31 DAYS OF HORROR-Day 10: THE WOLF MAN (1941)

NOTE: Since the first portion of this year's essays has turned into an overview of the Universal cycle, I would be remiss in leaving out a few films that I have previously covered. This is not meant as a cheat, but rather as a nod toward keeping things complete. This entry is from last year, so forgive me if you've already read it.

"Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and autumn moon is bright." Poor Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney Jr.) finds this out in no uncertain terms.

There are very few horror films that could be considered as perfect in every way and 1941's THE WOLF MAN can be counted among them. Though the classic Universal horror entries that preceded it are seminal works that defined the genre for a couple of decades, all of them — with the notable exceptions of BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN and WEREWOLF OF LONDON (both from1935) — bore the earmarks of cinema that was only just finding its way after the advent of sound and the demise of the silent era. They tended to possess the feel of stage plays, often featured exaggerated/over-the-top acting and melodrama common to the era, and also suffered from issues of slow pacing (or at least slow when compared to what we're used to from the 1940's onward). THE WOLF MAN benefits from coming a decade after DRACULA and FRANKENSTEIN in that it's a more modern and sophisticated piece. Though lacking that dark fairytale quality that flavored its antecedents, THE WOLF MAN more than makes up for that with moody atmosphere to spare, a pervasive air of impending dread, and a terrific and grownup script by Curt Siodmak that brings the audience characters whose actions and motivations are quite realistic, especially when seen within a horror movie context. 

I won't go into the full details  but all one needs to know is that THE WOLF MAN tells the story of a hapless innocent, Lawrence "Larry" Talbot (Lon Chaney Jr.), who becomes afflicted with the homicidal curse of lycanthropy and how that condition inevitably leads to his tragic destruction. Siodmak's much-imitated script set in stone many of the werewolf tropes that we now consider the very DNA of the sub-genre, elements such as:

• A protagonist that we cannot help but like and genuinely care about
• Ye olde superstitions and pagan magic colliding head-on with disbelief wrought by modern science and psychology
• Doomed romance
• The involvement of wise/creepy gypsies (Yeah, I know that "gypsy" is now considered an ethnic slur, but I use it here rather than "Romani" because most folks who know the stock type in stories of this nature may be unfamiliar with the accurate ethnic/cultural designation)
• Charms to ward off the curse that serve little or no purpose
• Ill omens that all point to werewolf-related awfulness
• Silver being the surefire way to kill a werewolf
• All of the "modern" characters firmly believing that the afflicted's claims of being cursed with werwolfism are indicators of grievous mental illness
• The protagonist's tragedy being compounded by his death inevitably being facilitated by a loved one

Larry stalks the moors.

THE WOLF MAN is arguably the most influential werewolf film ever made and its impact continues to reverberate some seventy-four years after its debut. Though Jack Pierce's pioneering makeup effects have long since been eclipsed by superior techniques in prosthetic effects, animatronics, and digital wizardry, it says a lot that THE WOLF MAN would still be an effective film if the wolfed-out version of Larry had been achieved with naught but some glued-on barbershop floor sweepings and creative lighting. The film's true strength lies in its script and soul, so if you have not yet experienced this Rosetta Stone of lycanthropic pop cultural lore, I strongly urge you to see it for yourself as soon as possible. In its sequels, Larry proved to be immortal and THE WOLF MAN itself also endures.

Poster from the original theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2016-Day 9: SON OF FRANKENSTEIN (1939)

The family business marches on.

Henry Frankenstein is dead and now his son (Basil Rathbone) moves into the ancestral home. The locals are none-too-pleased about the son of the infamous monster-maker taking up residence, and they are absolutely convinced that he will immediately set about cobbling together murderous horrors from grave-robbed spare human parts. Those fears, however, are unfounded...until the grotesque and creepy hunchback Igor (Bela Lugosi) enters the picture with the Monster (Boris Karloff) in tow, and in no time that family business of unholy experimentation is up and running again. While Frankenstein's intentions are as good (and as misguided) as his father's, he more or less turns a blind eye to the utter wrongness of what he's doing, and how does all of this figure into the agenda of the baleful Igor?

