- Published on
Growing up, I was a huge fan of police procedurals, in general, but what truly tickled my fancy were the adventures of private eyes.
These independent dispensers of justice – as they are sometimes called – weren’t always portrayed in media as private eyes. Sometimes they were retired novelists. Other times, they might’ve taken the shape of the seasoned town doctor. That was the beauty of falling into this niche of fandom: these brilliant minds of deduction could very well have come from any professional pursuit. Anyone with a brain could apply, and anyone with a desire to solve puzzles was up to the task. From the banker who noticed a curious series of sizable withdrawals to the gaggle of kids who wanted to be Sherlock Holmes, everyone could match wits and take down the baddies, not just those folks who carried a badge.
After all: we don’t need no stinking badges!
At its core, The Cell (2000) is no different. I suspect that’s how visionary director Tarsem Singh may very well have approach Mark Protosevich’s script: once you pull away all of the fanciful technology of the equipment giving technicians access to their patient’s subconscious, you’re left with the kind-hearted problem solver – Catherine Deane (as played by Jennifer Lopez) – pairing up with FBI Agent Peter Novak (Vince Vaughn) in order to solve a crime and save a life. And had all of it stayed that simple, then maybe I would’ve come away with a greater appreciation for the effort.
What happened?
Well, social politics got in the way, spoiling for me what was an otherwise interesting concept. While I did admire the construct and have nothing but praise for a good degree of its execution, I’ll almost always pull away when the yarn resorts to progressive posturing at any point. Though what I see may not look the same to readers, I’m still happy to share just where I thought this Lopez and Vaughn team-up turned a corner and asked me to celebrate something that which I don’t believe, nor think any of you should either.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“An F.B.I. Agent persuades a social worker, who is adept with a new experimental technology, to enter the mind of a comatose serial killer in order to learn where he has hidden his latest kidnap victim.”
These independent dispensers of justice – as they are sometimes called – weren’t always portrayed in media as private eyes. Sometimes they were retired novelists. Other times, they might’ve taken the shape of the seasoned town doctor. That was the beauty of falling into this niche of fandom: these brilliant minds of deduction could very well have come from any professional pursuit. Anyone with a brain could apply, and anyone with a desire to solve puzzles was up to the task. From the banker who noticed a curious series of sizable withdrawals to the gaggle of kids who wanted to be Sherlock Holmes, everyone could match wits and take down the baddies, not just those folks who carried a badge.
After all: we don’t need no stinking badges!
At its core, The Cell (2000) is no different. I suspect that’s how visionary director Tarsem Singh may very well have approach Mark Protosevich’s script: once you pull away all of the fanciful technology of the equipment giving technicians access to their patient’s subconscious, you’re left with the kind-hearted problem solver – Catherine Deane (as played by Jennifer Lopez) – pairing up with FBI Agent Peter Novak (Vince Vaughn) in order to solve a crime and save a life. And had all of it stayed that simple, then maybe I would’ve come away with a greater appreciation for the effort.
What happened?
Well, social politics got in the way, spoiling for me what was an otherwise interesting concept. While I did admire the construct and have nothing but praise for a good degree of its execution, I’ll almost always pull away when the yarn resorts to progressive posturing at any point. Though what I see may not look the same to readers, I’m still happy to share just where I thought this Lopez and Vaughn team-up turned a corner and asked me to celebrate something that which I don’t believe, nor think any of you should either.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“An F.B.I. Agent persuades a social worker, who is adept with a new experimental technology, to enter the mind of a comatose serial killer in order to learn where he has hidden his latest kidnap victim.”
I’ve always suggested that audiences want to root for the side of good whenever it comes up against evil; and – for the bulk of The Cell’s story – that much is true.
Singh’s direction of Protosevich’s story feels at times like a somewhat watered-down version of Se7en (1995), that David Fincher police procedural that left audiences feeling like they needed a shower and left Gwyneth Paltrow’s character as little more than a head in a box. (Spoilers?) The significant difference, however, is that The Cell spends time ‘in the head’ of its antagonist and protagonist – literally – and the resulting visuals lack that grim world reality that helped Se7en deliver its measure of creepiness and revulsion. Because so much of it is in the imagination and memory of serial killer Carl Stargher (Vincent D’Onofrio, in a very good performance), it just never feels as horrific as I think it needed to be. Still, when a crowd sees the man’s evil visions, it becomes easy for them to cheer for the good guys, especially when Novak – a complete and unprepared initiate – chooses to enter this spirit world to save Deane’s consciousness after it’s been figuratively captured by Stargher.
But because these accompanying visuals are delivered within a kind of rock music video template – indeed, Singh got his directing start in the heyday of MTV – I just didn’t take them seriously. When you were raised as I was back at a time when every band was actively pushing the envelope artistically and such optical punctuation could be enjoyed 24/7, these stylings – while good – just lost a lot of their originality, their persuasiveness, and their narrative power. As such, Stargher’s nightmares – the narrative spine to the film if ever there were – weren’t all that stupendously terrifying. They were, in fact, not all that unlike what David Lee Roth, Nine Inch Nails, R.E.M., and even Madonna had already shown us. If we survived those, then we – as Lopez and Vaughn – would certainly survive these.
Another uncomfortable truth, however, is that Hollywood had arguably invested at this point a great deal of their hopes for the still budding theatrical career of Ms. Lopez.
She had emerged as a power player in 1998 in Steven Soderbergh’s praised-to-the-point-of-being-overpraised Out Of Sight, a bit of a caper flick which benefitted more from being based on the work of novelist Elmore Leonard than it did with the singer-turned-actress’s involvement. (Yes, I said what I said.) The powers that be had anointed the lady with the California crown; and given the fact that they were as equally invested with cashing in on the science of virtual reality – of which the film’s central science closely resembles – a bona fide phenomenon on the big screen then how could their pairing go wrong in The Cell? Well, that might be the fact that Lopez displays no ability to functionally emote in the picture, and it shows rather painstakingly to be the case here as she spends the bulk of her scenes looking on, trying to muster an expression, and speaking in a volume barely above a whisper. Mind you: she looks good in the role, especially in that form-fitted latex rubber suit … and I’ve no doubt that’s ninety percent of what these movers and shakers based their decisions on. Unfortunately, you still can’t fix a lack of talent in post.
Singh’s direction of Protosevich’s story feels at times like a somewhat watered-down version of Se7en (1995), that David Fincher police procedural that left audiences feeling like they needed a shower and left Gwyneth Paltrow’s character as little more than a head in a box. (Spoilers?) The significant difference, however, is that The Cell spends time ‘in the head’ of its antagonist and protagonist – literally – and the resulting visuals lack that grim world reality that helped Se7en deliver its measure of creepiness and revulsion. Because so much of it is in the imagination and memory of serial killer Carl Stargher (Vincent D’Onofrio, in a very good performance), it just never feels as horrific as I think it needed to be. Still, when a crowd sees the man’s evil visions, it becomes easy for them to cheer for the good guys, especially when Novak – a complete and unprepared initiate – chooses to enter this spirit world to save Deane’s consciousness after it’s been figuratively captured by Stargher.
But because these accompanying visuals are delivered within a kind of rock music video template – indeed, Singh got his directing start in the heyday of MTV – I just didn’t take them seriously. When you were raised as I was back at a time when every band was actively pushing the envelope artistically and such optical punctuation could be enjoyed 24/7, these stylings – while good – just lost a lot of their originality, their persuasiveness, and their narrative power. As such, Stargher’s nightmares – the narrative spine to the film if ever there were – weren’t all that stupendously terrifying. They were, in fact, not all that unlike what David Lee Roth, Nine Inch Nails, R.E.M., and even Madonna had already shown us. If we survived those, then we – as Lopez and Vaughn – would certainly survive these.
Another uncomfortable truth, however, is that Hollywood had arguably invested at this point a great deal of their hopes for the still budding theatrical career of Ms. Lopez.
She had emerged as a power player in 1998 in Steven Soderbergh’s praised-to-the-point-of-being-overpraised Out Of Sight, a bit of a caper flick which benefitted more from being based on the work of novelist Elmore Leonard than it did with the singer-turned-actress’s involvement. (Yes, I said what I said.) The powers that be had anointed the lady with the California crown; and given the fact that they were as equally invested with cashing in on the science of virtual reality – of which the film’s central science closely resembles – a bona fide phenomenon on the big screen then how could their pairing go wrong in The Cell? Well, that might be the fact that Lopez displays no ability to functionally emote in the picture, and it shows rather painstakingly to be the case here as she spends the bulk of her scenes looking on, trying to muster an expression, and speaking in a volume barely above a whisper. Mind you: she looks good in the role, especially in that form-fitted latex rubber suit … and I’ve no doubt that’s ninety percent of what these movers and shakers based their decisions on. Unfortunately, you still can’t fix a lack of talent in post.
Where I struggle with Hollywood productions like The Cell is over its rather obvious or even lazy political posture. Frankly, dabbling in social justice has killed a good number of competent thrillers. Somewhere along the way this picture tried to veer both Right and Left, leaving me (and perhaps others) struggling with just what to make of its confused psychosexual histrionics, so much so that maybe we all would’ve been better off if Lopez and Vaughn simply kissed at the end.
