Monday, July 17, 2023

                 CHRONOLOGY OF CLASSIC HORROR FILMS: THE 1940S

        By Donald C. Willis


I enjoyed Don Willis’s earlier volume on the Classic Horror of the ‘30s, and, guess what…I like this one even more. When I discussed the earlier tome I suggested that some of Willis’s prose was “stream of consciousness” or something in that area. This time around there’s not so much “stream of” whatever. The writing is smoother and easier to follow. Good move.


Willis’s standards for inclusion in the ‘horror’ category--just like everybody else's-- are pretty loose and lax..except when they’re not. There are quite a few films covered here which wouldn’t pass muster with my evidently more stringent requirements. But that’s okay, I’d much rather he cast his nets wide and gone, than if he squeezed out anything which might arguably belong. Better to haul in a few minnows than to let a juicy sturgeon slip through. (A fish metaphor--niiice.) Besides, all his inclusions are reasonable and understandable, meaning that nothing is covered here which has NO claim to the horror designation, just that there are some which I wouldn’t stretch to include. 


From my casual, non-careful count, 153 movies get individual coverage here. By my lights, 108 of those clearly belong in a book on “Horror Films”. Another 22…maybe. I could go either way. And then there are 23 inclusions which would definitely be exclusions for me. But again-- their presence here is understandable. They may not be in the ballpark, but they're in the ballpark’s neighborhood.


As the title suggests, the book proceeds from year-to-year, 1940 through 1949 with each film discussed according to date of release. This pattern allows the reader to look at what was playing when, what other movies opened at the same time, how these movies related to each other in time.


In addition to commenting on the movies themselves, Don also offers thoughts on other film versions of the same stories, and also on the books which inspired the films.


Willis has plenty of opinions, lord knows, but rarely are they sweeping. Very little “this is lousy” or “this is great” There’s much more of “this element was lousy, but this element was great.” This sprinkling of praise and pan allows almost everyone to agree and/or disagree with just about everything. There’s a lot I agree with, absolutely, and also a fair amount I don’t agree with, but only a couple of instances in which Willis’s opinion clearly shows that the man is a lunatic.


I won’t list the disagreements I have with Don’s opinions…with two exceptions.


He’s surprisingly lukewarm toward ALL THAT MONEY CAN BUY, which is widely considered--by me for sure--a genuine classic


And here’s the real proof for the sanity hearing…He names, as Dud of the Year for 1944  “Fox’s Nitwit version of THE LODGER”


So yeah sure, everyone is entitled to his own opinion, blah blah blah. But where this opinion is concerned, I have to ask…Gunga Don, what the hell is the matter with you?!?!?!


I will admit that, after reading that Dud of the Year thing in the opening comments for 1944, I feared what Don might get up to when actually focusing on THE LODGER. But, while he has little good to say in his LODGER comments, his reaction is really more “meh” than “bah.” He does term both THE LODGER and HANGOVER SQUARE as “weak tea”. Okay, sure. I got ya weak tea right here, Don.


I spotted a couple of elements of these films with which Gunga Don seems surprisingly, amusingly fascinated. For one thing, he finds great amusement, as I think we all do, in all those fake newspapers which earn close-ups in old movies.


And, even more, Willis is endlessly interested in and impressed by the “gowns” worn by our various leading ladies. Vera West might almost be the unexpected heroine of this book. Several times he adds, “fashion comments by Mo”. So it’s pretty clear that Don watched these movies in the company of his better half, who took stereotypically feminine interest in the fashions. Anyway, Vera West: Horror Heroine!


Some Willis-isms which tickled me…he lists several psychological horrors set in NYC, terming it “Manhattan, Island of Lost Souls”.


Referring to all the doctors in NIGHT MONSTER, he calls the Ingston place “The Old Doc House.” Heh. Good one.


Does a nice job of identifying Boris Karloff’s role in HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN as “monster traffic-director.”


He opines that, in THE MUMMY’S GHOST, it  “could be anyone--Tom Tyler, Eddie Parker…Cary Grant-- behind the Jack Pierce makeup…at odd moments it looks like it could even be Chaney.”


Discussing the questionable qualities of CAPTIVE WILD WOMAN, Willis asks the musical question, “what’s not to love here?” Oh, Don. Do you seriously want an answer to that?


“If the 1930s was Universal and monsters, the 1940s was RKO and mood, states of mind.”

I would probably have said “Lewton” rather than RKO, but Willis’s broader sweep is probably more accurate.


Most entries get coverage ranging from half-a-page to two pages. A few earn a little more. Five pages for THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY. 


ISLE OF THE DEAD at 5 ½ pages is the longest entry. This is a movie on which he and I are utterly in sync. It’s a great, too often-undervalued, horror movie. And he cleverly, and so incisively refers to that film’s climactic sequence as “The Seven Minutes”.


