Classic Horror on Blu-ray: Asylums, Telepathy, Obsession, and Human Sacrifice in Four New Releases

 

I wrapped up spooky season with a marathon watch of new Blu-ray releases from Warner Archive. They're a mixed bag, but overall I had a good time with this varied bunch of thrills: 

Mad Love (1935) 

A bonkers Grand Guignol thrill ride, this MGM flick takes the eerie body part transplant horror of The Hands of Orlac (1924) and transforms it into an unhinged, ghoulish tale of obsession. Pop-eyed Peter Lorre stars as the brilliant Dr. Gogol, who has an unhealthy fixation on horror theater actress Yvonne Orlac (Frances Drake). She finds him creepy and is deeply in love with her husband, the famous pianist Stephen Orlac (Colin Clive). When Stephen’s hands are damaged in a train accident, Gogol attaches the hands of a recently hanged knife murderer, bringing out murderous impulses in the hapless musician. The film is much weirder than this basic plot though, with a wax figurine, a drunken housemaid, and one of the most bizarre and horrific costumes of classic Hollywood all in the mix as this wild tale roars to a close in just over an hour. Special features on the disc include a trailer and commentary by Steve Haberman.

Eye of the Devil (1966) 

The story of this UK chiller is like a less colorful version of The Wicker Man, with a similarly enclosed country society looking for a solution to its crop problems. David Niven is the wealthy marquis whose family has long held responsibility for the local agriculture. Deborah Kerr is his confused and distressed wife; she knows something isn’t right when her husband gloomily leaves their London home for the ancestral Chateau in France. The film looks gorgeous on Blu-ray and it has its striking moments, but for the most part it drags and there’s not much mystery to the plot. It is best remembered today as the official screen debut of Sharon Tate (it took so long to be released that Don’t Make Waves [1967] was the first time audiences saw her onscreen). While her performance can be stilted, possibly because as a novice she was relying heavily on instruction from her director, Tate’s presence is electrifying beyond her stunning beauty. In a scene where she is whipped by Niven, she also shows willingness to embrace the perversity of the material. She would have really made something of the increased cinematic freedom of the seventies. Also at the beginning of his career, David Hemmings is equally stunning as her screen brother.

Children of the Damned (1964) 

This thematic sequel to Village of the Damned (1960) doesn’t have the iconic chills or sturdy plot of its predecessor, but it is not without interest. Here the action moves to the city, where another batch of oddly expressionless kids has arisen out of seemingly immaculate birth. With glacial pace it is revealed that six children, each of them of different nationalities have the same mental abilities of their blond country cousins. This mini United Nations of supposed psychopathic space children isn’t nearly as amusing though, partly because they refuse to talk for most of the film’s running time. Instead they use the aunt of the head child Paul (Clive Powell) to speak for them via their telepathic instruction, though it is never revealed why they would do this if they are capable of speech and occasionally inclined to speak for themselves. The story doesn’t add up to much and it never picks up momentum, but there are a few striking sequences that make it just worth watching, especially for Village fans. Special features on the disc include a trailer and commentary by the film’s screenwriter John Briley

The Ghost Ship (1943)/Bedlam (1946) 

Director Mark Robson was one of the best interpreters of producer Val Lewton’s horror vision and this pair of films demonstrates the diversity of his talents. He was adept at creating a mood of dread with economy and simplicity, which was perfect given the limitations of his budgets. 

Richard Dix had been a heroic screen figure since the silent age when he was cast against type in The Ghost Ship as an unhinged sea captain who has an unhealthy obsession with authority. He was somebody audiences trusted, just like the men on his crew who don’t want to believe that their leader is capable of doing wrong. This reflection on the fallibility of leaders and those who follow them is especially effective because it has no score but the occasional sea shanty from Lewton regular Sir Lancelot (his voice is so mellifluous that even when he speaks he sounds like he is singing). The soundtrack is instead filled with creaking masts, rushing wind, and the clattering of chains; evoking the crew’s isolation at sea. The cast is full of interesting characters, including an early career Lawrence Tierney in a goofy cap, the expressive Skelton Knaggs who plays a mute (though his thoughts serve as narration), and the sole female character, Edith Barrett as the soothing voice of reason in a tense, atmospheric tale. 

