Retro Review: The Cat and the Canary (1927)

I recently had the opportunity to truly step back in time and take in a piece of horror history--even film history, for that matter. Universal's The Cat and the Canary is truly an underrated marvel, and an influential piece of work that you owe it to yourself to see, if you haven't. Especially if you're someone who enjoys films like Nosferatu, Lon Chaney's The Phantom of the Opera, and Barrymore's Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (and really, if you're not, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be surfing Texts from Last Night or something?)

It gives one pause to think that not a single member of the cast and credited crew of The Cat and the Canary is still alive. This contributes to giving the film the feel of a genuine relic of a bygone age. This is a motion picture made literally a lifetime ago, and this only adds to the rich, thick atmosphere already layered upon it by the deft direction of the German-born Paul Leni (who would do The Man Who Laughs for Universal the following year), and especially the camera work of cinematographer Gilbert Warrenton.

I say "especially", because one of the things that most recommends The Cat and the Canary is the endlessly fascinating cinematography. During a time when film-makers were still discovering their art, and learning how to use the new medium to its fullest advantage, The Cat and the Canary emerges as a lot more than simply a filmed play--which technically it was, since it was based on the very successful early 1920s stage production by John Willard. The movement of the camera is brilliant, vibrant and only further enhanced by the expert use of tinted color film stock.

In fact, in order to fully appreciate the film with the colors in place, I'd recommend the excellent Kino DVD edition of the film, since many public domain prints of silent movies don't include them. The Kino edition also replicates the original score, as composed by Hugo Reisenfeld. Yes, for those who don't know, many silent films had specifically composed scores, written to be played lived when the film was shown.

While the epitome of the classic "old, dark house" horror movie trope, The Cat and the Canary also typifies the manner in which American horror cinema was not yet ready to embrace the supernatural--that would come just a couple years later with Tod Browning's Dracula. This is more of a murder mystery than anything else, but it is so stylized and has such delicious ambiance, that it crosses confidently over into terror territory.

Yet there's also comedy, and plenty of it. The whodunit-style cast is populated by actors and actresses who defy the very unfair stereotype of the silent film actor, emoting both broadly when needed, and subtlely when the moment calls for it. The intoxicating ingenue Laura La Plante is our put-upon protagonist Annabelle West; Creighton Hale nearly steals the proceedings as her cousin Paul, bringing an irresistible pathos and comic presence to the role; Flora Finch is the stuffy Aunt Susan; Martha Mattox plays the inappropriately named Mammy Pleasant. It's an ensemble cast that comes alive on screen in a way that may surprise those not so well acquainted with silent cinema.

Yes, the storyline, with all its twists and turns, is the stuff of genre cliche. But the thing to note here, is that these devices were already cliche in 1927. The fun of the movie is the way it plays with them, the way it takes all the ingredients we're familiar with, and can still dazzle us with something unique. It's a visually beautiful film, which is only enriched by the intervening 83 years, allowing it to be further appreciated as a snapshot of a time and place in genre film history.

The Cat and the Canary is an important film. I'm extremely glad I stumbled across it and gave it a chance. And I strongly encourage you to do the same.

The Many Faces of Max Schreck

Heeding The Call of Cthulhu...

Earlier this week, little Zombelina and myself had the opportunity to take part in something really fun and special, thanks to the incredible Avon Theatre in Stamford, Connecticut. We got to witness, on the big screen, the unusual and stunning silent film The Call of Cthulhu, based on the seminal short story by H.P. Lovecraft.

It was all part of the impressive lineup at the Avon which I blogged about a few weeks ago. And as for The Call of Cthulhu, this was a film that had originally been brought to my attention by friend and Lovecraft fanatic RayRay. Although made in 2005, it is a silent, black and white feature, painstakingly made to resemble the films of the 1920s--the idea being, what if someone had adapted Lovecraft's story when it was first published?

The result is an enthralling 45 minute movie, with some astonishing 1920s-era special effects, and makeup and lighting that would make F.W. Murnau proud. To top it all off, the film was introduced by noted film critic and writer Maitland McDonagh (one of the Cyber-Horror Elite, incidentally), who also took questions afterward. She was terrific, and I look forward to more of her Critic's Choice selections at the Avon.

I encourage you to seek out The Call of Cthulhu on DVD, it's worth it for any Lovecraft enthusiast. As for me, I'm gearing up for next Wednesday at the Avon, when I'll be watching Friday the 13th with Betsy Palmer!