SON OF FRANKENSTEIN is a good movie, don't get me wrong, but it is by far the weakest of the Universal Frankenstein trilogy, likely due to it coming in the wake of the ruinous Hays Code, which was put in place to sanitize what was perceived as Hollywood's increasingly salacious and offensive output. The film feels considerably lighter in tone and content than its two classic predecessors and exudes a flavor that would seem more in pace with major studio films of the looming 1940's. It has that signature artificial slickness that never lets us forget that we are watching a movie, whereas its predecessors served as the darkest of fairytales committed to celluloid. But that's neither here nor there. SON OF FRANKENSTEIN is definitely worth your time for the sake of completism but also so that a good number of the gags in Mel Brooks' loving spoof of the genre, YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN (1974), make sense.

Poster from the original theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2016-Day 8: DRACULA'S DAUGHTER (1936)

The desperate Countess Zaleska (Gloria Holden).

Following the death of Count Dracula at the end of his 1931 film, his daughter, Countess Marya Zaleska (Gloria Holden), steals and burns his corpse in hope that its destruction will free her from his influence and the curse of vampirism. No such luck, unfortunately, so she resorts to modern psycho therapy for a cure. Falling for her therapist (Otto Kruger), who is himself attempting to clear Professor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan) of supposedly murdering Dracula — one cannot "murder" the undead, but try convincing the authorities of that when they are confronted with a fresh corpse with a stake driven through its heart — the Countess resigns herself to her fate and kidnaps her therapist's quasi-girlfriend (Marguerite Churchill) in order to convince him to trade his own life so he'll become the Couutess' undead consort.

A lesser effort in the Universal horror cycle, DRACULA'S DAUGHTER is often ignored because it's really a character study of a reluctant monster and her genuinely sad and lonely existence. I didn't dig it when I saw it as a kid because I was too young to relate to the Countess' plight, but once I was older I got what it was going for and now embrace it as a quiet, melancholy look at an outsider's attempt at fixing her inexorable fate and trying to make a futile connection. There's even a lesbian subtext that totally went over my head when I was a child, and though predatory, the Countess' lesbian moves are marked with a desperation born out of her crushing loneliness.

Not for all tastes, DRACULA'S DAUGHTER offers little by way of shocks but its personal story is a feast of characterization. Give it a shot.

Poster from the original theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2016-Day 7: WEREWOLF OF LONDON (1935)

NOTE: Since the first portion of this year's essays has turned into an overview of the Universal cycle, I would be remiss in leaving out a few films that I have previously covered. This is not meant as a cheat, but rather as a nod toward keeping things complete. This entry is from last year, so forgive me if you've already read it.

 

When lycanthropy strikes the upper class.

Wealthy and world-renowned botanist Dr. Wilfred Glendon (Henry Hull) heads to Tibet in search of the rare Marifasa Lupina Lumina, an ultra-rare flower than only blooms by moonlight, and ends up on the wrong end of an attack by a werewolf. Surviving the mauling and returning to London, Glendon attempts to cultivate specimens of the plant and in the process neglects his wife, Lisa (Valerie Hobson), who has recently been reunited with a close male childhood friend (Lester Matthews) who clearly still loves her. But things take a turn for the weirder when another famed botanist, Dr. Yogami (Warner Oland), arrives and shows an odd interest in the Marifasa. Dropping mysterious hints at having met Glendon before, "in Tibet...in the dark," it soon becomes apparent that Yogami is the werewolf that attacked Glendon and that he was in Tibet in search of the flower, which happens to be the only known cure for the curse of lycanthropy. As the marital tension escalates and Yogami's lust for the flower intensifies, the full moon arrives and the unbelieving Glendon transforms into a slavering (though well-dressed) monster. Murders ensue, Glendon and Yogami have a final encounter, and it all culminates in the sort of tragedy one expects in a werewolf tale.

An often forgotten entry in the Universal monster cycle, THE WEREWOLF OF LONDON was the first major studio film about a werewolf and differs quite a bit from the lycanthropic tropes that would be codified six years later in THE WOLF MAN. For one thing, the werewolf appears to be able to think rationally, though admittedly with an accent of animalistic savagery, and he even takes the time to dress himself with an overcoat, scarf, and hat before embarking on his lethal nocturnal excursions. The film's London setting also distances it from the more "old country" feel of most werewolf yarns, and that populating of the story with characters seemingly lifted from the broad British comedies of the era creates a jarring tonal dissonance in relation to what's ostensibly a horror narrative. Upper crust stereotypes collide with Una O'Connor-style over-the-top lower-class biddies, and both archetypes feel like they'd be more at home in a musical hall comedy sketch.