Bedlam presents two worlds: that of the powdered and perfumed rich and the straw-lined despair of an insane asylum. Boris Karloff is the slippery overseer Master Sims and Anna Lee is Nell Bowen, a lady of society who protests the treatment of the residents. She finds herself behind bars with those she aims to protect thanks to the machinations of Sims, but finds hope with the support of a morally solid Quaker. Bowen is subject to a pair of horrors: losing her freedom and realizing that society does not support her or true justice. Her vulnerability to the system is chilling.

Special features on the disc include theatrical trailers and commentary on Bedlam by Tom Weaver.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copies of the films for review.

On Blu-ray: The Bermuda Depths (1978), The Isle of the Dead (1945), and Doctor X (1932)

I recently enjoyed a trio of horror/fantasy films new to Blu-ray from Warner Archive. While they are dramatically different stories, they each evoke suspense and mystery in intriguingly quirky ways. 

Bermuda Depths (1978) 

Watching and then re-watching this Rankin/Bass television production (yes, the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Rankin/Bass) was an interesting experience in the power of outside influence in changing perspective. I went into it expecting a monster movie, and was a bit disappointed to find a more dreamy fantasy with hints of romance and horror. While I enjoyed the beauty of the cinematography and the appealing cast led by Burl Ives, Carl Weathers and Connie Sellecca, it left me a little cold. Then I read a few fan reviews and I was stunned to find that many viewers had first seen the film as children and had been haunted and mesmerized by it ever since. Their experience watching the movie was so dramatically different from mine that I decided to give it another chance. Watching it again with a more childlike sense of wonder, I caught a bit of its magic, not as strong as those who saw it when they were young, but enough to appreciate its mysterious appeal. 

Special features on the disc include an international theatrical version of the film, and an audio commentary by Amanda Reyes and Lance Vaughan that effectively captures the wonder of this film that captivated so many young viewers.

Isle of the Dead (1945) 

A lesser known entry among the horror films produced by Val Lewton, this one is a slow burn. It doesn’t offer thrills until its last moments, but this chiller about an island isolated by quarantine and haunted by fear of dark spirits keeps you on edge. Elements of Greek folklore give the story of a peasant who suspects a young woman of possessing evil powers added texture. Ellen Drew is appealingly grounded as the suspected malevolent presence and Boris Karloff, Katherine Emery, and Skelton Knaggs are charismatic stand-outs in a uniformly fascinating cast. 

Special features on the disc include commentary by Dr. Steve Haberman and a theatrical trailer.

Doctor X (1932) 

It always astounds me how dramatically a great restoration can change the experience of watching a movie. The new 4k restoration of this two-strip Technicolor chiller is a perfect example of the way it elevates the experience. I’d always looked upon this horror flick directed by Michael Curtiz as an amusing enough comedy-tinged time killer, but a sharper image and better color composition brought out the horrific elements, making it a much moodier and ghoulish experience. I was mesmerized by moments I’d never noticed before, like a blue-green shot of the moon or the rosy hue of Fay Wray’s complexion in contrast to the monster that menaces her. 

An especially robust selection of special features includes a separately filmed black and white version of the film which has been unavailable for thirty years, the featurette The Horror Films of Michael Curtiz, a before/after restoration reel from UCLA, commentaries by Scott MacQueen and Alan K. Rode, and a theatrical trailer.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copies of the films for review.

On DVD: Four Atmospheric Horror Classics Produced by Val Lewton

In the early forties, Russian-American film producer Val Lewton was head of horror production at RKO Studios. In a precise agreement with the studio, for each film he was given a strictly limited budget, a title and instructions to keep the running time short. With these basic elements, an efficient and effective cast and crew for each production, and his own talent for scriptwriting, he made a series of viscerally chilling films, in a distinctly shadowy style, that would become horror classics.