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I don't usually take the time out to mention my other blogs, but I'd like to direct your attention to an interview I was honored to give to the amazing singer/songwriter/musician Emma Wallace over at her blog, Emma's Music. The interview is in connection to my music blog Standard of the Day, and is all about the great American songbook. It's a subject I'm passionate about (yes, I do like more than just horror stuff), and that I rarely get an opportunity to talk about. I'm quite proud of how it turned out, so please check it out!

The Tuesday Top 10: Favorite Horror Movies of the 1920s

Although there certainly were a handful of fine horror films made prior to 1920, this list can essentially also be called, "My Favorite Silent Horror Movies". The problem with the 1920s, however, is that there is such a significantly smaller amount of movies surviving than in later decades, which results in this becoming more of a "usual suspects" list than anything else, since there is a more limited selection from which to choose.

Did you know that 90% of all the movies made in the silent era are lost? Yes, I was shocked to learn this statistic as well. What's also telling about this list is that a full six of the ten come from non-English speaking countries, demonstrating that the U.S. had not yet established itself as the center of the cinematic world. Anyway, take it for what it is, and behold the finest horrors the silent era had to offer...

10. The Man Who Laughs (1928)
Based on the Victor Hugo novel, this is not quite horror per se, but the classic Jack Pierce makeup from this early Universal gem still inspires terror. In fact, as most probably know, it was Bill Finger's inspiration for the creation of Batman's archnemesis the Joker a dozen years later.

9. Dr. Mabuse (1922)
The original Dr. Mabuse film, this tense crime thriller from Metropolis-director Fritz Lang contains elements of mystery, fantasy and suspense, all set in a bizarre gangland environment. An often copied film--in fact, the latest version of Dr. Mabuse is set to come out next year.

8. Haxan (1922)
Arguably the finest horror-themed documentary ever made, chronicling the "history of witchcraft through the ages". This history is depicted via illustration, as well as a series of dramatizations, resulting in some truly indelible images. A 1960s re-issue was narrated by William S. Burroughs.

7. The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923)
Another genre-bending entry from the pen of Victor Hugo, and although it is not a horror film in the true sense, the involvement of the great Lon Chaney, and that unforgettable makeup, make it difficult to omit. Easily one of the most underrated movie "monsters" of them all. The whipping scene in particular is something that stays with you.

6. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)
Considered by some to be the finest horror film ever made, this classic early piece of German expressionism features some of the most mind-bending set design you'll ever see--reminiscent of some of the best of '30s Universal. It also has a young Conrad Veidt (the Nazi from Casablanca) as the uber-creepy Cesare.

5. Faust (1926)
Otherwise known as F.W. Murnau's other horror classic, Faust is his adaptation of Goethe's play, itself based on much older tales of the epic war between God and Satan over the soul of a powerful alchemist. Amazing visuals, particularly for its time. Expressionism at its best.

4. The Phantom of the Opera (1925)
Perhaps the silent horror flick best known by mainstream audiences and casual fans, this is also the finest hour for Chaney, the genre's first megastar. As Erik the Phantom, he is an icon, and the makeup he created for himself will live forever in horror immortality.

3. The Golem (1920)
A take on the classic bit of folklore about a rabbi in 16th century Europe who conjures up a creature to exact his vengeance, this is quite simply a gothic masterpiece, dripping with atmosphere.

2. Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (1920)
I've recently come to appreciate this as the finest adaptation of Robert Louis Stephenson's famous novella--better even than the revered 1931 version starring Fredrich March. Barrymore is jaw-dropping, conjuring up the evil Hyde with minimal makup and maximum acting chops. Put plainly, the finest American silent horror film.

1. Nosferatu (1922)
Not only the greatest horror film of the 1920s, but I believe an argument could be made that it might be the finest horror film ever (although I personally will not make that argument). Pure joy for any true horror fan, from beginning to end, Max Schrek's exploits as the demonic Count Orlock make up an almost transcendent experience of movie viewing. It might be easy and predictable to choose this as number one, but I choose it for a reason--it is the most frightening movie of its era, and still the most rewarding to watch. Not to mention the best screen adaptation of Dracula.

Retro Review: Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde (1920)

Welcome back one and all, to the one and only, the real, the original Retro Review, right here in The Vault of Horror. Accept no substitutes!

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When asked what is my favorite silent horror film, I always went the tried-and-true route of most horror fans and chose F.W. Murnau's Nosferatu. But now, after viewing the 1920 version of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde starring John Barrymore for the first time, I may just have to change my tune. Maybe.

I'm also torn, because I always have had a special spot in my heart for the 1931 version starring Fredrich March. However, in a lot of ways, I found myself liking this silent version even better.