But the aspect that most separates THE WEREWOLF OF LONDON from other lycanthropy stories and especially from films of its era is its in-your-face homosexual subtext. Written by gay playwright and screenwriter John Colton, the script uses the lycanthropy angle as an expressive metaphor for then-forbidden homosexuality within stereotypically stuffy British society. Glendon and Yogami are bonded by their shared "affliction" and they share many exchanges that resemble secrets being shared between lovers who must stay out of the societal spotlight. Glendon's disintegrating marriage also serves to represent the misery of a gay man stuck in an "acceptable" but visibly-uncomfortable relationship, while his wife seeks happiness with a man with whom she has a concrete and fulfilling emotional (and therefore sexual) bond.

Yogami meets his well-deserved fate.

Reportedly a box office flop when it came out, possibly due to its marked similarities to DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE (1931), THE WEREWOLF OF LONDON is worth a look for its historical significance and its position as a homosexual allegory. It's not as great or as seminal as most of the other films in the classic Universal horror cycle and it lacks the dark fairy tale atmosphere of its brethren, but it works well enough as a simple and entertaining monster story. That said, the werewolf genre would have to wait until THE WOLF MAN for its defining myth, but we'll get to that soon enough...

Poster for the original theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2016-Day 6: BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1935)

A meeting so casual that it's downright horrifying.

What more can possibly be said about this, the crown jewel of the Universal horror cycle? When it comes to sequels that surpass the first film in a series, BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN is right up there in the company of THE GODFATHER PART II and THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK among the very best of that rare breed.

Picking up right where FRANKENSTEIN (1931) left off, we discover that the Monster (Boris Karloff) did not perish when the windmill burned to the ground, so he once more embarks on a rampage across the countryside. Henry Frankenstein (Colin Clive) also survived the windmill and now finds himself coerced into an unholy partnership with his former mentor, Dr. Pretorius (Ernest Thesiger), whose goal is to have their team-up produce a perfect female companion for the Monster.

The Monster finds a friend.

That's the main thrust of the story but there's hell of a lot more going on that lends unforgettable flavor to the expanding tapestry of Frankenstein and his misunderstood creation. This is the entry that allows the Monster to find solace and friendship with a kindly blind old hermit (O.P. Heggie), a sequence that's guaranteed to reduce the toughest of hombres to open, unashamed weeping. Seriously, if you don't cry with unbridled emotion as the Monster for once finds a brief time of acceptance, compassion, kindness, and genuine friendship, you have no soul.

The awesome Dr. Pretorius (Ernest Thesiger). Compared to his utterly mad science, Frankenstein's nothing but a rank amateur with delusions of grandeur.

But while the hermit sequences are unforgettable for the average viewer, the element that makes this film an all-time favorite for me is the presence of Dr. Pretorius. While Henry Frankenstein was obsessed with creating life from dead flesh, he was not what I would consider insane. Pretorius, on the other hand, is the very definition of "mad scientist." He's as cool as a cucumber but the way he reacts to all of the fantastical and horrific things that he was himself wrought or that go on around him is nonchalant in a manner that would be found in no sane individual. More than a little of a bitchy old queen, Pretorius' relaxed insanity is never better underlined than when he first encounters the Monster. He's sitting in a tomb, enjoying a meal of wine and cold chicken while cackling to himself over a human skull, when the hulking Monster arrives, with a menacing snarl on his face. Where any other human being would have fled screaming into the night, Pretorius simply observes, "Oh. I thought I was alone." From there Pretorius befriends the Monster, informs him of his desire to make a female companion for him, and enlists him as muscle in case Frankenstein won't play along with his scheme. And don't get me started on the oddball collection of homunculi that Pretorius has crafted and given rather flamboyant theatrical personalities...

A menagerie of homemade homunculi.

And then there's the Bride. Despite her status as an iconic visual in the annals of horror, she's only seen during the film's last five minutes but her screen time is milked for all it's worth. To say more would give it away, so take my word for it.