Only in Tinseltown – that not-so-quaint Sodom and Gomorrah that’s produced such financial heavyweights and morally compromised lightweights as Harvey Weinstein, Woody Allen, and (allegedly) Kevin Spacey – can the infamous serial killer be portrayed as the chief victim. (Call me ‘old-fashioned,’ but I still prefer knowing evil is truly evil.) The script is structured to explore the historical compulsions and how they developed to force an innocent young child on this path, once again ascribing the central guilt smack onto the shoulder’s Progressive’s favored villain – ‘the old white man.’ While D’Onofrio’s work as the emotionally troubled Carl Stargher is occasionally compelling, the script’s ‘magic bullet’ is to immediately cast him as the victim of an abusive father, thus visually and eventually literally ‘washing away’ his sins (in the river) even though, as FBI Agent Novak explains, Stargher willfully made the choice to follow his heart’s gory pursuits.
Were that the end of the whole affair, then perhaps I might not have felt so ill at ease; and yet The Cell worsens matters by granting Deane the chance to cleanse our killer of his misdeeds in a ceremony reminiscent of any backwoods baptism: she dips him backwards into the water only then to hold him under until he drowns! (Yes, I’m fully aware this thematically bookends an earlier sequence suggesting that Carl’s earlier baptism – a religious ceremony if ever there were – was part of the cause to all of his celebrated madness but stick with me here.) Not only is this disrespectful to an act meant to bring a person closer to God but also the storytellers would have you celebrating Deane – painted as the best choice for this experimental program – essentially drowning a young boy on film. Dismiss considering this symbolism as a cure, and you’re left with as cold-blooded an act that Stargher ever committed. That seems like a bridge too far for this simpleton.
I live in a world where words and pictures and ideas mean things.
They’re not just thrown together without meaning or context, and the result is that their messages – intended or otherwise – can be interpreted differently across members of any audience. What you see isn’t necessarily what I see, and that’s entirely okay. (Isn’t that what psychology teaches us? That just because child abuse turned one youngster into a lunatic doesn’t necessarily require that it do the same of all?) As such, not everyone will see The Cell as a commentary on the inherent blessings of capital punishment, but – as I always remind readers – I only speak for myself. Though I’ve no problem had Stargher been sentenced by a jury of his peers to hang at midnight, I still take issue with the depiction of any medical or psychological professional – who should pledge to ‘first do no harm’ – euthanizing a patient clearly mentally incapacitated because ‘her heart’ told it was the right thing to do … even if that heart might belong to the original P. Diddy girl, Jennifer Lopez.
Only in Tinseltown – that not-so-quaint Sodom and Gomorrah that’s produced such financial heavyweights and morally compromised lightweights as Harvey Weinstein, Woody Allen, and (allegedly) Kevin Spacey – can the infamous serial killer be portrayed as the chief victim. (Call me ‘old-fashioned,’ but I still prefer knowing evil is truly evil.) The script is structured to explore the historical compulsions and how they developed to force an innocent young child on this path, once again ascribing the central guilt smack onto the shoulder’s Progressive’s favored villain – ‘the old white man.’ While D’Onofrio’s work as the emotionally troubled Carl Stargher is occasionally compelling, the script’s ‘magic bullet’ is to immediately cast him as the victim of an abusive father, thus visually and eventually literally ‘washing away’ his sins (in the river) even though, as FBI Agent Novak explains, Stargher willfully made the choice to follow his heart’s gory pursuits.
Were that the end of the whole affair, then perhaps I might not have felt so ill at ease; and yet The Cell worsens matters by granting Deane the chance to cleanse our killer of his misdeeds in a ceremony reminiscent of any backwoods baptism: she dips him backwards into the water only then to hold him under until he drowns! (Yes, I’m fully aware this thematically bookends an earlier sequence suggesting that Carl’s earlier baptism – a religious ceremony if ever there were – was part of the cause to all of his celebrated madness but stick with me here.) Not only is this disrespectful to an act meant to bring a person closer to God but also the storytellers would have you celebrating Deane – painted as the best choice for this experimental program – essentially drowning a young boy on film. Dismiss considering this symbolism as a cure, and you’re left with as cold-blooded an act that Stargher ever committed. That seems like a bridge too far for this simpleton.
I live in a world where words and pictures and ideas mean things.
They’re not just thrown together without meaning or context, and the result is that their messages – intended or otherwise – can be interpreted differently across members of any audience. What you see isn’t necessarily what I see, and that’s entirely okay. (Isn’t that what psychology teaches us? That just because child abuse turned one youngster into a lunatic doesn’t necessarily require that it do the same of all?) As such, not everyone will see The Cell as a commentary on the inherent blessings of capital punishment, but – as I always remind readers – I only speak for myself. Though I’ve no problem had Stargher been sentenced by a jury of his peers to hang at midnight, I still take issue with the depiction of any medical or psychological professional – who should pledge to ‘first do no harm’ – euthanizing a patient clearly mentally incapacitated because ‘her heart’ told it was the right thing to do … even if that heart might belong to the original P. Diddy girl, Jennifer Lopez.
The Cell (2000) was produced by New Line Cinema, Caro-McLeod, RadicalMedia, Katira Productions GmbH & Co. KG, and Avery Pix. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert … wow. I recall seeing this one theatrically back in the day, and this 4K print just looks fabulous in so many ways. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? In order to be precise, I’m doing the noble copy-and-paste from Arrow’s press release previously published on Blu-ray.com:
DISC ONE - FEATURE & EXTRAS 4K BLU-RAY
DISC TWO - ALTERNATE VERSION & EXTRAS BLU-RAY
Once more, I remind readers that as I’ve only received a manufactured copy of the disc, I cannot speak to the efficacy of any associated print materials such as artwork, inserts, booklets, essays, and the like. With those items, I’ll always caution you with the usual ‘buyer beware’ caveat.
- NEW 4K RESTORATIONS of both the 107-minute Theatrical Cut and the 109-minute Director's Cut by Arrow Films, approved by director Tarsem Singh
- Includes bonus disc containing a previously unseen version of the film with alternate aspect ratio and alternate grading created by director of photography Paul Laufer
- Original lossless DTS-HD MA 5.1 audio
- Optional English subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing
- Illustrated collector's book containing new writing on the film by critics Heather Drain, Marc Edward Heuck, Josh Hurtado, and Virat Nehru
- Limited edition packaging with reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Peter Savieri
DISC ONE - FEATURE & EXTRAS 4K BLU-RAY
- 4K Blu-ray presentation of both the Theatrical and Director's cuts of the film in its original 2.39:1 aspect ratio with Dolby Vision (HDR10 compatible)
- Brand new audio commentary with film scholars Josh Nelson & Alexandra Heller-Nicholas
- Brand new audio commentary with screenwriter Mark Protosevich & film critic Kay Lynch
- Archive audio commentary with director Tarsem Singh
- Archive audio commentary with director of photography Paul Laufer, production designer Tom Foden, makeup supervisor Michèle Burke, costume designer April Napier, visual effects supervisor Kevin Tod Haug, and composer Howard Shore
- Projection of the Mind's Eye, a new feature-length interview with director Tarsem Singh
- Between Two Worlds, a new in-depth interview with director of photography Paul Laufer
DISC TWO - ALTERNATE VERSION & EXTRAS BLU-RAY
- Previously unseen version of the Theatrical Cut of the film, presented in 1.78:1 aspect ratio with alternate grading, from a 2K master created by director of photography Paul Laufer
- Paul Laufer Illuminates, a new interview about the alternate master of The Cell presented on this disc
- Art is Where You Find It, a new visual essay by film scholar Alexandra Heller-Nicholas
- The Costuming Auteur, a new visual essay by film critic Abby Bender
- Style as Substance: Reflections on Tarsem, an archive featurette
- Eight deleted/extended scenes with optional audio commentary by director Tarsem Singh
- Six multi-angle archive visual effects vignettes
- Theatrical trailers
- Image gallery
Once more, I remind readers that as I’ve only received a manufactured copy of the disc, I cannot speak to the efficacy of any associated print materials such as artwork, inserts, booklets, essays, and the like. With those items, I’ll always caution you with the usual ‘buyer beware’ caveat.
Recommended.
Even at twenty-five years young, there’s no denying the visual flourish of The Cell (2000): it’s a flick that even had to invent a new kind of camera technology to make it look as vivid and nightmarish as it does in some key sequences. My issues with it, however, go surpass the aesthetics. Beyond Vaughn’s steadfast FBI character committed against even his own health and safety to get to the bottom of a gruesome serial killer’s campaign there’s just no one else in this murky story to root for ... well except for the Stargher's last potential victim. As popular a choice that Lopez may’ve been for the lead back in the day, she’s just all wrong as the supposed brainiac social worker hoping to ‘Mother Hen’ all of her patients into wellness. A stronger actress might’ve made me feel otherwise; but – at this point – it’s all academic anyway.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of The Cell (2000) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Even at twenty-five years young, there’s no denying the visual flourish of The Cell (2000): it’s a flick that even had to invent a new kind of camera technology to make it look as vivid and nightmarish as it does in some key sequences. My issues with it, however, go surpass the aesthetics. Beyond Vaughn’s steadfast FBI character committed against even his own health and safety to get to the bottom of a gruesome serial killer’s campaign there’s just no one else in this murky story to root for ... well except for the Stargher's last potential victim. As popular a choice that Lopez may’ve been for the lead back in the day, she’s just all wrong as the supposed brainiac social worker hoping to ‘Mother Hen’ all of her patients into wellness. A stronger actress might’ve made me feel otherwise; but – at this point – it’s all academic anyway.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of The Cell (2000) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Purchase your copy of The Cell right here:
- Published on
As part of your continuing education in Horror Studies, might I bring the class's collective attention to I Drink Your Blood?