In a pair of double feature DVDs, four of Lewton's classic chillers are now available from Warner Archive. One disc features Boris Karloff in two of the three films he made for the producer: Isle of the Dead (1945) and Bedlam (1946). The other showcases stars Dennis O'Keefe and Richard Dix in The Leopard Man and The Ghost Ship (both 1943) respectively.

Isle of the Dead/Bedlam

The future director of plush productions like Peyton Place (1957) and Valley of the Dolls (1967), Mark Robson would show a flair for horror with this pair of Karloff flicks. Isle of the Dead and Bedlam are two of five films the director would make for Lewton (the others: horror flicks Ghost Ship and The Seventh Victim [1943], and the drama Youth Runs Wild [1944]). Both movies are notable among Lewton's productions for building horror with more disturbing than creepy content. Here the fear isn't so much of what is hiding in the dark, but human nature.

Inspired by a mysterious painting by Swiss artist Arnold Böcklin,

Isle of the Dead, by Arnold Böcklin

Isle of the Dead takes a while to build momentum. Like the static world in that work of art, it maintains a feel of lingering dread, but it takes much of the film's running time to escalate to anything truly compelling. It almost plays out like a stage production, its characters quarantined in a house on an island infested with the plague, afraid of the real threat of death, but also wary of local legends. There is a pay-off though, with a truly terrifying final sequence that descends into palpable confusion and madness.

While Karloff is a dominating presence in Bedlam, it is also a remarkable showcase for Anna Lee. The actress rarely had the chance to dig into a role as meaty as this 18th century tale of a woman accustomed to living among the rich, as a sort of jester for prominent men, who is inspired by a Quaker to fight for improved conditions in a local insane asylum. Karloff is the cruel overseer of the institution in which inmates are treated like animals and brought out for parties to be mocked by the upper classes.

Through Karloff's machinations, Lee is wrongly committed to the asylum and there she finds strength in the sort of feminine traits typically mocked as weak by men. Though horrified and unsettled by the inmates, she relies on the wit that has given her a plush life to keep her own sanity. She finds herself capable of disturbing behavior herself, the sort of dark impulses that provide the true horror in this unusual film.

The disc includes commentary on Bedlam by film historian Tom Weaver

The Leopard Man/The Ghost Ship

While the dangerous men in The Leopard Man and The Ghost Ship are as gripped by the dark side of human nature as Karloff, these films present those impulses more firmly in the threatening, shadowy world that formed Lewton's unique style.

The Leopard Man would be the last of three horror films Jacques Tourneur directed for Lewton. He was as responsible as the producer for the feeling of fearful anticipation that would characterize these RKO productions. Like his previous efforts Cat People (1942) and I Walked With a Zombie (1943), it draws its chills from dangers lurking in the darkness; its most terrible moments drawn from something as simple as the fear of a sheet of pure, black night, with just enough light to show the fear on the face of whoever must enter that void to reach safety. 

There's a feeling of doom chasing the residents of a small New Mexican town, where an escaped leopard used for a nightclub publicity stunt seems to be killing women who walk the streets alone late at night. Voices, sounds and the swish of tree branches increase the feeling of being alone and doomed. A gush of blood oozing from beneath a doorway simply and efficiently communicates the horror of what is happening on the other side.

The Ghost Ship approaches that terror of isolation in a different way, leaving a man feeling alone among a crew of many because they can't see as he can how dangerous their obedience-obsessed captain has become. As played by Richard Dix, the unhinged seaman leads with icy calm, sending his men to doom simply to test his own powers and satisfy his need for revenge over anyone who defies him. The ship feels like a haunted house, empty, shadowy and with the feeling of being filled with dark spirits that possess the captain and his men.

Special features include commentary by director William Friedkin on The Leopard Man and a trailer for the film.

Many thanks to Warner Archive for providing a copies of the films for review. These are Manufacture on Demand (MOD) DVDs. To order, visit The Warner Archive Collection.