The Bride (Elsa Lanchester).

BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN is in every way what a classic Universal horror film should be. It's visually rich, sports a terrific script that the entire cast acts the living shit out of, and features its monsters in sequence after sequence that makes us understand and care about them as more than just the personality-void disposable bogeymen that would dominate the horror landscape with the advent of the slasher era. When it comes to Universal's monster efforts, believe me when I tell you that it gets no better than this. HIGHEST RECOMMENDATION.

Poster from the original theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2016-Day 5: THE INVISIBLE MAN (1933)

"An invisible man can rule the world! Nobody will see him come, nobody will see him go.  He can hear every secret. He can rob, and rape, and kill!!"

Brilliant scientist Jack Griffin (Claude Rains) renders himself invisible by means of a serum that took him years to perfect, with the unexpected side-effect of the concoction warping his mind and turning him into a vicious, psychotic megalomaniac. His rampage begins small by terrorizing the staff and regulars at a rustic inn, but he soon moves on to murdering a policeman, pitching innocent men off of a cliff, stealing money from a bank and throwing it to passersby in the street and, most horrifying, causing a train derailment that kills over a hundred people. 

The bandages come off. Though there's obviously nothing to see, it's nonetheless exceedingly disturbing.

Clearly out of his goddamned mind, Griffin's evil deeds, though quite murderous, come off more as the work of a mischievous asshole rather than the would-be world-conquering terror that he sees himself as, and that's what makes him indelible as a classic Universal monster. While there is some grain of sympathy to be had for the fact that he unwittingly drove himself barking mad, that compassion is exhausted as we witness his tapestry of abusiveness and willy-nilly homicide. To some degree, audiences empathized with Dracula, the Frankenstein monster, and the wolf Man, but not Griffin. He's just too much of an amoral bastard.

The classic image of the man who cannot be perceived. A smoking jacket while invisible is my idea of  the very definition of style.

Masterfully helmed by James Whale and infused with a playful liveliness of pacing that had thus far not been seen in the Universal shockers, THE INVISIBLE MAN often surprises first-time viewers with its sometimes uneasy fusion of jet-black horror and a very British sense of humor that veers into the broad and silly.  James Whale reportedly had a wicked and very camp sense of humor, and that aspect is in full effect throughout this film. Claude Rains is also a delight as the bullmoose crazy Griffin and he wastes no opportunity to devour the scenery like it was the finest of caviar. But that is not to say that his performance is a banquet of prime ham; Rains indeed has a field day with Griffin's over-the-top histrionics, but it's all appropriate for the character during his many moments of ranting, and is balanced quite nicely during the rare instances when he speaks with a calm civility that almost belies his lunacy.

Often overlooked by fans of old school horror because Griffin is not a "monster" per se, THE INVISIBLE MAN absolutely deserves to be experienced by all who enjoy the unique flavor of the early Universal horror flicks. It's a masterpiece of the blackest comedy and even features a few "Oh, SHIT!!!" moments when Griffin really gets going. An underrated treasure.

Poster from the original theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2016-Day 4: THE MUMMY (1932)

One of the classic moments in cinematic horror. Too bad the rest of the film can't match it.

Perhaps the most frustrating "biggie" of the classic Universal horror cycle, THE MUMMY gives the viewer a '30's-style "weird tale" fused with what would become the template for nearly every mummy to follow. That is not a bad thing, but the film itself has much in common with DRACULA (1931) in that it moves at the pace of a drugged Brontosaurus, features a character who may as well be Van Helsing (and is played by the same actor), and works quite well as a soporific for modern audiences. Though thick with Hollywood "Egyptian" atmosphere, the film is more of an eerie love story with no scares, save for the memorable sequence that opens the narrative.

The film opens in Egypt in 1921, as a British expedition has unearthed an ancient tomb containing numerous artifacts, including a heavy box and an unusually well-preserved mummy whose internal organs were not removed, which would have been the standard procedure. The local expert on such matters warns the members of the expedition that it appears they have found the box containing the scroll of Thoth, a document used by Isis to restore Osiris to life, and that opening the box would bring down a horrible curse upon those involved. While the expedition's leader leaves the tomb to discuss these matters with the expert, the leader's underling remains in the tomb and reads the scroll aloud, unwittingly bringing the mummy — determined to be Imhotep, once a high priest who was sentenced to live mummification after engaging in forbidden, blasphemous acts in the name of love — to life. The bandaged revenant shambles out of his sarcophagus and retrieves the scroll from the underling, who, upon seeing this thing that simply should not be, instantly succumbs to a state of gibbering madness (from which he later dies). With his prize in hand, Imhotep (Boris Karloff), takes his leave and vanishes for the next decade.