For clarity's sake, I Drink Your Blood was first released on this day -- albeit IMDB.com indicates this was a limited theatrical run -- all the way back in 1971. What this typically means -- for those unaware -- is that the film may not have enjoyed a big theatrical push but rather a small string of theaters. Sometimes, this might mean only a single locale! The truth is that this Horror -- written and directed by the late David E. Durston (1921-2010) -- may not have been seen by many but has built a reputation over the years for being more than a bit bloody. In fact, it bears the distinction of the being the very first feature to be granted the fated X-rating by the Motion Picture Association of America based entirely on its level and depiction of violence.
Woof!
Am I right?
Alas, folks, yours truly has never seen this one, but it is a flick that has popped up from time-to-time in my research. I can tell you -- entirely from what I've read -- is that the story appears to have taken the story of the maniacal Charles Manson as its founding inspiration, and then Durston truly built up the carnage by by having the cult gets infected by a rabies-type virus whilst wrecking havoc over a small American town. Apparently, Durston also credits a news story involving a small town in Iran whose people dealt with a similar set of circumstances, so let's just say the man knew a good thing when he was it and went about amplifying the bloodshed for theatrical audiences.
Additionally, I have read that there were plans afoot quite some time ago to do a contemporary remake; and yet it would appear that those intentions fell apart when Durston passed away back in 2010. Who knows? Maybe another go-round will present itself for interesting parties in the years ahead, so I think everyone should keep their eyes peeled for a little something more.
IMDB.com's Trivia Page for I Drink Your Blood also indicates that this was the first time that Scream Queen Lynn Lowry graced the silver screen with nudity ... if that tickles your fancy.
As always, thanks for reading ... thanks for sharing ... thanks for being a fan ... and live long and prosper!
-- EZ
For clarity's sake, I Drink Your Blood was first released on this day -- albeit IMDB.com indicates this was a limited theatrical run -- all the way back in 1971. What this typically means -- for those unaware -- is that the film may not have enjoyed a big theatrical push but rather a small string of theaters. Sometimes, this might mean only a single locale! The truth is that this Horror -- written and directed by the late David E. Durston (1921-2010) -- may not have been seen by many but has built a reputation over the years for being more than a bit bloody. In fact, it bears the distinction of the being the very first feature to be granted the fated X-rating by the Motion Picture Association of America based entirely on its level and depiction of violence.
Woof!
Am I right?
Alas, folks, yours truly has never seen this one, but it is a flick that has popped up from time-to-time in my research. I can tell you -- entirely from what I've read -- is that the story appears to have taken the story of the maniacal Charles Manson as its founding inspiration, and then Durston truly built up the carnage by by having the cult gets infected by a rabies-type virus whilst wrecking havoc over a small American town. Apparently, Durston also credits a news story involving a small town in Iran whose people dealt with a similar set of circumstances, so let's just say the man knew a good thing when he was it and went about amplifying the bloodshed for theatrical audiences.
Additionally, I have read that there were plans afoot quite some time ago to do a contemporary remake; and yet it would appear that those intentions fell apart when Durston passed away back in 2010. Who knows? Maybe another go-round will present itself for interesting parties in the years ahead, so I think everyone should keep their eyes peeled for a little something more.
IMDB.com's Trivia Page for I Drink Your Blood also indicates that this was the first time that Scream Queen Lynn Lowry graced the silver screen with nudity ... if that tickles your fancy.
As always, thanks for reading ... thanks for sharing ... thanks for being a fan ... and live long and prosper!
-- EZ
- Published on
One of the things Hollywood does exceedingly well – in my humble opinion – is they know how to dramatically distort the truth for the benefit of good storytelling.
(No, no, no: I don’t mean this as an insult.)
As an example, consider 1987’s entertaining and award-winning The Untouchables. Directed by Brian De Palma from a script by (in part) David Mamet, the film explored the era of American Prohibition, specifically highlighting the violent collision between crusading federal agent Eliot Ness and charismatic bootlegger Al Capone. Having read more than a fair share of books recounting the facts and figures of this era, I can assure you that it’s been proven that these two figures likely never came face-to-face – there’s even some argument suggesting that Capone most likely couldn’t have picked Ness out of a police line-up were one held – and yet De Palma’s story would have to believe the exact opposite was reality!
Still, The Untouchables is undoubtedly great moviemaking precisely because it does what Hollywood does so well: it seizes the right dramatic elements, spins them together alongside some winning fictional commentary, and reshapes history well enough to encourage the audience to pay close attention. It may not be the right thing to do, but it happens almost every time these dynamic purveyors of drama try to give viewers something compelling to enjoy. They take a little bit of artistic liberty in order to dramatize such adversarial relationships, and only those of us who resist being ‘none the wiser’ truly know otherwise.
Another great example worthy of consideration is 1951’s The Tall Target, a Film Noir inspired Crime Thriller exploring the facts and possible fantasy involving one of the earliest assassination attempts befalling Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President of the United States of America. Directed by Anthony Mann from a story by George Worthing Yates, Daniel Mainwaring, and Art Cohn, the film stars Dick Powell, Paula Raymond, Adolphe Menjou, Marshall Thompson, and Ruby Dee in prominent roles. Set almost entirely aboard the train racing to get the new President-elect to Washington D.C. for his inauguration, the tale brings to life a chapter in American history that many experts suggest never took place … or, at least, never quite took place.
You be the judge.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A New York City detective, traveling by train between New York and Baltimore, tries to foil an on-board plot to assassinate President-elect Abraham Lincoln before he reaches Baltimore to give a major pre-Inauguration speech in 1861.”
(No, no, no: I don’t mean this as an insult.)
As an example, consider 1987’s entertaining and award-winning The Untouchables. Directed by Brian De Palma from a script by (in part) David Mamet, the film explored the era of American Prohibition, specifically highlighting the violent collision between crusading federal agent Eliot Ness and charismatic bootlegger Al Capone. Having read more than a fair share of books recounting the facts and figures of this era, I can assure you that it’s been proven that these two figures likely never came face-to-face – there’s even some argument suggesting that Capone most likely couldn’t have picked Ness out of a police line-up were one held – and yet De Palma’s story would have to believe the exact opposite was reality!
Still, The Untouchables is undoubtedly great moviemaking precisely because it does what Hollywood does so well: it seizes the right dramatic elements, spins them together alongside some winning fictional commentary, and reshapes history well enough to encourage the audience to pay close attention. It may not be the right thing to do, but it happens almost every time these dynamic purveyors of drama try to give viewers something compelling to enjoy. They take a little bit of artistic liberty in order to dramatize such adversarial relationships, and only those of us who resist being ‘none the wiser’ truly know otherwise.
Another great example worthy of consideration is 1951’s The Tall Target, a Film Noir inspired Crime Thriller exploring the facts and possible fantasy involving one of the earliest assassination attempts befalling Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President of the United States of America. Directed by Anthony Mann from a story by George Worthing Yates, Daniel Mainwaring, and Art Cohn, the film stars Dick Powell, Paula Raymond, Adolphe Menjou, Marshall Thompson, and Ruby Dee in prominent roles. Set almost entirely aboard the train racing to get the new President-elect to Washington D.C. for his inauguration, the tale brings to life a chapter in American history that many experts suggest never took place … or, at least, never quite took place.
You be the judge.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A New York City detective, traveling by train between New York and Baltimore, tries to foil an on-board plot to assassinate President-elect Abraham Lincoln before he reaches Baltimore to give a major pre-Inauguration speech in 1861.”
Any student of American History can confirm that it was Abe Lincoln who, sadly, was the first President assassinated.
The truth to the matter – if one spends a bit more time investigating his Presidency – suggests that he was often considered ‘at risk’ for assassination. These were volatiles times – what with the country split into North and South factions – and these states were at war in situations wherein it’s been said that families had turned against families in the national bid to resolve the crisis surrounding slavery. A fair amount of reading into the Lincoln years examines some of these lesser-known attempts, and great number of experts – on both sides of the political spectrum – agree that Honest Abe may’ve been at risk; but there’s vast disagreement over the prospect of just how authentic that peril may’ve been.
One of the greater instances involves what’s been called the ‘Baltimore Plot.’
As I’ve come to understand the facts of this case, detective Allan Pinkerton was hired by railway magnate Samuel M. Felton to ensure Lincoln’s safety while traveling by train to the nation’s capital for the inauguration ceremonies. Apparently, Felton had been made aware that there were ne’er-do-wells hoping for a chance at any number of stops wherein the President-elect would be stopping to address the citizens of various cities along the way; and the company officer – as well as being a patriot – didn’t want to risk the chance of having his establishment being associated with a possible dark incident of history. It’s been said that Pinkerton and his associate – detective Kate Warne – uncovered evidence of multiple assassination plots specifically planned for the stop in Baltimore, forcing the head of security to consider measures to further safeguard the elected leader. Still – as history shows – Lincoln and his party successfully passed through the city a few days later without so much as a shot being fired.
