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By
NICK ZEGARAC
Funny thing about the world
of Val Lewton; it's an interesting place to visit
but I wouldn't want to live there. Lewton's name
is synonymous with oblique diabolical wickedness
and spine chilling horror -- most of it is kept
tempered behind locked doors, heavy fog banks or
mysterious dark corridors. There's a reason for
all this spooky nonsense, but it has more to do
with budgetary restraints than technical
proficiency or 'mood.'
Lewton's tenure at RKO (1942-1946) yielded a
remarkable set of 'horror' classics and two
undistinguished non-horror flicks. B-movies in
every way, economy seems to have worked well for
the Russian born Lewton where other directors more
attuned to the expectation of unlimited studio
resources might have failed. Lewton began his
tenure as a story editor for David O. Selznick.
Yet, Selznick's penchant for lavishness, often to
the point of absurdity, became bourgeois excess
and the bulk of Lewton's later efforts seem to
have been a direct rebuttal. There really isn't a
lot in the way of plot to a Val Lewton horror
flick and not much time to tell the tale either --
usually just a few minutes over an hour. But oh,
how far that moody atmospheric touch goes.
With a grossly modest budget of only $200,000 per
film, Lewton relied heavily on Van Nest Polglase
and Albert S. D'Agostino's wizardry in the art
department and a simplistic mastery of low-key
lighting to generate his evocative and unsettling
world of dark looming shadows and disquieting
secret corridors in sublime terror. Under the
directorial aegis of Jacques Tourneur (probably
better known as the director of the noir classic,
'Out of the Past') Lewton transformed a seeming
bit of hokum about a town overrun by alien felines
into the exotic masterpiece, Cat People (1942).
Simone Simon is Irene Reed -- a Serbian babe in
Manhattan who morphs into a panther when she is
aroused. This psychoanalytic bit of regression
therapy nonsense for those feeling sexually
repressed became translated into a genuinely
morbid, disturbing and frightening feast for the
eyes and heart -- which by this point in the
narrative was ready to pound out of one's chest.
But even that level of terror paled in comparison
to Lewton's next exploitive effort. You'll find a
lot of people who consider 'I Walked with a
Zombie' (1943) Val Lewton's masterwork. The story
is actually Bronte's Jane Eyre transplanted and
updated to a voodoo cult on a tropical island.
Okay, that sounds tacky. But when a nurse, Betsy
(Frances Dee) journeys to the Caribbean with her
charge, the very ill Jessica Holland (Christine
Gordon) the two discovers a murderous cult of
seemingly paralyzed natives who wreak havoc on
their otherwise normal inhabitants.
Based on a novel by Robert Lewis Stevenson -- who
also gave us Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, in The Body
Snatcher (1943) Boris Karloff is cast as Cabman
John Gray, a spurious provider of medical
cadavers. This lack of authenticity in the bodies
being provided doesn't seem to bother ruthless
scientist, Dr. Wolfe (Henry Daniells), but before
long it begins to dwell on the conscience of his
assistant, Donald Fettes (Russell Wade). Gloomy,
atmospheric sets and a looming sense of foreboding
draw these three men into a dangerous web of
murder and intrigue. How long will it be before
one of them becomes the next medical experiment?
Director Robert Wise employs a savvy sense of
screen economy, getting the most out of the least
amount of props and sets.
Did I say Lewton was a master of economy? That's
an understatement. The Leopard Man (1943) is his
fourth venture in two years, a brilliant
adaptation of Cornell Woolrich's classic tale
about occultism and religious fervor, peppered in
the sort of dark ambiguity and truly haunted dark
recesses that made Lewton the envy of higher
budgeted horror aficionados. When nightclub
performer, Kiki Walker's (Jean Brooks) leashed
leopard escapes, people in the tiny Mexican hamlet
of her employ begin turning up mauled. But as an
all out hunt for the exotic animal ensues Kiki
becomes convinced that her cat might not be the
murderer everyone is looking for.
The Leopard Man marked the last time Jacque
Tourneur helmed a Lewton film -- a pity, since
subsequent efforts in this box set progressively
belie how valuable as a collaborative asset the
director was.
The pair of efforts that followed; The Seventh
Victim and Ghost Ship (both shot and released in
1943) are perhaps the most grotesquely amusing
offerings in Lewton's cannon. In the first,
Satanic worship leads to a string of brutal
homicides and human sacrifices, each leading up to
'the seventh victim' whose death will unlock the
gates of hell and unleash the devil from his fiery
realm. The unsettling spiral is set into motion
with the disappearance of Jacqueline Gibson (Jean
Brooks). Her naïve sister, Mary (Kim Hunter) is
determined to find her in Greenwich Village. What
she finds is evil incarnate.