To my mind, it's all about Barrymore's performance. What's incredible is the fact that very little makeup is used--rather, the actor effects the transformation almost entirely through his bearing and facial expressions. It sounds hard to believe unless you've seen it, but I can assure you, it's brilliant to watch. Clearly, Barrymore's stage training came in handy in helping him communicate so much with body language and facial movement.

The 1931 version opted to go the heavy makeup route, and dazzle with transformative special effects, resulting in a simian, truly monstrous Hyde. But in a lot of ways, what Barrymore did was more challenging. Aside from a greasy fright wig, some shadowing, and fake teeth, he pretty much had to sell you on this transformation through his dramatic power. In this respect, it's actually more similar to the 1941 version starring Spencer Tracy. However, as much as Tracy is one of my all-time favorite actors, he was hopelessly miscast in the role, whereas Barrymore is right on the money.

Maybe it's because I know a thing or two about Barrymore's matinee idol status and personal demons, but it's very easy for me to buy him as both Jekyll and Hyde. Much like March, he pulls off both excellently, effecting the moralism and earnestness of the good doctor just as well as the barbarity and lasciviousness of his repulsive "friend".

And while we're on the subject of lasciviousness, I think no other cinematic version of Robert Louis Stevenson's tale that I've seen deals as frankly with the sexual subtext as this one. Jekyll & Hyde is very much about Victorian sexual repression and its consequences, and in this particular version, there is none of the vague, genteel beating-around-the-bush that we get in later versions. Jekyll's temptation into a world of sin is made quite plain, as is his creation of Hyde as a way of letting loose his carnal impulses.

In Dr. Jekyll's 19th century world, a man of his stature had to to maintain certain levels of decorum to function in polite society, wed, and prosper. But as Hyde, he is free to descend into a depraved underworld of sex, drugs and murder. March pulls this off quite well in Rouben Mamoulian's '30s version, but I'm tempted to say that Barrymore does it even better.

The only drawback in comparing the two performances, in which March inevitably wins out, naturally, is the fact that Barrymore's performance is without sound. Nevertheless, it is even more of a testament to his chops as a world-class thespian that he can mesmerize you from beginning to end without uttering a single recorded word.

Thanks to the marvelous Kino Video, they of the equally excellent Nosferatu special edition DVD, I was able to experience the film with the original color tinting restored, as well as the original score pieced back together and performed by the Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra. And what a powerful score it is, proving that, strictly speaking, silent movies were never really silent.

In addition to the masterful Barrymore, veteran supporting player Brandon Hurst shines devilishly as the father of Jekyll's lady love, who initially leads him into temptation. Also memorable is Nita Naldi (above) in a star-making turn as the doomed Italian club singer who becomes the target/victim of Henry Hyde's appetites.

While the Europeans were doing their thing, this was the flick that put horror on the Hollywood map, and with good reason. A bona fide treat for fans of classic terror, as well as for fans of great acting.

Anita Page 1910-2008

There are very, very few major pre-World War II movie stars still around, let alone silent movie stars. But yesterday, we lost one of the most popular American actresses of the late 1920s, when Anita Page passed away at age 98. In recent years, she had made a low key return to the screen, acting in a bunch of horror B-movies in her 80s and 90s.

She was born Anita Pomares in Flushing, Queens, but went Hollywood early, breaking into movies as a teenager toward the end of the silent era. Most notable among her early pictures was While the City Sleeps, in which she was the leading lady of none other than the king of the silents, Lon Chaney Sr. When sound movies came in at the end of the decade, she went right along with it, starring in the early musical The Broadway Melody, as well as the rare Buster Keaton talkies Free & Easy and Sidewalks of New York.

Although not well remembered today, at the height of her popularity in 1929, she received some 10,000 fan letters per week--second only to Greta Garbo--and was actively pursued by Italian dictator Benito Mussolini. But her time at the top did not last long. According to her own statements later in life, the reason for her abrupt and early retirement in the mid 1930s was her refusal to abide by the notorious "casting couch" system employed by some studio heads at the time.

Aside from one role in the 1960s, Page stayed in retirement for 60 years. Amazingly, she was bit by the acting bug again at the age of 86, when she started discovering that she still had a following among early film aficionados. Over the past dozen years, she took to appearing in primarily low-budget, low-profile productions. Among these were Witchcraft XI: Sisters in Blood and The Crawling Brain, abysmal trash to which she lent more class than was deserved in supporting roles. Due out later this year, her last movie was Frankenstein Rising, in which she plays Elizabeth Frankenstein.

"I am so honored," she recently said. "I sign autographs and the people are so kind. This is one of the most wonderful moments of my career, and to experience it at this time in my life, and at my age, I never would have dreamed."

Here's to you, doll. In the parlance of the day, you were the cat's pajamas.