Proving that Hollywood loves a good conspiracy, The Tall Target glamorizes several of the facts surrounding the alleged conspiracy to kill a President.
First, instead of crediting the Pinkertons with uncovering foreknowledge of the whole affair, the script invents a New York City homicide detective named – get this – John Kennedy (played by Dick Powell) who gets wind of the plan and takes the law into his own hands to singlehandedly board the train and track down the culprits before they can do the deed. (Wikipedia.org denotes that there was a NYPD officer named John Alexander Kennedy who claimed to have originally grown wise to the plot, but, alas, there’s no way he could’ve done anything more than factually alert his superiors.) Naturally, he’s portrayed as having a heart of gold, willing to sacrifice his career to protect Mr. Lincoln, and it’s all the stuff of great cinema.
Second, the story exponentially expands on known facts to give Kennedy a bit more to do than sit-and-wait for the criminal or criminals to act. According to the script, supporters and secessionists alike boarded the train with hopes of giving the new President a piece of their minds; and this conveniently grants the big city detective plenty of ‘the usual suspects’ to loosely ‘interview’ and ‘shadow’ in his hopes to snoop out the real culprit before the last reel. The conspiracy expands to involve even possible members of the U.S. military stationed onboard to participate in the inauguration ceremonies along the way; and the script even makes room for other theories – a Corsican barber named Ferrandini was also spied to possibly be the puppet master owed to his ties to a pro-Confederate movement at the time – to spend a little time in the limelight.
The truth to the matter – if one spends a bit more time investigating his Presidency – suggests that he was often considered ‘at risk’ for assassination. These were volatiles times – what with the country split into North and South factions – and these states were at war in situations wherein it’s been said that families had turned against families in the national bid to resolve the crisis surrounding slavery. A fair amount of reading into the Lincoln years examines some of these lesser-known attempts, and great number of experts – on both sides of the political spectrum – agree that Honest Abe may’ve been at risk; but there’s vast disagreement over the prospect of just how authentic that peril may’ve been.
One of the greater instances involves what’s been called the ‘Baltimore Plot.’
As I’ve come to understand the facts of this case, detective Allan Pinkerton was hired by railway magnate Samuel M. Felton to ensure Lincoln’s safety while traveling by train to the nation’s capital for the inauguration ceremonies. Apparently, Felton had been made aware that there were ne’er-do-wells hoping for a chance at any number of stops wherein the President-elect would be stopping to address the citizens of various cities along the way; and the company officer – as well as being a patriot – didn’t want to risk the chance of having his establishment being associated with a possible dark incident of history. It’s been said that Pinkerton and his associate – detective Kate Warne – uncovered evidence of multiple assassination plots specifically planned for the stop in Baltimore, forcing the head of security to consider measures to further safeguard the elected leader. Still – as history shows – Lincoln and his party successfully passed through the city a few days later without so much as a shot being fired.
Proving that Hollywood loves a good conspiracy, The Tall Target glamorizes several of the facts surrounding the alleged conspiracy to kill a President.
First, instead of crediting the Pinkertons with uncovering foreknowledge of the whole affair, the script invents a New York City homicide detective named – get this – John Kennedy (played by Dick Powell) who gets wind of the plan and takes the law into his own hands to singlehandedly board the train and track down the culprits before they can do the deed. (Wikipedia.org denotes that there was a NYPD officer named John Alexander Kennedy who claimed to have originally grown wise to the plot, but, alas, there’s no way he could’ve done anything more than factually alert his superiors.) Naturally, he’s portrayed as having a heart of gold, willing to sacrifice his career to protect Mr. Lincoln, and it’s all the stuff of great cinema.
Second, the story exponentially expands on known facts to give Kennedy a bit more to do than sit-and-wait for the criminal or criminals to act. According to the script, supporters and secessionists alike boarded the train with hopes of giving the new President a piece of their minds; and this conveniently grants the big city detective plenty of ‘the usual suspects’ to loosely ‘interview’ and ‘shadow’ in his hopes to snoop out the real culprit before the last reel. The conspiracy expands to involve even possible members of the U.S. military stationed onboard to participate in the inauguration ceremonies along the way; and the script even makes room for other theories – a Corsican barber named Ferrandini was also spied to possibly be the puppet master owed to his ties to a pro-Confederate movement at the time – to spend a little time in the limelight.
Lastly, the storytellers concoct a bit of extra espionage suggesting that Kennedy’s activities were so well known to sympathizers that they even went to such great lengths to impersonate the man aboard the train, though I’m at a loss to figure out precisely what purpose such an impersonation could’ve ultimately served. Yes, it gives our hero an initial mystery and some protracted action that requires his much-needed attention – he can’t get a ticket in his name because it’s already been issued and occupied by someone else – but it feels as like screen trickery. It devolved into a convenient subplot on the part of the imaginative writers to ramp up the intrigue when the plot to kill a President really should’ve been ample enough.
Still, none of these reservations do all that much of a disservice to The Tall Target.
What emerges is a tightly wound yarn wherein not only the lives of a few men remain in jeopardy but also the fate of a still-emerging nation. Target goes to great pains to clarify the stakes of its time and place – America was only on the cusp of falling into one of the bloodiest campaigns in all human existence, namely the Civil War – and these tensions simmer appreciably in almost every scene. Though history remembers Abraham Lincoln with some much-deserved grace, he was a man of some controversy when he was alive; and this makes for a great deal of the film’s continued relevance. It’s never easy changing the hearts and minds of a nation, and such efforts should always be worth revisiting: thankfully, Target emerges as good a Hollywood effort as it could be, and that’s saying something given how it still plays a bit fast and loose with the facts.
The Tall Target (1951) was produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM). DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be exceptional across the picture’s running time of 78 minutes. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? Well, there are a few items on here – cartoons and a radio drama – but there’s nothing truly specific to the film, and, yes, that’s a miss as I would’ve liked to have known much more about this wonderful production.
Highly Recommended.
While I have read that The Tall Target (1951) was a verified miss at the box office, that shouldn’t deter those interested at what entertainment and history effectively co-existing in a picture should look like. Powell gives a great leading performance – he was a reliable talent for his era – and he imbues the whole caper with the proper degree of ‘what if?’ given that, historically, audiences already know going in that Abraham Lincoln wasn’t felled by a sniper’s bullet in Baltimore, Maryland before he rose to the highest elected office in the land. Plus, there are enough subplots to keep viewers riveted even though it becomes clear fairly early on who the real mastermind is. Though this one failed in its day, it truly deserves a second brush with history.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Tall Target (1951) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Still, none of these reservations do all that much of a disservice to The Tall Target.
What emerges is a tightly wound yarn wherein not only the lives of a few men remain in jeopardy but also the fate of a still-emerging nation. Target goes to great pains to clarify the stakes of its time and place – America was only on the cusp of falling into one of the bloodiest campaigns in all human existence, namely the Civil War – and these tensions simmer appreciably in almost every scene. Though history remembers Abraham Lincoln with some much-deserved grace, he was a man of some controversy when he was alive; and this makes for a great deal of the film’s continued relevance. It’s never easy changing the hearts and minds of a nation, and such efforts should always be worth revisiting: thankfully, Target emerges as good a Hollywood effort as it could be, and that’s saying something given how it still plays a bit fast and loose with the facts.
The Tall Target (1951) was produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM). DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be exceptional across the picture’s running time of 78 minutes. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? Well, there are a few items on here – cartoons and a radio drama – but there’s nothing truly specific to the film, and, yes, that’s a miss as I would’ve liked to have known much more about this wonderful production.
Highly Recommended.
While I have read that The Tall Target (1951) was a verified miss at the box office, that shouldn’t deter those interested at what entertainment and history effectively co-existing in a picture should look like. Powell gives a great leading performance – he was a reliable talent for his era – and he imbues the whole caper with the proper degree of ‘what if?’ given that, historically, audiences already know going in that Abraham Lincoln wasn’t felled by a sniper’s bullet in Baltimore, Maryland before he rose to the highest elected office in the land. Plus, there are enough subplots to keep viewers riveted even though it becomes clear fairly early on who the real mastermind is. Though this one failed in its day, it truly deserves a second brush with history.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Tall Target (1951) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
The sad truth is that independent films – and even Folk Horror, in general – are, ultimately, not for everyone.
The stories can be a bit odd at times, never quite feeling as if the storytellers wanted to explore anything greater than a single note or beat. Though such flicks used to be populated with second tier stars and starlets trying to stretch creatively if not approach something completely different, these projects seem to have fallen on hard times: very few of them see the light of day any more – a sad fact that might be owed to the presence of so many unknown, untried, untested, and unproven talents – or they wind up in the direct-to-DVD video bin at your local big box discount store. Film festivals across the fruited plain still manage to serve them up when given the chance; but even those outlets have fallen into disarray as many organizers just can’t quite seem to muster the funds to see them continued in modern times.