After telling us, of the Crime Doctor films, “One entry in that series, SHADOWS IN THE NIGHT (1944), borders on horror”, he proceeds to include two or three of them among his entries. He’s right that a couple of them do “border on horror”, but personally, I don’t think any of them really qualify.


He tells us that SPOOK BUSTERS opened just about a week after THE TIME OF THEIR LIVES.  Poor SPOOK BUSTERS…


He writes that the short story upon which BEAST WITH FIVE FINGERS was based was called “The Beast”. I just recently read the story which, in the version I read, carried the full “...with Five Fingers” title. I suspect neither of us is wrong here.


In a flash forward to the Langella DRACULA, Willis, obviously deep under the influence of hallucinogens, says the movie “saves the best for last” and actually praises the Dracula kite scene.


RETURN OF THE APE MAN:  “what can you say about a movie in which the actor (George Zucco) billed third in the credits is not even in it?”   Welllll…to be entirely, technically, nitpickingly accurate--Zucco is in the movie. For one short shot, lying unconscious on the slab. Once he wakes, it’s Frank Moran the rest of the way.


He writes that, in HOUSE OF DRACULA,  hunchbacked Nina “apparently dies” Don is much more of an optimist than I am. His test tube is half-full. That girl be dead.


The book is pretty darn clean. I spotted only maybe two or three typos, and one of them might not be a typo at all. Might be an attempt at cleverness which didn’t make it. 


A couple of things which Willis probably did check on, but trusted the wrong web source: the plural of “bus” (as in a Lewton “bus”) is “buses”. Though some online places accept “busses”, the accepted (and proper) spelling is “buses.”  “Busses” means “kisses”.


See? Those are really tiny and really pedantic. That’s what I’m so FAMOUS for!


So, finally, congratulations and mucho thanks to Don Willis for this wonderfully readable, informative, and truly entertaining book. Full marks, old bean!


Sunday, July 2, 2023

I never lived in Indianapolis, but I worked there a lot and, hence, spent

a ton of time there between 1974 and 2013. So, I got to know a lot of

local names. Politicians, important folk like that. Probably the most

familiar name of all was that of William Hudnut, the four-term

Republican mayor of Indianapolis. I heard the name all the time, but

even if I’d only heard it once, how could I have forgotten that name?

I mean…Hudnut.


In 1980 I was in a dinner theater production of ARSENIC AND OLD

LACE in Indianapolis. Lousy winter weather held box-office down

a bit but we did pretty good business and got decent reviews

overall. 


But one day there was a by-God blizzard in town. Several inches

of snow, plus wind, biting cold, icy streets. Having worked at this

theater before, I knew that such dangerous weather generally meant

a performance would be canceled. But the day went on, the weather

got worse and worse and no word was forthcoming. I took it upon

myself and called the box office. I was informed that we would not

be canceling. That was surprising. The box office lady, a friendly

acquaintance of mine, gave me the real scoop. Lots of ticket holders

had called to cancel. The producers wanted to cancel. But... one

group which hadn't canceled was a party of 10 or 12 reserved in

the name of Mayor Bill Hudnut. Nobody wanted to be the one to

call the mayor and tell him the show was canceled, but everybody

was praying that the mayor would call in to cancel himself. He didn't. 


Thus, the show went on. The theater seated 500 and our audience

that night was not even 50 souls. The mayor's party was just about

a quarter of the tiny crowd.  


It is very difficult for an audience to laugh and enjoy themselves

when they are surrounded by emptiness and darkness. And there

is almost nothing worse in the world than playing a comedy to

silence. This was going to be painful.


As the show started, not bad. Some laughs from the tiny crowd.

Most of the laughter, I soon realized, was coming from the mayor's

table. It soon became clear that the mayor himself was leading the

laughter. He was giving out with almost embarrassingly loud

guffaws, even occasionally smacking his hand on the table at the

hilarity. For a while the teensy audience stayed with him. Then, one

by one, they faded away till the only laughter came from the mayor's

table. And eventually -- still not through the first act -- only the mayor

was laughing. 


But his laughter got more and more forced and hollow. Soon he was

out of energy and could only offer weak little "haha" breaths, not

really laughs at all. Then...nothing. No laughter, no reaction, no sound

at all. We played the last two acts to utter, tortuous silence. By the

final curtain, we had maybe 25-30 people left in the house. But among

them, right down front and center, was Mayor Hudnut. He was gray and

slack-jawed, utterly exhausted. I looked directly at him during the

curtain call and he appeared to be in dire need of medical assistance.

He looked like a man who had just run a marathon on an empty stomach

after having no sleep for a week.

That was a long painful night. Acting never before or after felt so much

like ditch-digging. But I always held a fond spot in my heart for Mayor

Hudnut. He didn't have the stamina to go the distance, but by gum he

gave it a noble try.


I think it was his supreme effort at audience-ing which earned him a statue.


  There are three people in the photo, two women and one man. The camera recorded this image outdoors, on a gray day, in a cemetery. The bla...