The Ghost Ship (1943) is the most rarified film in
this box set. The subject of a heated rights issue
for many years, and therefore unseen in as many,
it stars Lewton casting fav' Russell Wade again,
this time as Tom Merriam a third mate working
under Captain Stone (Richard Dix). At first there
is a mutual bond of respect between these two. But
then there's the mysterious body count on board
that gets Tom's dander up. Is Stone merely
uncaring or is he a maniacal psychopath? Once
again, Lewton charms us into a nightmare of
Satanic rituals, making the improbable seem
dangerously close to the truth, while creating a
level of audience discomfort that is hard to shake
afterward.
The Curse of the Cat People (1944) is considered
by many as something of a Lewton slip up --
perhaps because audience expectations were for
another ominous journey down the road where Cat
People had taken us. But on this occasion we are
introduced to precocious, and slightly off
balanced Amy (Ann Carter), the child of Alice Reed
(Jane Randolph). Amy sees dead people -- one in
particular; her father's first wife, Irene (Simone
Simon). But that's about as scary as things get.
The story moves away from fright to parallel the
lives of Julia Farren (Julia Dean), a recluse who
is estranged from her own daughter, Barbara
(Elizabeth Russell). What happens next is sort of
feel-good melodrama grafted onto a disturbing
portrait of a little girl plagued by memories from
some dead and forgotten past. It's uneven
entertainment at best.
It took Lewton nearly a year to come up with his
next endeavor: Isle of the Dead (1945). All about
a plague that breaks out on a secluded island in
Greece, the people trapped under quarantine are
further tested in their faith when a superstitious
peasant, Madame Kyra (Helen Thimig) suspects a
young woman, Thea (Ellen Drew) of being a
'vorvolaka'; a pseudo-vampire/demon out to suck
the last remnants of life from the town's folk.
Boris Karloff's in this one again, but this time
he's not the baddie -- a miscalculation from which
the film never recovers. Lewton tries to mask the
absence of a good strong narrative (something his
previous films had) with much more atmosphere than
is actually necessary. The result is a film that
undeniably looks like a Lewton film, but rarely
attains the sinister heights of a Lewton film.
And finally, there's Bedlam (1946), the movie that
effectively ended Lewton's all too brief and
shining career at RKO. It stars Anna Lee as Nell
Bowen, the head strong, yet oddly angelic protégé
of wealthy patron, Lord Mortimer (Billy House).
Crusading for improvement to the conditions of St.
Mary's of Bethlehem Asylum, Nell is placed in
direct confrontation with Master George Sims
(Boris Karloff) who has Nell wrongfully committed
to his institution in order to silence her. At
first terrified by her surroundings, Nell soon
discovers a crew of equal wrongfully imprisoned
inmates -- and a few truly nutty ones -- waiting
to rebel against Master Sims. The 'we shall
overcome' premise is decidedly weak. Karloff again
is menacing but slightly less so after he locks
Nell up and throws away the key -- presumably
because he believes his problem has been dealt
with. Upon its release, Bedlam tanked at the box
office, and RKO, already on the verge of
receivership and unable to take the chance for any
more sustained losses -- effectively gave Lewton
the old heave-ho for his efforts.
Today, Val Lewton is considered a formidable
genius. His films have arguably withstood changing
tastes and the oft' bastardization in remakes.
Each is remarkable in the producer's enduring
legacy; his unsettling ode to the macabre. Even at
his worst, Lewton achieves a level of ghostly
greatness that few purveyors of horror today --
with all their slick polish and chop-chop special
effects can effectively muster on budgets several
hundred million greater than Val's.
Warner Bros. DVD has unleashed a formidable tower
of terror with this box set. Each film in the
collection has been impeccably remastered for
marked improvements in image and sound quality. Of
this 9-film set, Cat People probably looks the
worst. Having stated this -- even Cat People looks
fairly decent. Age-related artifacts are prevalent
throughout all of the films in this collection.
Grain and artifacts are decidedly heavier on the
first two or three movies in this set. But fine
details are very nicely realized throughout.
Contrast levels are bang on. Whites, though rare
within the darkened recesses of Lewton
storytelling, are nevertheless white. Blacks are
velvety deep. The audio is, in all cases, mono,
but presented with considerable clarity.
Insightful and informative audio commentaries
accompany all the films in this box -- as well as
three documentaries: the most important being the
one on Lewton himself. We also get theatrical
trailers for each movie. All in all this is a must
have for anyone in search of a good freight. The
box is high stakes horror set under the most
restrictive and low brow of circumstances, but so
marvelously staged by Lewton, that he easily
suspends belief in the horror genre, placing it on
par with the cinematic works of Shakespeare or
even Samuel Goldwyn's rendition of Wuthering
Heights. This is an absolute must have for any DVD
collector. |