That sequence is indelible, a true triumph of old school horror at its most subtle and riveting, thus it is a great shame that the rest of the film immediately thereafter devolves into a turgid and tepid potboiler.

Imhotep resurfaces in 1932, now living as Ardath Bey, and shows a new expedition where to find the tomb of his lost love, the princess Ankh-es-en-amon. He also encounters a young woman who bears a striking resemblance to the princess and is apparently her reincarnation, so he sets about using his sorcerous powers to murder and hypnotize those who would stand in the way of him killing, mummifying, and reviving her to become his immortal consort.

 The hypnotic visage of Ardath Bey.

If you've ever seen a mummy movie, you know how all of this hashes out, but after making it all the way through the film's 73-minute running time, you'll realize that despite being the grand-daddy of all mummy flicks, we only see the bandaged, shambling mummy for about thirty seconds at the beginning of the film. Unlike later entries, at no point do we get the stalking strangler wrapped in linen that would later come to define the trope/archetype. What we get instead is the admittedly more interesting immortal sorcerer Ardath Bey, whose relentless evil is solely motivated by love, and when his face is seen in closeup, the stunning makeup work of the legendary Jack Pierce is displayed to great effect. The brief glimpses of the fully-mummified form of the high priest are also amazing and have since become iconic, though those who have not seen the film would never guess that it is only seen onscreen for less than a minute.

Though it does not live up to one's preconceived notions as based upon the films that followed in its wake, I admit to having a soft spot for THE MUMMY. Though slow-moving, its weird love story angle is engaging and rather sad, with that sadness being one of the hallmarks of the Universal horror flavor. Its monsters all bear some form of tragedy, and Imhotep's particular misery is all-too-relatable. That said, I say give THE MUMMY a shot at least once. It's a landmark for a reason, though it admittedly may not hold up for the majority of modern audiences.

Poster from the original theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2016-Day 3: FRANKENSTEIN (1931)

When innocence collides with horror.

After DRACULA proved a hit with its era's audience, Universal wasted no time in greenlighting a followup. What audiences got was an adaptation of Mary Shelly's FRANKENSTEIN that, much like what happened with DRACULA, only utilized certain elements and concepts from its source novel. I can't speak for you but I've read Shelly's novel several times and although I love it unreservedly, I feel it was a wise idea to craft a new narrative almost from the ground up rather than faithfully bringing Shelly's talky and rather deep character study to the screen. It would have been interesting but I doubt that the audience of 1931 would have embraced an articulate monster who often expounded at length upon the cruelty of mankind and how much his own existence was an endless hell of rejection and revulsion. Instead as helmed by the legendary James Whale, the film establishes damned near every trope found in the man-made monster genre.

Colin Clive as Henry Frankenstein: Obsessed as hell but not what I would consider insane.

Brilliant scientist Henry Frankenstein (Colin Clive, who gives one of cinema's great over-the-top performances here) wants nothing more than to create a living man from cobbled-together stolen pieces from assorted corpses. Grave-robbing and the theft of  a criminal brain from a medical school are just two of the questionable means by which Henry obtains raw materials and soon enough, born in a baptism of lightning, his hulking creation stirs with the first signs of unnatural vitality.

Boris Karloff as the nameless monster, one of cinema's greatest waking nightmares.

Emerging as something of a mental tabula rasa, the creation's first few days find him slowly being rejected by his creator and tortured with whips and fire by the doctor's hunchbacked assistant, Fritz (Dwight Frye), so all he knows of life is that it is a cornucopia of misery. He eventually kills Fritz and makes his way out of the remote laboratory and into the rustic world at large. As he makes his way across the apparently-Germanic landscape, the creature encounters several local villagers, all of whom flee screaming upon seeing his lumbering frame and gaunt, stitched-together visage. Seeking nothing more than simple kindness and acceptance, the creature finds it when he meets a sweet little girl named Maria (Marilyn Harris). The pair innocently play a riverside game that ends disastrously when the creature throws her into the water, not understanding that a human body is not necessarily as buoyant as the flowers that he and his new friend had been tossing into the drink. When the girl does not surface, the confused and frightened creature stumbles away, now legitimately the monster that all who meet him perceive him to be.