Just as indie features can be a bit hard-to-swallow, Folk Horror can be an ‘acquired taste.’ Bits and pieces of their stories need to be defined in order to be fully grasped and appreciated; and not every viewer who buys a ticket is all that much interested in ‘learning’ as opposed to be sufficiently ‘entertained.’ It’s a unique sub-genre that knows no bounds because its parameters can be expanded to new frontiers so long as the core foundation sticks close to rural settings, superstitions, community or even communal settings, and other related things that go bump in the night. When full-blown Horror can be immensely popular, Folk counterparts tend to be a bit quieter, a bit more reserved, a bit less bloody … and much more thought-provoking.
Thankfully, there are a handful of great distributors out there – like those at Severin Films – who refuse to let experimental and independent cinema die; and they’ve awarded me a fabulously expansive set – All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Volume 2 – that I’ve really only begun scratching the surface of.
Today’s fright: 1972’s Who Fears The Devil might be better known under its alternate title, The Legend Of Hillbilly John. At least, I’d heard of it under that name, but I still had never seen it. That’s been rectified now; and while I may not feel any more cultured for having done so I still respect the effort minimally for what the film may’ve meant to its respective moment in history. Devil is that rare flick that belongs to another time and another place right down to its seams, and it shows. While that fact may not be enough reason to grant it any special endorsement, the unintended laughs resulting from backwoods depiction might be.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
The stories can be a bit odd at times, never quite feeling as if the storytellers wanted to explore anything greater than a single note or beat. Though such flicks used to be populated with second tier stars and starlets trying to stretch creatively if not approach something completely different, these projects seem to have fallen on hard times: very few of them see the light of day any more – a sad fact that might be owed to the presence of so many unknown, untried, untested, and unproven talents – or they wind up in the direct-to-DVD video bin at your local big box discount store. Film festivals across the fruited plain still manage to serve them up when given the chance; but even those outlets have fallen into disarray as many organizers just can’t quite seem to muster the funds to see them continued in modern times.
Just as indie features can be a bit hard-to-swallow, Folk Horror can be an ‘acquired taste.’ Bits and pieces of their stories need to be defined in order to be fully grasped and appreciated; and not every viewer who buys a ticket is all that much interested in ‘learning’ as opposed to be sufficiently ‘entertained.’ It’s a unique sub-genre that knows no bounds because its parameters can be expanded to new frontiers so long as the core foundation sticks close to rural settings, superstitions, community or even communal settings, and other related things that go bump in the night. When full-blown Horror can be immensely popular, Folk counterparts tend to be a bit quieter, a bit more reserved, a bit less bloody … and much more thought-provoking.
Thankfully, there are a handful of great distributors out there – like those at Severin Films – who refuse to let experimental and independent cinema die; and they’ve awarded me a fabulously expansive set – All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Volume 2 – that I’ve really only begun scratching the surface of.
Today’s fright: 1972’s Who Fears The Devil might be better known under its alternate title, The Legend Of Hillbilly John. At least, I’d heard of it under that name, but I still had never seen it. That’s been rectified now; and while I may not feel any more cultured for having done so I still respect the effort minimally for what the film may’ve meant to its respective moment in history. Devil is that rare flick that belongs to another time and another place right down to its seams, and it shows. While that fact may not be enough reason to grant it any special endorsement, the unintended laughs resulting from backwoods depiction might be.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A wandering ballad singer in the Appalachians meets an ugly bird-type creature, is transported back in time, finds himself involved in the Devil's work.”
Having seen so many films and having written about so many, I do still struggle occasionally with finding something to say about a particular feature. While some have told me this is a textbook case of writer’s block, I’ve pushed back, clarifying that it isn’t as if I come out of any screening with my head perfectly empty; rather, it’s a flick’s inability to cohesively ping somewhere in my gray matter – there’s no memorable hook, there’s no significant character, there’s no central message or theme, etc. – that causes me to stumble. Such a disconnect doesn’t last for long, thankfully: sometimes it can be cathartic just sitting down at the laptop and plunking keys.
The shortcomings of Who Fears The Devil are – ahem – quite numerous. Setting aside some of the more obvious ones like the change in film texture, the uninspired cinematography, the befuddling amateurishness of its presentation (even from some notable faces), one’s still left with the fact that it’s a simple yarn about a simple people who, simply, aren’t all that interesting. While this doesn’t detract so much from the world that screenwriter Melvin Levy tried to craft from the Manly Wade Wellman novel, I’m still not entirely certain director John Newland led with his best foot forward.
John (played by Hedges Capers) is a wandering soul – not so much a simpleton as he is a down home type with not a care in the world except to sing the songs he writes and, perchance, take down the Devil in whatever form he takes – and he’s living his best life strumming a guitar, crooning his folk tunes, and fornicating in the woods with Lily (Sharon Henesy). But when the forces of darkness converge on his part of the Appalachian backwoods – such as the mighty machines pressing down the Earth in order to pave an all-new six-lane highway – John will rise up, write some his best works, and maybe even step through a portal into the past in his bid to undo the days of Pennsylvania slavery!
Ah … good grief.
Those of you who were raised on mythology know that it was someone as impressive as Hercules – the son of a God – who was tasked with completing his labors; and there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with giving the same life’s mission to someone as wholesome as young John. The singer is about as impressionable as they come. He certainly wears his heart on his sleeve. There’s no doubting his commitment to living a good and gracious life. In fact, John – as a character – represents a great many kindred spirits who emerged from the late 1960’s and the early 1970’s: that virtuous, free lovin’ hippie/musician who wanted to live a life day-by-day in pursuit of whatever form social justice of the day asked of him (or her).
“A wandering ballad singer in the Appalachians meets an ugly bird-type creature, is transported back in time, finds himself involved in the Devil's work.”
Having seen so many films and having written about so many, I do still struggle occasionally with finding something to say about a particular feature. While some have told me this is a textbook case of writer’s block, I’ve pushed back, clarifying that it isn’t as if I come out of any screening with my head perfectly empty; rather, it’s a flick’s inability to cohesively ping somewhere in my gray matter – there’s no memorable hook, there’s no significant character, there’s no central message or theme, etc. – that causes me to stumble. Such a disconnect doesn’t last for long, thankfully: sometimes it can be cathartic just sitting down at the laptop and plunking keys.
The shortcomings of Who Fears The Devil are – ahem – quite numerous. Setting aside some of the more obvious ones like the change in film texture, the uninspired cinematography, the befuddling amateurishness of its presentation (even from some notable faces), one’s still left with the fact that it’s a simple yarn about a simple people who, simply, aren’t all that interesting. While this doesn’t detract so much from the world that screenwriter Melvin Levy tried to craft from the Manly Wade Wellman novel, I’m still not entirely certain director John Newland led with his best foot forward.
John (played by Hedges Capers) is a wandering soul – not so much a simpleton as he is a down home type with not a care in the world except to sing the songs he writes and, perchance, take down the Devil in whatever form he takes – and he’s living his best life strumming a guitar, crooning his folk tunes, and fornicating in the woods with Lily (Sharon Henesy). But when the forces of darkness converge on his part of the Appalachian backwoods – such as the mighty machines pressing down the Earth in order to pave an all-new six-lane highway – John will rise up, write some his best works, and maybe even step through a portal into the past in his bid to undo the days of Pennsylvania slavery!
Ah … good grief.
Those of you who were raised on mythology know that it was someone as impressive as Hercules – the son of a God – who was tasked with completing his labors; and there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with giving the same life’s mission to someone as wholesome as young John. The singer is about as impressionable as they come. He certainly wears his heart on his sleeve. There’s no doubting his commitment to living a good and gracious life. In fact, John – as a character – represents a great many kindred spirits who emerged from the late 1960’s and the early 1970’s: that virtuous, free lovin’ hippie/musician who wanted to live a life day-by-day in pursuit of whatever form social justice of the day asked of him (or her).
Whereas Hercules accomplished his deeds with brain and brawn, John pretty much is limited to singing a single tune, which is why so much of his soundtrack is pretty much interchangeable. It’s all delivered with toe-tapping goodness, and there’s nothing all that distinctive about any of the melodies. Both archetypes might share a level of one dimensionality, but John still isn’t opposed to clubbing the life out of a mighty evil fowl known as ‘Big Ugly’ or ‘Ugly Bird’ when given the chance. And, yes, he does that with the same guitar in which he sings about peace, love, and understanding … sorely, the clubbing sequence gets no singular ditty … which I take as a big miss.
The central problem – in spite of the fact that there could be many successive ones which spring off – is that John – as the protagonist – is really little more than a caricature drawn effectively from a certain time and a certain place in U.S. history.
He’s the free-spirited flower child whose only grievance is what troubles him today. “Don’t let the man get you down, you know? He’ll only be the man as long as you let him!” Because the dark influences of his time and place grow and change, the villain – the man, the Devil, call it what you will – John perseveres, staying true to his counterculture core and rising up to fight (in song) these new forces of oppression when they evolve. He loves himself. He loves his world. He loves his gal. Why, he loves all! Nothing will stop his desire to love! Nothing! Though he does not change – hell, he might even be incapable of change – he’ll make the thinnest of adjustments necessary to fight tomorrow’s evil but never sacrifice his time spent just with himself and his guitar. (Luke Skywalker had his lightsaber, and Hillbilly John has his acoustics.) A peacenik to his DNA, all that matters most is that he keep singing … because singing is the way of the future, don’t you know?
