it as they had been to THE PHANTOM, the public loved it, and flocked to the theaters to see the supernatural mystery and sensual, subtle eroticism of the vampire. Lugosi so captivated the imaginations fans that from that moment on, vampires have been set in a mold for which he is the model. Until recently, it was rare to see any portrayal of a vampire that differed significantly from what I would call the ‘High Society’ version that Lugosi, for all intents, patented.

DRACULA set Universal apart as a producer of the horror film, and made the studio a major force in Hollywood. But the year was still young, and, in November, the film would be released that would forever cement the studio’s place in the history of the genre.

James Whale’s FRANKENSTEIN has been hailed as perhaps the greatest horror film ever; certainly the best of the 1930’s and ‘40’s. Though Whale’s direction is impeccable and the story is excellent, it is the performance of a forty-four year old English-born Canadian named Boris Karloff that elevates this film to such lofty heights, and establishes Universal as the premier player in the genre. A long-time veteran of silent films, Karloff was able, even from under Jack Pierce’s heavy make-up, to convey more emotion and pathos with a glance and a growl than most actors can with a ten-minute soliloquy.

Once again, Universal’s marketing department went into high gear promoting the film, with rumors circulated about that Karloff’s appearance was so frightening that sensitive cast and crew members fainted at the sight of him, and that Mae Clark, who played Henry Frankenstein’s bride Elizabeth, refused to work with him. The secrecy associated with THE PHANTOM returned for this film; as Karloff wasn’t listed in the credits, the actor who portrayed the Monster simply being identified as “?”.

Having enjoyed a phenomenal 1931, the studio needed little encouragement to return to the horror well. John Balderson, a reporter who had been present at the opening of King Tut’s tomb (and who had written the play on which DRACULA had been based), supplied a story involving the discovery of a cursed tomb, an undead mummy, and his eternal love for an Egyptian princess. 1932’s THE MUMMY, directed by Karl Freund, was another showcase for Karloff's talents, and while the story was little more than a rehashing of the plot from DRACULA, (indeed, in what would become one of the studio’s trademarks, many of the cast of DRACULA appeared in THE MUMMY) Karloff’s performance as Ardath Bey carried the film, and made it more than successful, if less than original.

This was followed by films such as THE INVISIBLE MAN (1933), THE BLACK CAT (released in 1934, it was the first of six on-screen pairings of Karloff and Lugosi), THE WEREWOLF OF LONDON (1935) and DRACULA’S DAUGHTER, (1936). But it was James Whale’s BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, released in 1935, that truly gave birth to the horror franchise. Considered by some to be even better than FRANKENSTEIN, this film gave the Monster a voice as well as a (reluctant) bride. But public opinion, as expressed by politicians and newspapers, was turning against horror films. Images and themes that to modern viewers seem mild and inoffensive shocked and outraged many critics in the 1930’s. Following outcries by media and religious groups over 1935’s THE RAVEN, starring Karloff and Lugosi, among other films, the first half of Horror’s Golden Age came to an end.

By the late 1930’s, Universal, no longer the property of the Laemmles, had fallen on hard times; and, in what would become a pattern that continues to this day, fell back on the monsters to regain financial health and well-being. Though they had decried horror films, claiming they wouldn’t make another one, the continuing popularity of DRACULA and FRANKENSTEIN convinced the new ownership that new horror films could be financially viable, and a continuation of the Frankenstein saga was quickly produced. SON OF FRANKENSTEIN (1939) was Karloff’s last appearance as the Monster, and featured Basil Rathbone as the son of his late creator, as well as Bela Lugosi as Ygor, his second-most famous role.

Universal then saw the wisdom of further Monster pictures, and quickly developed the horror film into a commodity that could be mass-produced, much like Henry Ford’s Model T. And just as the Model T made automobiles affordable for the common man, Universal’s Horror Factory insured that the public received a steady diet of the monsters they had grown to love. From 1939 to 1945, more than a dozen films were released featuring Universal’s growing stable of monsters. Many good: GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN (1942); THE MUMMY’S TOMB (1942); SON OF DRACULA (1943); HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1944). Some not so good: THE INVISIBLE MAN’S REVENGE (1944); THE MUMMY’S GHOST (1944); HOUSE OF DRACULA (1945). A few just plain bad: INVISIBLE WOMAN (1940); THE MUMMY’S CURSE (1944).
And one unforgettable classic: THE WOLF-MAN (1941).