The rest of the narrative builds to a crescendo as Henry must find and deal with his creation while also keeping Elizabeth (Mae Clarke), his bride-to-be, safe as the monster, now intent upon vengeance against his creator, closes in. It all ends in a fiery climax at a windmill as Henry and the monster duke it out while the villagers, wielding the expected torches and pitchforks, have the place surrounded.

FRANKENSTEIN proved another hit for the studio, and deservedly so. For one thing, it was not directed to be as stagebound as its predecessor, DRACULA, was, and all of the performances radiate with liveliness. The visuals are also memorable, crafting a dreamlike world of forced perspective angles, deep shadows, sparking lab equipment, and eerie graveyards, all of which would go on to influence the man-made-monster sub-genre from that point onward.

On the acting front, the film is dominated by Colin Clive's Henry and Boris Karloff's monster. Their performances are absolutely iconic and defined the sub-genre as much as the visuals and the tropes involving the pissed-off villagers. Clive's balls-out obsession with creating life in his lab borders on the comical and camp, which was apparently James Whale's intent, and it is a delight to watch. To put it succinctly, Clive shamelessly turns scenery-chewing into a fine art.

But it's Karloff as the monster that truly cements this film's place in cinema and pop culture history. He perfectly conveys a pitiable blend of confused, hopeless sadness coupled with a murderous rage directed against the world and his creator. Each grunt and growl that he utters speak far more eloquently than words and despite his violent acts, we find ourselves on his side.

As is readily apparent from all that I've said thus far, FRANKENSTEIN is a landmark that must be experienced by all horror fans and those interested in the history of movies in general. But where would the Universal horror cycle go next? Stay tuned, dear readers...

Poster from the original theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2016-Day 2: DRACULA (1931)

"Vot can I say? I am...an icon."

Tod Browning's DRACULA, unarguably one of the most influential films ever made, a landmark in horror cinema's landscape, and the effort that kicked off the classic Universal horror cycle. So pervasive is its influence that even today, some eighty-five years after its release, it is Bela Lugosi's version of Count Dracula that we all imitate when doing comedic vampire impressions. In fact, just about everything found in the 1931 DRACULA has entered our shared consciousness when we think of what an old school vampire flick is. So much so, that providing a synopsis of the narrative is pretty much unnecessary. The film only cribs certain elements from Bram Stoker's source novel, instead using the hit 1924 stage version as its Ground Zero, and what we are presented essentially became the carved-in-stone template for this sort of thing until Hammer Films and Christopher Lee's equally indelible and malevolent take on the Count forever relegated Lugosi's suave and accented interpretation to the fondly-remembered hall of fame gallery of 20th century pop culture.

The Count makes his move.

When I was a kid and absolutely determined to steep myself in as much horror movie history as possible, I sought out all of the classic black and white shockers to fill in any gaps of my education. My first exposure to the classic Universal Monsters (and other horrors of cinema) came in the form of those old Aurora model kits with the optional glow-in-the-dark parts, so I knew who all of the characters were but had yet to experience the movies that unleashed them upon the silver screen. (Upon seeing my long shelf of Aurora monster kits — I had all of them by the time I was seven, and they were among the first models I ever painted and assembled by myself — my mother remarked that she had no idea how I slept at night as a legion of monsters hovered over my bed, some providing an eerie glow in the dark of night. Little could she comprehend that those horrors offered me comfort in contrast to the real-life horrors that I was enduring at the time.) Of those kits, I have to say that the one of Lugosi's Dracula offered the closest likeness to its subject, so I took special care in providing it with a respectful paint job.

Anyway, when I finally saw the 1931 DRACULA on one of NYC's several televised showcases for old horror flicks, I was drawn in by its overwhelming sense of atmosphere and visual style, but I could not ignore the fact that the film itself was extremely slow-moving, stagey, featured virtually no music — which kills a great deal of a scary movie's power — and was not scary in the least. I was perplexed that such a film would be hailed as a classic and I just could not wrap my head around how it had gained such a lofty reputation. 