Of course, some of this is exaggeration, and I truly mean no disrespect. Who Fears is structured like three short stories strung together around our lead as a mythic centerpiece; and – to be perfectly fair – John is only a participant or an observer in a fair share of the action, almost as if he’s along for the ride as little more than a cautionary voice. When others suffer an untimely ending, that’s really only fodder to serve as fertilizer for the singer’s next tune. Both he and Mr. Marduke (Severn Darden) are constructs who help move these separate stories forward, and a good portion of the procedure feels little more than a backwater fairy tale that Appalachian mothers and fathers might’ve told their children at bedtime. It works appreciably on the level (in a few spots), though the whole premise lacks any narrative weight because of the primitive execution.
The central problem – in spite of the fact that there could be many successive ones which spring off – is that John – as the protagonist – is really little more than a caricature drawn effectively from a certain time and a certain place in U.S. history.
He’s the free-spirited flower child whose only grievance is what troubles him today. “Don’t let the man get you down, you know? He’ll only be the man as long as you let him!” Because the dark influences of his time and place grow and change, the villain – the man, the Devil, call it what you will – John perseveres, staying true to his counterculture core and rising up to fight (in song) these new forces of oppression when they evolve. He loves himself. He loves his world. He loves his gal. Why, he loves all! Nothing will stop his desire to love! Nothing! Though he does not change – hell, he might even be incapable of change – he’ll make the thinnest of adjustments necessary to fight tomorrow’s evil but never sacrifice his time spent just with himself and his guitar. (Luke Skywalker had his lightsaber, and Hillbilly John has his acoustics.) A peacenik to his DNA, all that matters most is that he keep singing … because singing is the way of the future, don’t you know?
Of course, some of this is exaggeration, and I truly mean no disrespect. Who Fears is structured like three short stories strung together around our lead as a mythic centerpiece; and – to be perfectly fair – John is only a participant or an observer in a fair share of the action, almost as if he’s along for the ride as little more than a cautionary voice. When others suffer an untimely ending, that’s really only fodder to serve as fertilizer for the singer’s next tune. Both he and Mr. Marduke (Severn Darden) are constructs who help move these separate stories forward, and a good portion of the procedure feels little more than a backwater fairy tale that Appalachian mothers and fathers might’ve told their children at bedtime. It works appreciably on the level (in a few spots), though the whole premise lacks any narrative weight because of the primitive execution.
For the record, this little forgotten tale actually involves a great number of familiar faces. (Yes, it’s a shame that most of their effort feels wasted.) Producer Barney Rosenzweig is no slouch, and he went on to be a very accomplished voice in primetime television. While Capers wasn’t exactly an unknown and has a great singing voice, he still gives the picture his full attention even in the smallest moments. But the wider cast includes some established players from the era who had done or were still doing great things, including Denver Pyle, Harris Yulin, Susan Anspach, Alfred Ryder, and R.G. Armstrong, veteran character actors and actresses if every there were. Sadly, the end result remains the same, but it’s not – as they say – for a lack of talent.
Who Fears The Devil (1972) was produced by Two’s Company. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Severin Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert … geesh. The film quality varies as so many different places across the story – it’s occasionally bright and vibrant, only to then dip into very flat and washed out colors – that it’s hard to give this one anything other than a respectable attempt. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc boasts an audio commentary and a few other items, but what I found most interested was a 30-minute interview with producer Barney Rosenzweig: his memory is pretty solid, and he details the struggles – both the highs and lows – of the production. Adding to the fact that he’s just a delightful guy to listen to, and this makes for a must-see … even when he’s admitting that Who Fears really didn’t turn out the way he wanted. A truly great and informative extra.
Alas … only Barely Recommended.
In most cases, one might encourage folks to view an oddity like Who Fears The Devil (1972) for nothing more than novelty’s sake: it’s clear that many in an audience will have seen nothing like it – accidentally or deliberately – and that might be enough motivation to spur a curious one to pop it in and give the disc a spin. My hesitancy there, however, is that come the big finish what has been gained except to experience a peculiarity for “shits and giggles,” as they say? Very little is learned here, and the performances, cinematography, and overall effort is so quaint is best left to those who traffic in Hicksploitation as, otherwise, there’s just so very little redeeming traits here. It’s not a complete catastrophe … but it’s close.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Severin Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of 1972’s Who Fears The Devil (aka The Legend Of Hillbilly John) by request – as part of their All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 – for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Who Fears The Devil (1972) was produced by Two’s Company. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Severin Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert … geesh. The film quality varies as so many different places across the story – it’s occasionally bright and vibrant, only to then dip into very flat and washed out colors – that it’s hard to give this one anything other than a respectable attempt. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc boasts an audio commentary and a few other items, but what I found most interested was a 30-minute interview with producer Barney Rosenzweig: his memory is pretty solid, and he details the struggles – both the highs and lows – of the production. Adding to the fact that he’s just a delightful guy to listen to, and this makes for a must-see … even when he’s admitting that Who Fears really didn’t turn out the way he wanted. A truly great and informative extra.
Alas … only Barely Recommended.
In most cases, one might encourage folks to view an oddity like Who Fears The Devil (1972) for nothing more than novelty’s sake: it’s clear that many in an audience will have seen nothing like it – accidentally or deliberately – and that might be enough motivation to spur a curious one to pop it in and give the disc a spin. My hesitancy there, however, is that come the big finish what has been gained except to experience a peculiarity for “shits and giggles,” as they say? Very little is learned here, and the performances, cinematography, and overall effort is so quaint is best left to those who traffic in Hicksploitation as, otherwise, there’s just so very little redeeming traits here. It’s not a complete catastrophe … but it’s close.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Severin Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of 1972’s Who Fears The Devil (aka The Legend Of Hillbilly John) by request – as part of their All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 – for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
There are great filmmakers whose works are inaccessible.
And then there's David Lynch.
Now, this is not to say in any conceivable way that Lynch was necessarily a hard man to follow. I've always thought that -- among the greats -- Lynch was a somewhat easy addition; I might have not always known exactly what he was trying to convey, and yet I could still see that there was a richness to the ideas, so much so that a good deal of what he produced kept me asking more. My point is that while the auteur's vision might not have been to everyone's personal tastes he still had a way a capturing moments in time and delivering them in such a way that I wanted to know more, that I needed to know more, and that I was perfectly willing to stay focused in hopes that some vast secret might be revealed in the process. That may not have always happened, but Lynch never made me feel inferior for not grasping the central point he was trying to make.
The same could not be said of all storytellers.
A few years back, I had the good fortune of appearing on a podcast to talk about Lynch's version of Dune. (Yes, this was about the time that Denis Villeneuve's Dune: Part 1 was hitting theatres, so various podcasters were ramping up the online chatter in anticipation of a theatrical hit.) In preparation of that visit, I did a fair amount of reading on the 1984 interpretation; while a good portion of it reinforced mostly what I had already known and thought about the film, there were still a handful of other stories that suggested that Lynch's version -- while praised in small circles -- truly deserved a second look. So I did watch it again; and even though that revisitation didn't change my bottomline assessment of why it largely failed to ignite any passion surround the Frank Herbert saga, I did watch closely for moments I thought might've best represented what fueled Lynch's desire to tell that particular story.
Given that the director had very little to do (as I understand) with that final cut, I'm not sure I learned anything new. What I did see, however, was a measure of passion I had somehow missed before. There was so much life in the efforts to bring separate peoples and separate civilizations to life -- a great deal of it through the production design -- and I was a bit surprised I had missed so much of it. Lynch clearly went to great pains to find a narrative hook for every single species in there -- even those only shown fleetingly -- and that suggests that he was a master of seeing something significant -- some beating heart -- in even the most obscure places. His was an eye that could detect something small but important; and he had an imagination that could then bring this element to bold, visual life for those watching close enough to notice.
That's a trait that cannot be taught. It comes from the soul. It's how a man sees, thinks, and breathes.
Alas, that's something that we've lost ... to a degree. Now that he's gone, it's up to us -- to each of us who are fans of the man's body of work -- to seek it out and celebrate it in the days, months, and years ahead. It's incumbent upon us to keep his vision alive because it's one of the very best deserving of celebration.
Now ... the sleeper truly has awakened.
Our warmest thoughts and prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of David Lynch.
May be rest in peace.
-- EZ
And then there's David Lynch.
Now, this is not to say in any conceivable way that Lynch was necessarily a hard man to follow. I've always thought that -- among the greats -- Lynch was a somewhat easy addition; I might have not always known exactly what he was trying to convey, and yet I could still see that there was a richness to the ideas, so much so that a good deal of what he produced kept me asking more. My point is that while the auteur's vision might not have been to everyone's personal tastes he still had a way a capturing moments in time and delivering them in such a way that I wanted to know more, that I needed to know more, and that I was perfectly willing to stay focused in hopes that some vast secret might be revealed in the process. That may not have always happened, but Lynch never made me feel inferior for not grasping the central point he was trying to make.
The same could not be said of all storytellers.
A few years back, I had the good fortune of appearing on a podcast to talk about Lynch's version of Dune. (Yes, this was about the time that Denis Villeneuve's Dune: Part 1 was hitting theatres, so various podcasters were ramping up the online chatter in anticipation of a theatrical hit.) In preparation of that visit, I did a fair amount of reading on the 1984 interpretation; while a good portion of it reinforced mostly what I had already known and thought about the film, there were still a handful of other stories that suggested that Lynch's version -- while praised in small circles -- truly deserved a second look. So I did watch it again; and even though that revisitation didn't change my bottomline assessment of why it largely failed to ignite any passion surround the Frank Herbert saga, I did watch closely for moments I thought might've best represented what fueled Lynch's desire to tell that particular story.