One of Universal’s most popular movies, THE WOLF-MAN came on the scene just as the second half of Horror’s Golden Age was beginning to take off. The war in Europe, increasing economic prosperity, and changing tastes were going to put the monsters out of business, according to the critics. Instead, they were entering the period of their greatest popularity, due primarily to Universal’s first truly sympathetic monster. Audiences loved Lon Chaney, Jr. as Larry Talbot, cursed by the bite of a werewolf to an eternal, nightmarish existence, more beast than man. Directed by George Waggoner, it provided a fresh perspective on the monsters; one from the monster’s point of view. Within five years, Chaney, Jr. would become Universal’s biggest star, having portrayed every major monster in their stable.

And, reasoned the Universal executives, if one monster was a success, what would happen with two? A chance remark by Curt Siodmak, the screenwriter of THE WOLF-MAN, provided the spark, and thus was born FRANKENSTEIN MEETS THE WOLF-MAN (1942). Now, there was a rivalry, and the two biggest stars of Universal’s line-up would do battle twice more before the end of World War II, in HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1944); and HOUSE OF DRACULA (1945). By now, the Universal Horror film was a set formula, almost a patented recipe. It didn’t matter who directed what film, or who played which monster, or even that the script be good. If the formula was followed, then the fans would continue to come. Horror films had completed the transition from hand-crafted works of art for the few, to mass-produced, assembly-line manufactured goods for everyone. Sixty years later, things haven’t changed all that much, have they? Movie franchises such as FRIDAY THE 13TH, HALLOWEEN, and NIGHTMARE ON ELM ST. continue to demonstrate the truth of that.

Did Universal make the very first horror film? No, of course not. Henry Ford didn’t build the first car. McDonald’s didn’t make the first hamburger. But Universal did do what they did . . . moreover, they did it better than anyone, made it available to everyone, and transformed it from something rare and exotic, to something that we all could enjoy. And in so doing, they’ve inspired generations of fans who will never forget the simple joy of being scared.

Five Questions I’d Like to Ask

I’m always trying to improve my skills as a writer, and as with any ability, the more you exercise it the stronger it becomes. One of the exercises I frequently employ is to read interviews of notable personalities and try to correct any deficiencies in the interviewer’s questions or style. I envision the questions I would’ve asked, given that same opportunity.
While many of the questions that I would pose might someday, in some form, be asked in future interviews, there are some people for whom I’ve long had unanswered questions; people who, sadly, have long since stopped granting interviews. Five of these individuals are some of the greatest Horror Icons ever, and if I could ask just one question of each of them, these would be the questions…

BORIS KARLOFF—To what degree was your performance and characterization as Byron Orlok in the 1968 film TARGETS autobiographical, and how much of his thoughts and feelings regarding his career mirror your own?

While most serious students of Horror will of course say that Karloff’s first two performances as Frankenstein’s Monster, in 1931’s FRANKENSTEIN and 1935’s BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, are his finest work, I’ve always been especially impressed with one of his last roles, that of Byron Orlok in Peter Bogdanovich’s 1968 thriller TARGETS. Shot for Roger Corman on a shoestring budget, this is one of the finest psychological thrillers ever produced, and is even better as a character study of an aging Horror star, and his disillusionment as he looks back on his career.

Running parallel to this plotline is the story of a disturbed young man, played by Tim O’Kelly, who is planning to murder his family and go out in a blaze of glory. He assembles an armory for this purpose, and we are witness to both his preparations and his deepening madness. The two plots weave and dart about, drawing together to intersect at a personal appearance of Orlok’s at a Drive-In theater.

One of the facets of this movie that has always appealed to me is the sense that this is Karloff as he truly was, rather than as the stereotyped, packaged, processed Horror Icon he had become. The reason that I love this movie so much is the same reason I love John Wayne’s final film, 1976’s THE SHOOTIST: in no other roles do we see these men, each so much larger than life, as human and as vulnerable as in these films. Each is, in his own way, bidding farewell, both to an adoring public as well as to an image of themselves that had been carefully grown and nurtured over the long decades of their careers. Both men were, and are, immensely significant to me.

Wayne, second only to my father, represented the ideal of American manhood to me, the virtues and the vices that, when combined in harmony, symbolized what it meant to be a man to generations of young boys. And Karloff was the symbol of all that a young Unimonster loved about Horror… from the sound of massive boots without, as Colin Clive and Edward Van Sloan conversed darkly in hushed tones; to the vaguest sense of motion, as the eyes of Im-Ho-Tep slowly fluttered open. It was Karloff’s face that graced the covers of Famous Monsters, at least, the memorable ones; and it was his face that was the face of Horror for nearly twenty years. I’ve often wondered, as I watch him in the role which transformed him from unknown to icon, if some portion of him resented the path his life took, or the road down which the monster led him.