That said, to me the strongest element of the movie was Lugosi's eerie and utterly suave Dracula. He's hands down my favorite filmic version of the Count, exuding an aristocratic air that has never been equaled in other portrayals, as well as conveying a real sense of other-than-natural power over those around him. He also seemed weary of his eternal existence and displayed no small amount of sadness to go with that emotional state. But an arch vampire must do what an arch vampire does, so he drives a man into a state of insect-devouring madness and over the top mental slavery, and he preys upon innocent young women in the wee hours. He also contends with Professor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan), a doctor who, despite his firm grounding in science, absolutely believes in the existence of vampires, and the professor proves a worthy adversary who swiftly twigs to the exact nature of the Count.

Van Helsing busts Dracula with old mirror trick.

Those elements and more make up a solid 85 minutes of screen time, but the film's just-out-of-the-silent-era feel and storytelling style may prove a tough slog for modern audiences. The film is by no means bad, but it is very, very slow-moving and features many long stretches of total silence, so a viewer may find him or herself lulled to sleep by the movie's dreamlike feel and pacing. To tell the truth, it took me four tries to make it all the way through DRACULA when watching it as a refresher for this year's series of essays. I kept making the mistake of putting it on as my bedtime movie and in no time I would nod off. But if you've never seen DRACULA, it's an absolute must-see for your horror cinema education, so make sure to approach it when you are bright and chipper and not at the end of a long day. And just so we're clear on this, as the Universal horror cycle progressed and found its footing, the films became a hell of a lot livelier, as we shall soon see...

And one last thing: Though his accent has been the source of much lampooning and countless impersonations over the decades since the film's release, at no point does Bela Lugosi's Dracula state "I vant to suck your blood." I have no idea where that tired cliché came from but it is utterly spurious and best ignored by those in the know.

Poster from the original theatrical release.

31 DAYS OF HORROR 2016-DAY 1: NIGHT TIDE (1961)

While on shore leave, young sailor Johnny Drake (an impossibly youthful Dennis Hopper) cruises the Coney Island-esque boardwalk of Venice, California and meets Mora (Linda Lawson), an eerie beauty who works as the boardwalk's phony mermaid. Johnny somehow wins her over by acting like a creepy, aggressive stalker and in no time the two are a committed couple. But as the two grow closer, Johnny learns more about his exotic lover, such as the fact that she was raised by Captain Murdock (Gavin Muir), who found her on a remote Greek island when she was a child, and that she believes she is a mythological siren akin to those encountered by Ulysses. But the big red flag is that Mora's two previous boyfriends died mysterious deaths and it appears that Mora is responsible. And while it seems that Johnny is next in line for the chop, there's also a creepy foreign woman who occasionally appears to stalk Mora and who may be the leader of the mermaids/sirens...

The young lovers, before things get weird.

I'm going to be totally honest with you, dear readers. I wanted to see NIGHT TIDE since first hearing about it during junior high, mostly because I'm a huge fan of Dennis Hopper but also because of my love of mythological creatures, which Mora allegedly is. I only recently got my hands on the film and when I finally sat through it, I was heartbroken to find out that it's one of those flicks that goes out of its way to convince you that it's a straight-up horror film when it really isn't. If anything, NIGHT TIDE can be considered a "thriller," but even when presented as such it's a rather tepid affair despite its considerable atmosphere. The narrative builds Mora's strangeness from the moment we first meet her, only to have all of the supernatural potential flushed straight down the toilet during the exposition dump that serves as the story's ending.

"Sea People," my ass. J'accuse!!!

While not at all a bad movie, though admittedly a very low key slow burn, NIGHT TIDE hit me as a huge disappointment, so I'm writing about it as a public service to spare curious horror and Hopper fans sitting through what amounts to a case of bait and switch. The only real reason to see this film is to see a 25-year-old Dennis Hopper acting completely normal. (Stalker behavior in the early portion of the film notwithstanding.) Bottom line: NIGHT TIDE would have been right at home as a lesser entry on the old THRILLER television series, but it does not pass muster as a feature-length supposed horror movie. Caveat emptor.

Poster from the original theatrical release.