Given that the director had very little to do (as I understand) with that final cut, I'm not sure I learned anything new. What I did see, however, was a measure of passion I had somehow missed before. There was so much life in the efforts to bring separate peoples and separate civilizations to life -- a great deal of it through the production design -- and I was a bit surprised I had missed so much of it. Lynch clearly went to great pains to find a narrative hook for every single species in there -- even those only shown fleetingly -- and that suggests that he was a master of seeing something significant -- some beating heart -- in even the most obscure places. His was an eye that could detect something small but important; and he had an imagination that could then bring this element to bold, visual life for those watching close enough to notice.
That's a trait that cannot be taught. It comes from the soul. It's how a man sees, thinks, and breathes.
Alas, that's something that we've lost ... to a degree. Now that he's gone, it's up to us -- to each of us who are fans of the man's body of work -- to seek it out and celebrate it in the days, months, and years ahead. It's incumbent upon us to keep his vision alive because it's one of the very best deserving of celebration.
Now ... the sleeper truly has awakened.
Our warmest thoughts and prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of David Lynch.
May be rest in peace.
-- EZ
- Published on
The sad truth is that independent films are, ultimately, not for everyone.
Their stories can be a bit odd at times, never quite feeling as if its storytellers wanted to explore anything greater than a single note or beat. Though they used to be populated with second tier stars and starlets who were trying to stretch creatively if not approach something completely different, these projects seem to have fallen on hard times: very few of them see the light of day any more – a sad fact that might be owed to the presence of so many unknown talents – or they wind up in the direct-to-DVD video bin at your local big box discount store. Film festivals across the fruited plain still manage to serve them up when given the chance; but even those outlets have fallen into disarray as many organizers just can’t quite seem to muster the funds to seem them continued in the modern era.
Thankfully, there are a handful of great distributors out there – like those at Severin Films – who refuse to let experimental and independent cinema die; and they’ve awarded me a fabulously expansive set – All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Volume 2 – that I’ve really only begun scratching the surface of. Just as indie far can be a bit hard-to-swallow at times, Folk Horror can be an ‘acquired taste’ for so many. It’s a unique sub-genre that knows no bounds because its parameters can be expanded to new frontiers so long as the core foundation sticks close to rural settings, superstitions, community or even communal settings, and other related things that go bump in the night.
Today’s fright: The Enchanted (1984) was directed by Carter Lord from a story by Charné Porter. It’s the story of a young man who’s found his way back home after seeing the world outside, and now all he wants to do is settle down and tend to his land. Lo and behold, several new faces have taken up this off the beaten track watering hole – a family known as the Perdrys – and he finds himself suddenly smitten with their eldest daughter. But what secret does she and the rest of her kin hide? Why do they shelter themselves away in isolation, cut off from the folks outside, and prefer keeping to themselves?
The answer might make all of us want to stay ‘in the nest,’ as they say.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and characters. If you’re the kind of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Sailor Royce Hagan returns from the sea and occupies his deserted family ranch in a remote part of backwoods Florida. A strange family is living in the woods on his property. A Florida Folk Mystery hangs over the ranch.”
Their stories can be a bit odd at times, never quite feeling as if its storytellers wanted to explore anything greater than a single note or beat. Though they used to be populated with second tier stars and starlets who were trying to stretch creatively if not approach something completely different, these projects seem to have fallen on hard times: very few of them see the light of day any more – a sad fact that might be owed to the presence of so many unknown talents – or they wind up in the direct-to-DVD video bin at your local big box discount store. Film festivals across the fruited plain still manage to serve them up when given the chance; but even those outlets have fallen into disarray as many organizers just can’t quite seem to muster the funds to seem them continued in the modern era.
Thankfully, there are a handful of great distributors out there – like those at Severin Films – who refuse to let experimental and independent cinema die; and they’ve awarded me a fabulously expansive set – All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Volume 2 – that I’ve really only begun scratching the surface of. Just as indie far can be a bit hard-to-swallow at times, Folk Horror can be an ‘acquired taste’ for so many. It’s a unique sub-genre that knows no bounds because its parameters can be expanded to new frontiers so long as the core foundation sticks close to rural settings, superstitions, community or even communal settings, and other related things that go bump in the night.
Today’s fright: The Enchanted (1984) was directed by Carter Lord from a story by Charné Porter. It’s the story of a young man who’s found his way back home after seeing the world outside, and now all he wants to do is settle down and tend to his land. Lo and behold, several new faces have taken up this off the beaten track watering hole – a family known as the Perdrys – and he finds himself suddenly smitten with their eldest daughter. But what secret does she and the rest of her kin hide? Why do they shelter themselves away in isolation, cut off from the folks outside, and prefer keeping to themselves?
The answer might make all of us want to stay ‘in the nest,’ as they say.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and characters. If you’re the kind of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Sailor Royce Hagan returns from the sea and occupies his deserted family ranch in a remote part of backwoods Florida. A strange family is living in the woods on his property. A Florida Folk Mystery hangs over the ranch.”
More often than not, independent films are labors of love.
It used to be the some in academia called them ‘vanity projects,’ but that term has pretty much fallen out of favor with so many who talk, write, and speak about film for its negative connotation. Instead, critics tend to respect that good indies are the stuff of guerilla filmmaking – these features get produced on a miniscule budget (as compared to studio outings), everyone involved goes to extreme measures to help make the production possible, and the cast and crew are often made up of what might term ‘locals’ and/or ‘townies’ as opposed to professionally trained actors and actresses. Frequently, talent is drawn from small-town community theaters and the like; but rarely do these pictures have space and budget enough for a marquee star.
That’s why watching a release like The Enchanted can test the patience of some. While its production values are quite good, the end result rarely looks, sounds, or feels like a typical Hollywood outing. The editing might feel a bit jarring here and there – it seams often feel a bit rushed, perhaps as if the technician had to snip a scene short in order to cover up a deficiency or movement that would break the mood – as well as a sequence might go on longer than absolutely necessary. None of this detracts from the central story, and yet The Enchanted never quite shakes that overwhelming sense that perhaps the novice players might’ve gotten it a wee bit better if they had a take or two more.
Royce (played by Will Sennett) returns home after a career in the Navy. Though his parents have passed on, he finds that his neighbor and popular local Booker T (Julius Harris) has stayed around, keeping an eye on things and tending to the property as needed. When Royce suggests that he’s going to now settle down and start raising some livestock (for an income), Booker agrees to lend a hand, but the old timer offers a cautious warning about the Pendrys, a hippie-type family that has taken up a kind of squatter’s living just on the edge of the farmland: “Don’t get too close to them.”
As typically happens in stories of this type, that’s exactly what Royce does. He welcomes the large family onto his property, eventually even hiring them out when he sees just how impressive their basic farming skills are. They’re natural workers, and all they seemingly want to do is help out in exchange for the small plot of land they occupy. Over time and after breaking bread with them, Royce becomes smitten with young Twyla (Casey Blanton), a girl who’s come of age and – at her parent’s urging – might very well be interested in joining the former sailor in his quest to ‘settle down.’
With Booker’s warning a constant threat in the air, director Ford paces out his film nicely, but it does lag here and there when it seems like he’s either repeating himself or amping up the weirdness with no immediate explanation in sight. Not long after Royce has admitted to having feelings for her, Twyla shows up perched in a tree, done up in colorful clothing and face-painted like a piece of candy. Not unlike a peacock would behave, she announces simply that she’s begun conscious efforts to attract him to her … despite the fact that his intentions were already clear. This kind of overkill occasionally waters down those moments that have already worked and established the fact that “there’s something about Twyla,” but Ford persists in adding layers well into the last reel.
Eventually, a predator in the woods begins killing off Royce’s cattle – is this because of Booker T’s prognostication? – and the tale shifts gears to show that the Perdrys themselves aren’t anything like the locals have seen before but have heard plenty about: deep in the woods there is magic afoot, spells that might given creatures big and small the chance to see what life is like on some other post up the evolutionary ladder. While it’s all been hinted at in Booker’s opening narration to the film, the reminders never quite stop. At about the point wherein Twyla is scared beyond belief at the sight of a tiny kitten, audiences have likely figure out just what she might be; and this causes the earlier magic that worked so well to fade. A bit of restraint might’ve had this one turning the corner into more relatable fare, but that rarely happens in the land of forgotten features.
Frankly, I still had a good deal of fun watching The Enchanted.
It used to be the some in academia called them ‘vanity projects,’ but that term has pretty much fallen out of favor with so many who talk, write, and speak about film for its negative connotation. Instead, critics tend to respect that good indies are the stuff of guerilla filmmaking – these features get produced on a miniscule budget (as compared to studio outings), everyone involved goes to extreme measures to help make the production possible, and the cast and crew are often made up of what might term ‘locals’ and/or ‘townies’ as opposed to professionally trained actors and actresses. Frequently, talent is drawn from small-town community theaters and the like; but rarely do these pictures have space and budget enough for a marquee star.