BELA LUGOSI—You once stated that Dracula was always there, always a part of you. To what degree would you say that the role of Count Dracula has been a blessing, and to what degree a curse?

While never possessed of the raw talent of frequent collaborator (and more frequent rival…) Boris Karloff, it would be wrong to judge Bela Lugosi’s talent by the roles he chose to accept. When gifted with decent writing and direction, he could more than hold his own with his more talented castmates, and when he shined, as in the role of Vitus Werdegast in Edgar Ulmer’s 1934 classic THE BLACK CAT, none were better.

But Lugosi’s career had one defining moment, a moment which forever linked him with one character to the point that their names became synonymous… Tod Browning’s 1931 film DRACULA.

Where Karloff’s name soon came to symbolize Horror in general, Lugosi was much more closely tied to his iconic creation, despite having only played the character of Dracula twice. While his performances as both Werdegast and as Ygor, the friend of Frankenstein’s Monster from SON OF FRANKENSTEIN and GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN, are superior to that of Dracula, it is the latter role that came to dominate his career… and his life.

It is no secret that Lugosi battled many demons late in his life, most notably, and eventually publicly, an addiction to morphine. Doubtless these struggles had much to do with his selection of roles throughout the 1950’s, from films such as THE BLACK SLEEP to the Ed Wood movies with which he ended his career. Lugosi seemed to accept every role offered, and played every one exactly the same… at least, by this point in his career. It’s as though every director had the same instruction: “Just like you played Dracula, only not so understated…” Karloff too was in some abysmal productions—THE TERROR and THE SNAKE PEOPLE are two that come to mind—yet he never lost the ability to bring his unique talent to every character he played, often transcending the quality of the script he was dealt. Lugosi, in the few films he made following his final major studio production, Universal’s 1948 classic ABBOTT & COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN, never rose above the level of the writing and direction… which for the last decade of his life, was almost uniformly bad.

Both icons have their adherents, and a strong case can be made on either side of the argument “Which was more important to Horror.” Nevertheless, not even Lugosi’s most ardent fans can deny that, despite a career filled with memorable performances, Bela could never escape the shadow of Dracula.

LON CHANEY, Jr.—It is no secret that, despite your efforts to distance yourself from your famous father, your career led you into Horror Films, much as it did him. The studios even insisted on billing you as “Lon Chaney, Jr.” despite the fact that your given name is Creighton. Do you regret the path your career took, one that so oddly paralleled your father’s?

Born Creighton Chaney in 1906, the young boy who would grow up to become one of the greatest Horror stars ever, spent most of his formative years apart from his famous father, silent-movie icon Lon Chaney. That, as well as the senior Chaney’s abandonment of Creighton’s mother, did not foster a close relationship between father and son.

When Creighton decided to try acting, he deliberately avoided a connection with his father’s name, partly to demonstrate he could succeed on his own; partly due to his wish not to become typecast as a “Horror actor.” In fact his breakthrough role was as Lenny in Lewis Milestone’s 1939 version of John Steinbeck’s OF MICE AND MEN, for which he won critical acclaim.

But the studio system of the 1940’s was too strong, and so was the public fascination with horror. Not only did Universal want to play up his famous father, they wanted another Lon Chaney… Creighton be damned. With 1940’s ONE MILLION, B.C., Lon Chaney, Jr. officially came to be. The next year was to be the seminal one in Creighton’s life, as Lon became the Monster-Man at Universal. That year, the definitive Universal Horror Film of the 40’s was released, THE WOLF-MAN, starring Lon Chaney, Jr. as Larry Talbot, the son of a Welsh lord cursed to an unholy existence by the bite of a werewolf.

The die was cast, and Creighton was gone forever, buried under a studio generated image of a second-generation Horror Icon. He would carry Universal on his often-furry back for the next seven years, only to be cast aside when the Golden Age of Horror ended in the mid-40’s. For the next twenty-five years, he would appear in dozens of Horror and Science-Fiction films, none of which would approach the quality of his work at Universal. While there would occasionally be dramatic roles, such as a minor part in the Oscar®—winning HIGH NOON, he would forever be remembered as a Horror Film Star, and the only actor to portray all four of Universal’s Classic Monsters—the Wolf-Man, Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, and the Mummy Kharis. Only Lon… excuse me, only Creighton Chaney could say that.

TOD BROWNING—In the late 1920’s and early 1930’s, you were Hollywood’s leading director of what are now regarded as “Horror Films.” You worked closely with Lon Chaney at the end of the silent era, creating some of his most memorable films; and with 1931’s DRACULA you began the reign of Universal Studios as the original “House that Horror Built.” All this came to a halt in 1932 with your return to M-G-M, and the release of one film: FREAKS. This was an intensely personal project for you, and despite the belated recognition the movie has earned in the decades since its brief release, you must acknowledge that this film effectively ended your career. Do you regret making the film, and with hindsight, would you have done it differently?