* For more on Anita Page, check out my other blog, Standard of the Day.

Has London After Midnight Been Found??

I'm hesitant to report on this, but on the chance that it might be the real deal, I felt compelled to spread the word. Someone out there is claiming to have actually discovered an honest-to-goodness print of the 1927 Lon Chaney vampire film London After Midnight--perhaps the most notorious lost film of all time.

Believed lost in a 1967 warehouse fire, the movie was supposedly found in a massive MGM warehouse under its British release title of The Hypnotist. A gentleman calling himself Sid Terror has posted the entire exhaustive tale on The Horror Drunx message board, where he claims to have first come across it ten years ago.

According to Mr. Terror, his pleas that something be done about it fell on deaf ears amongst ignorant studio execs. Then, in 2004, he got in touch with someone else who had allegedly spotted the exact same print. He then goes on to say that the print has been lost again, since the warehouse he originally found it in has been sold, and the old nitrate prints were transferred to several different holding locations.

A lot of people are doubtful, and for a number of reasons. Firstly, this wouldn't be the first time a hoax was perpetrated in which someone claimed to have found this movie. Also, one would think that if this guy--who claims to be a rabid film buff--really did find the thing a full ten years ago, he wouldn't have waited until now to post the story on some message board.

Nevertheless, the story made its way to the "Head Geek" himself, Harry Knowles of Ain't It Cool News, who is now fully championing Terror's cause, and calling for someone within Time-Warner to do something about it. Thickening the plot further, Harry went on to post a correspondence today from a trusted source who corroborates the story.

Can it be? Is London After Midnight--the "holy grail" of horror films--close to seeing the light of day for the first time in 80 years? Time will tell, I suppose. In the meantime, judge for yourself.

Who Was Max Schreck?

That's the question posed by German writer Stefan Eickhoff, whose book Max Schreck: Gespenstertheater (Ghost Theatre) is set to be published in English later this year. Despite delivering many fascinating details about Schreck's public body of work, Eickhoff freely admits he was unable to satisfactorally answer the question, since information on Schreck's private life was extremely difficult to come by.

The mystery surrounding the man who played the screen's first Count Dracula in F.W. Murnau's 1922 masterpiece Nosferatu is one of the things that led to the long-running urban legend of Schreck's real-life vampirism--a legend Eickhoff reports was first jokingly popularized in a French book on surrealism in cinema published in 1953. But myths aside, the real man provides more than enough fodder for a
biographer, of which Eickhoff--who first published his book in German last December--is the first.

"Whoever hopes to discover a vampire will be disappointed, but they will find an actor of real skill and versatility," said Eickhoff in a Reuters interview yesterday.

Eickhoff's book focuses mainly on Schreck's films, making the case that Nosferatu has unjustly overshadowed the rest of what was an impressive body of work consisting of more than 800 stage and screen roles. As for personal anecdotes and recollections from colleagues, Eickhoff eerily found almost none. One rare and fascinating remembrance describes him as living in "a remote and strange world," and being fond of long walks in deep, dark forests.

This book is sure to be snatched up by many an old-school horror fan looking to learn more about one of the genre's most enigmatic actors of all time. If you spreken ze deutch, you can buy the book right now in its original form at Amazon.com's German site.

Lon Chaney Shall Not Die

Today The Vault of Horror marks the 125th anniversary of the birth of the great Lon Chaney Sr. How fitting indeed that April Fool's Day would be the birthday of Hollywood's greatest illusionist.

Born Leonidas Frank Chaney on April 1, 1883, he would go on to become the single greatest celebrity of the silent film era, with only Charles Chaplin being a possible exception. He was best known for his incredible skill with makeup--so much so that he even wrote an entry on the subject for the Encyclopedia Brittanica.

Always doing his own work, Chaney was able to dramatically transform himself for a wide variety of roles, most memorably including Fagin in Oliver Twist (1922), Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923), Prof. Echo in The Unholy Three (1925), Erik in The Phantom of the Opera (1925), Alonzo the Armless in The Unknown (1927), Prof. Edward C. Burke in London After Midnight (1927) and Tito Beppi in Laugh, Clown, Laugh (1928). In those early days of movie makeup, Chaney suffered greatly under painful applications, and even lost some of his vision due to his work on The Hunchback Of Notre Dame.

Many have attributed his fascination with unusual, often deformed roles to the fact that he grew up the son of parents who were both deaf and a mother who was an invalid. His ability to communicate so effectively without words and under heavy makeup might also be attributed to this.