As 1931 ended, Charles “Tod” Browning was riding a hot streak. He had established a reputation as perhaps the premiere director of macabre films in Hollywood, and the success of DRACULA had guaranteed him the freedom to move whatever project he deemed worthy. He had returned to M-G-M, where he and star Lon Chaney had had such success, to direct the most personally involving film of his career, FREAKS.

Browning, who had spent much of his early adulthood in carnivals, circuses, and traveling shows, had a deep affinity for the people who had shared this life with him, an affinity that he repeatedly demonstrated in the themes of such films as 1927’s THE UNKNOWN. He intended FREAKS to show the plight of these sideshow performers; instead, critics and the public regarded it as exploitative in the extreme, as well as highly offensive. After a very brief release, M-G-M pulled it out of theaters and buried it deep in their vaults. There it sat for the next 50 years or so, except for poorly edited versions that made the rounds on the exploitation-film circuit.

Beginning in the 70’s however, critics and fans alike rediscovered Browning’s film, recognizing both the movie’s strengths and the sincerity of Browning’s intentions. Film historians began to rethink their opinions of this film, and as more people began discussing it, the more people wanted to see the film… the raw, unexpurgated film. As they did, the truth of Browning’s vision became apparent, as did the quality of his creation. It’s truly a shame that that realization took more than fifty years to occur.

VINCENT PRICE—You, more than any other actor, symbolized Horror in the 1950’s and ‘60’s. Your filmography is replete with titles that are classics of the genre—THE FLY, HOUSE OF USHER, THE ABOMINABLE DR. PHIBES—however you, more than any other icon of horror, had a foundation as a straight dramatic actor, with films such as THE PRIVATE LIVES OF ELIZABETH AND ESSEX, LAURA, and of course THE TEN COMMANDMENTS to your credit. Which type of work gives you the most satisfaction, the minor part in a critically acclaimed film such as THE TEN COMMANDMENTS, or the fame and recognition you gained from roles such as the murderous Dr. Phibes?

With a career that spanned parts of seven decades, Vincent Price was one of the most accomplished actors to have ever worked in genre film. His filmography reads like a best of Hollywood list, both in normal dramatic roles, and the genre roles that made him a household name.

Though he never sought to be a Horror star, Price’s ability to project such a palpable air of menacing evil quickly led him into Universal’s Horror Films of the late thirties and early forties, first in James Whale’s 1935 classic THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, then in 1939’s THE TOWER OF LONDON, then as Geoffrey Radcliffe in 1940’s THE INVISIBLE MAN RETURNS.

However, he successfully avoided the typecasting that marked the careers of other Universal stars such as Karloff, Lugosi, and Chaney. The same year that he starred in THE INVISIBLE MAN RETURNS, he also appeared as Clifford in THE HOUSE OF GREEN GABLES, and as Joseph Smith in BRIGHAM YOUNG. In fact, it wasn’t until his starring role in M-G-M’s HOUSE OF WAX, in 1953, that Price became known as a “Horror Star”.

This time there was no avoiding destiny, and the type was cast. Though there would be the occasional straight role in his future—most notably that of Baka, the Egyptian overseer in Cecil B. DeMille’s 1957 version of THE TEN COMMANDMENTS—the roles that would bring Price the greatest recognition would be those in the world of genre films. From his performance as François Delambre in the 1958 classic THE FLY until the mid-1970’s, Price was the face of Horror to a generation of Monster fans. THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL, THE TINGLER, THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM, TALES OF TERROR, THE HAUNTED PALACE, THE TOMB OF LIGEIA, THEATER OF BLOOD, MADHOUSE… these are but a fraction of the films he made, films that fueled a love of Horror in thousands of young boys and girls… and continue to do so today. I wonder if the satisfaction of that was sufficient to one with dreams of Shakespeare.

So those are my five questions. Questions that cannot be answered, but that I cannot help but ask. I can imagine what the responses would be, but how much of that is based on my knowledge of the subjects, and how much is my projecting my opinions onto them, I cannot say. Perhaps someday, if Heaven is as I hope, I’ll be able to ask my questions… and have them answered.

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.

GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN—The Monster’s Last Real Hurrah

Between 1931 and 1948, Universal released no less than eight films featuring their most iconic creation, Frankenstein’s Monster. Portrayed by more of Universal’s Horror stars than any other Classic Universal monster, he also underwent the greatest amount of change of any of the Big Four of Universal’s stable of monsters. Not in terms of his trademarked look, but in how he was treated and portrayed on-screen.

Boris Karloff’s 1931 Monster was the very image of pathos, a tortured soul seemingly cursed by an unkind God to a living death. Four years later, in BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, he shambled closer to capturing his humanity, if only for a few brief moments, before being rejected by his erstwhile bride.

Karloff’s last turn as his signature character was 1939’s SON OF FRANKENSTEIN, and by then any trace of humanity was gone, replaced by a cold seething hatred of all save his friend Ygor, played wonderfully by Bela Lugosi. After this film, Karloff vowed never to play the Monster again; so dissatisfied was he with the direction the character was taking.

Though Karloff was without question Universal’s biggest Horror Star of the 1930’s, by the early ‘40’s that crown was planted firmly on Lon Chaney, Jr’s furrowed (and often furry…) brow. Perhaps it was natural that he should succeed Karloff in portraying Universal’s most significant Monster. In 1942’s GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN, he does just that, on his way to becoming the only actor to play all of Universal’s four top monsters. He also gave us the Monster’s last starring role, and the last time that Frankenstein’s Monster is portrayed as anything more than a prop. After this, Chaney's Wolf-Man / Larry Talbot would become Universal’s biggest headliner, and the Monster was reduced to the role of second banana.

In the four subsequent films, FRANKENSTEIN MEETS THE WOLF-MAN; HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN; HOUSE OF DRACULA; and ABBOTT & COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN, the Monster was relegated to little more than “background”, in the scene but having little to do with it. GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN was, in my opinion, the Monster’s last hurrah.

That doesn’t mean that those movies were bad; they weren’t. In fact, they were good, old-fashioned, B-grade, popcorn-selling programmers; fun to watch, and fun to remember. They are the movies that inspired my love of the Universal classics, and are still the movies I turn to when feeling nostalgic for the carefree days of my youth. But it’s not the Monster’s contributions that make them so.

However, in GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN, Chaney’s able to imbue the Monster with a final spark of humanity, a last glimpse of the brilliant characterization that Karloff created in 1931. His interaction with the young girl, played by Janet Ann Gallow, easily recalls to mind the Monster’s first such encounter, along with its drastically different outcome. We can see the learning process that the Monster has undergone since little Maria’s tragic demise, and it helps restore some humanity that the Monster lost with his cold-blooded threats to Wolf Frankenstein's son Peter in SON OF FRANKENSTEIN (1939).

Now, it is fair to say that GHOST… has its share of problems. The pace is slow for a Uni-Horror, with far too much screen time devoted to exposition and character development; the casting was misguided, with Cedric Hardwicke in over his head as Victor Frankenstein, Henry’s other son. Lionel Atwill, who was wasted in the role of Dr. Bohmer, would have carried the lead splendidly had it been given to him.

Also, the story was the weakest thus far in the series. With the plot concerning replacement of the Monster’s brain, which necessitated his being immobilized for long stretches of the film, we see that the Monster has begun his transformation from lead character to stage prop. He would spend the balance of his career stretched out on slabs of one form or another, waiting for the next experiment.

But at least in GHOST… we get to see him playing an active role one last time, and with one of the greatest Horror stars ever under Jack Pierce’s make-up. While Lon Chaney Jr. wasn’t the equal of Karloff when it came to acting ability, he performed far better in the role than Bela Lugosi would in the next film, FRANKENSTEIN MEETS THE WOLF-MAN. Lugosi, who passed on the opportunity to portray the Monster for the original 1931 production, only proved that his initial decision was correct. And while Glenn Strange did better than Lugosi, it’s not as though he was asked to truly stretch his acting muscles.

I really didn’t intend for this to be a review of GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN. I’ve written that review before, and don’t really care to revisit it now. I just wanted to convey to the Crypt’s readership the bittersweet appeal of this installment in the Universal Horror franchise. While not the equal of the movies that preceded it, GHOST… does offer us a unique portrayal of Frankenstein’s Monster, a terrific performance from Lugosi as Ygor, the always gorgeous Evelyn Ankers as the daughter of Victor Frankenstein, and Lionel Atwill as the Doctor’s twistedly evil assistant, Bohmer. The plot is weak, but no more than the norm for Universal Horrors of the 1940’s, and the fine performances more than make up for any deficiencies in the story.

GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN isn’t a big favorite of mine, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate the film for its place in the Universal canon. Its importance far outweighs the quality of the movie itself, which is admittedly not Universal’s best. And for me, the most important aspect of the movie is Chaney’s performance as the Monster, the one last glimpse we get of the Monster as the Monster, rather than the caricature he would become.