His career was confined almost entirely to the silents, and in fact he made only one talkie, a 1930 remake of The Unholy Three, in which he performed the voices of five different characters. He was in line to portray Dracula in Tod Browning's 1931 production when he became ill with lung cancer brought on by heavy smoking and aggravated by a piece of artificial snow that became accidentally lodged in his throat while working on his final silent film, Thunder (1929). Lon Chaney passed away on August 26, 1930 at the age of 47.

Although known primarily for his work in horror, Chaney was also an accomplished dramatic stage actor, as well as a gifted comedian, dancer and singer. He was played by James Cagney in a 1957 biopic, The Man of a Thousand Faces. His son, born Creighton Chaney but using the screen name Lon Chaney Jr., became a prominent horror actor in his own right, but never quite escaped the awesome shadow of his legendary father.

(Special thanks for the animated GIF go to LonChaney.com, the family's official website.)

Dr. Caligari Never Sounded Like This

All I can say is, I never thought I'd be jealous of people who live in Ohio (sorry Ohioans, you know I love you). But if you happen to be anywhere near the Springfield area, you would do well to get yourself to the State Theater for tonight's one-time-only screening of 1919 German Expressionist classic The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari
with musical accompaniment by the unorthodox trio known as Equinox.

Tickets are only five bucks, and you can't beat that with a bat, to quote the Black Sheep. Equinox has previously accompanied State screenings of two other silent gems, Nosferatu and Metropolis. Next October, they will travel to Dayton for a reprise of Nosferatu, as well as a ballet interpretation of Dracula. When it comes to horror as art, it would appear that the Buckeye State is the place to be.

I realize this is a very localized item, but it captures my imagination simply because it's such a rare treat in the year 2008 to be able to view a silent film the way it was intended to be viewed--with a live score. Hopefully we see more of this kind of thing. I'll never forget attending a similar showing of Nosferatu in NYC about 15 years ago. It was an amazing experience, in spite of a too-hip-for-the-room audience that laughed throughout the picture. Hey, that's New York, folks--you take the good with the bad.

The Lost Frankenstein

Some readers may remember a while back when I provided a link to a site that allowed you to watch the Vincent Price classic The Last Man on Earth in its entirety, thanks to the fact that the film is in the public domain. Well, today, I'm proud to present another, much rarer horror classic, which you can view in its entirety without leaving this page. Below, broken up into two parts, is the original, 1910 Frankenstein, a production of Thomas Edison's movie studio. Believed lost for decades, the silent short was discovered in a private collection in the 1970s. So if you have about 15 minutes to kill and are in the mood for a genuinely creepy old flick, have a look:
Part 1:

Part 2:

The Silent Dead: A History of Horror Movies, Part 1

For as long as humans have been sophisticated enough to desire entertainment, we've had an innate fascination with being horrified. Perhaps the last vestigal remants of the "fight or flight" instinct give us this visceral thrill, which we can enjoy freely with the knowledge that what we are seeing is not real.
As ingrained as the love of being scared is in the human psyche, it's suprising that horror took a while to establish itself as a major genre in the motion picture business. In the earliest days of the movies, they were not very common, particularly in America, where religious groups still held great sway over public opinion.
At the beginning of the industry, it was in Europe that horror films first took root. Pioneering French filmmaker Georges Melies (best known for 1902's A Trip to the Moon) is credited with creating the earliest examples with his two short films, The House of the Devil (1896) and The Cave of the Demons (1898).
At the start of the 20th century, the epicenter of the motion picture biz was in Germany, and horror pictures were no different. A wave of Expressionistic films emerged there in the '10s and '20s, the impact of which continues to be felt to this day. Chief among them were Paul Wegener's The Golem (1920), Robert Wiene's The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) and of course, F.W. Murnau's 1922 masterpiece, Nosferatu--the first of countless Dracula adaptations.
Meanwhile, in the States, it was actually Thomas Edison, who had invented motion picture technology in the first place, whose production company put out what may be America's first horror movie and the first in another long tradition, 1910's short film Frankenstein.
In Hollywood, the 1920s produced the first horror movie megastar, the one and only Lon Chaney. Known as "The Man of a Thousand Faces," Chaney achieved notoriety in large part due to his uncanny ability to transform himself through make-up. Chief among his notable roles are The Monster (1925), lost film London After Midnight (1927) and his iconic turn in The Phantom of the Opera (1925), which gave rise to Universal's classic monster movie series the following decade.
The end of the 1920s saw the rise of a revolution in filmmaking thanks to arguably the greatest innovation the industry has ever seen: sound. The effects would be profound, and horror movies would lead the way.
Other major releases:

• Dr. Jeckyll & Mr. Hyde (1920)
• The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923)

Soon to come: Part 2 - Gods and Monsters