That’s why watching a release like The Enchanted can test the patience of some. While its production values are quite good, the end result rarely looks, sounds, or feels like a typical Hollywood outing. The editing might feel a bit jarring here and there – it seams often feel a bit rushed, perhaps as if the technician had to snip a scene short in order to cover up a deficiency or movement that would break the mood – as well as a sequence might go on longer than absolutely necessary. None of this detracts from the central story, and yet The Enchanted never quite shakes that overwhelming sense that perhaps the novice players might’ve gotten it a wee bit better if they had a take or two more.
Royce (played by Will Sennett) returns home after a career in the Navy. Though his parents have passed on, he finds that his neighbor and popular local Booker T (Julius Harris) has stayed around, keeping an eye on things and tending to the property as needed. When Royce suggests that he’s going to now settle down and start raising some livestock (for an income), Booker agrees to lend a hand, but the old timer offers a cautious warning about the Pendrys, a hippie-type family that has taken up a kind of squatter’s living just on the edge of the farmland: “Don’t get too close to them.”
As typically happens in stories of this type, that’s exactly what Royce does. He welcomes the large family onto his property, eventually even hiring them out when he sees just how impressive their basic farming skills are. They’re natural workers, and all they seemingly want to do is help out in exchange for the small plot of land they occupy. Over time and after breaking bread with them, Royce becomes smitten with young Twyla (Casey Blanton), a girl who’s come of age and – at her parent’s urging – might very well be interested in joining the former sailor in his quest to ‘settle down.’
With Booker’s warning a constant threat in the air, director Ford paces out his film nicely, but it does lag here and there when it seems like he’s either repeating himself or amping up the weirdness with no immediate explanation in sight. Not long after Royce has admitted to having feelings for her, Twyla shows up perched in a tree, done up in colorful clothing and face-painted like a piece of candy. Not unlike a peacock would behave, she announces simply that she’s begun conscious efforts to attract him to her … despite the fact that his intentions were already clear. This kind of overkill occasionally waters down those moments that have already worked and established the fact that “there’s something about Twyla,” but Ford persists in adding layers well into the last reel.
Eventually, a predator in the woods begins killing off Royce’s cattle – is this because of Booker T’s prognostication? – and the tale shifts gears to show that the Perdrys themselves aren’t anything like the locals have seen before but have heard plenty about: deep in the woods there is magic afoot, spells that might given creatures big and small the chance to see what life is like on some other post up the evolutionary ladder. While it’s all been hinted at in Booker’s opening narration to the film, the reminders never quite stop. At about the point wherein Twyla is scared beyond belief at the sight of a tiny kitten, audiences have likely figure out just what she might be; and this causes the earlier magic that worked so well to fade. A bit of restraint might’ve had this one turning the corner into more relatable fare, but that rarely happens in the land of forgotten features.
Frankly, I still had a good deal of fun watching The Enchanted.
While it lacks any signature sequence or rarely finds a stride it stays on for longer than a few minutes, Ford’s tale offers a modest amount of heart in the relationship between Royce and Twyla. If you think of them as star-crossed simpletons – neither are particularly erudite or well-spoken – then their pairing resonates the way any screen romance should. Separately, they may not show a lick of sense, and yet together they complete one another with respectable aplomb. Booker’s threat lingers throughout the couple’s highs and lows, but the pairing still has the spirit wherein audiences root for them to figure it all out in the knick of time … or before Cinderella’s carriage turns back to a pumpkin at the strike of midnight.
Of course, it does help that the silver screen has had its share of tragic romances. Romeo and Juliet were likely never going to be together in life; and, at least, Royce and Twyla might still get to see one another again, albeit not in any form wherein the relationship can be consummated. At least, not in any film I’d watch.
The Enchanted (1984) was produced by Nancy Rachtman Eber. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been handled by the fine folks at Severin Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be largely exceptional on this new scan: I think any deficiencies are likely owed to issues experienced during production, and there’s a bit of grain here and there in darker sequences. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc boasts two different commentaries, along with an interview, theatrical trailer, and a visual essay. It’s a nice collection, though I found the hosted commentary a bit too chatty in spots. To each his own.
Recommended, but …
It’s occasionally difficult to determine who might best enjoy the indie delights like The Enchanted. As a Horror, there’s very little fright. As a Folk Horror, it’s only temporarily focused on elements, really implying that all of this might be a bit more of backwoods magic – a rural fairy tale, if you will. Still, I have to admit that I was pretty captivated by its simple, blue-collar sensibilities; and the picture never really tried to be anything more than the story of a man, the woman he fell in love with, and what ultimately pulled them apart mythically in the last regard. It’ll strike a chord with some, but I suspect far more will grow impatient.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Severin Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Enchanted (1984) by request – as part of their All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 – for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Of course, it does help that the silver screen has had its share of tragic romances. Romeo and Juliet were likely never going to be together in life; and, at least, Royce and Twyla might still get to see one another again, albeit not in any form wherein the relationship can be consummated. At least, not in any film I’d watch.
The Enchanted (1984) was produced by Nancy Rachtman Eber. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been handled by the fine folks at Severin Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be largely exceptional on this new scan: I think any deficiencies are likely owed to issues experienced during production, and there’s a bit of grain here and there in darker sequences. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc boasts two different commentaries, along with an interview, theatrical trailer, and a visual essay. It’s a nice collection, though I found the hosted commentary a bit too chatty in spots. To each his own.
Recommended, but …
It’s occasionally difficult to determine who might best enjoy the indie delights like The Enchanted. As a Horror, there’s very little fright. As a Folk Horror, it’s only temporarily focused on elements, really implying that all of this might be a bit more of backwoods magic – a rural fairy tale, if you will. Still, I have to admit that I was pretty captivated by its simple, blue-collar sensibilities; and the picture never really tried to be anything more than the story of a man, the woman he fell in love with, and what ultimately pulled them apart mythically in the last regard. It’ll strike a chord with some, but I suspect far more will grow impatient.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Severin Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Enchanted (1984) by request – as part of their All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 – for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
By some curious twist of Fate (or perhaps an error committed by the movie gods), I was provided two screeners for a single request from a distributor to the latest home video release of John Ford’s Western epic The Searchers.
For those of you who’ve never heard of it … shame on you!
Arguably, the film is one of the quintessential oaters of all time. Presently, it maintains an incredible score of 94 (out of 100) on Metacritic.com; it holds a solid 87% on the Tomatometer at RottenTomatoes.com; and IMDB.com shows it’s cemented a resounding 7.8 (out of 100) on IMDB.com User profiles. While those are indeed some impressive heights, that’s chump change when compared to the fact that in 1989 the U.S.’s National Film Preservation Board induced the title into the National Film Registry, the federal organization that seeks to retain pictures that have contributed to the legacy of film as an artform since its inception. I’ve also read that it’s a personal favorite of some of the biggest and best filmmakers around the world who site it as a crowning inspiration for what so many have tried to accomplish when getting into the entertainment business … so let’s all just agree that it is most definitely a production of some notoriety.
Chiefly because I’m dealing with a flick as monumental as The Searchers, I’ve decided to break my review into two parts. (Well, that and the fact that I owe a distributor two publishing citations also plays into my thought process.) I’m doing this as well as there’s something unique about the story that’s been written about perhaps ad nauseum elsewhere on the World Wide Web; but as I cover Westerns in this space as (A) I like them, (B) they’ve built an enduring influence on Fantasy and Science Fiction, and (C) it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to I’d like to sound off on a visual technique that director John Ford implemented at three places in his feature … and I’d like to give my two cents on what it all might mean.
So … instead of ‘buckle up’ why don’t all of you ‘saddle up.’ We’re going to take a wild ride back into the days of yesteryear – albeit briefly and with less dust – to examine one narrative aspect to one of the greatest motion pictures of all time.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“An American Civil War veteran embarks on a years-long journey to rescue his niece from the Comanches after the rest of his brother’s family is massacred in a raid on their Texas farm.”
For a short time in my life, I thought I might want to make motion pictures.
I’ve told the story elsewhere – it really isn’t anything elaborate – but the straight skinny of it is I was on track to a somewhat exclusive education opportunity when my alma mater entirely screwed the pooch on my behalf, refusing to forward the copy of my collegiate transcript I paid for over a clerical error on their part. At last minute, I wound up dropped from the program; but – as I was away on vacation – I didn’t receive notice until it was far too late to fix the problem. Life went on, folks, and I’m here where I am now with few complaints … but I still have absolutely nothing to do with my alma mater.
But whilst I was in college, one of the films that was recommended for my study was The Searchers. I had to watch, research, and review several productions; but – for very specific reasons – I opted to pass on the John Ford and John Wayne collaboration. What I recall thinking at the time (when my advisor and I were choosing these various flicks for my further attention) was that Searchers was far more of a technical achievement than it was anything groundbreaking with story. Yes, it had some character development, and it definitely had some solid acting worth some watch; but I felt – maybe naively – way back then that the end result was too much about ‘shooting’ a film than it was ‘telling’ a story. As such, we agreed to pass it over for the purposes of the course.
For those of you who’ve never heard of it … shame on you!
Arguably, the film is one of the quintessential oaters of all time. Presently, it maintains an incredible score of 94 (out of 100) on Metacritic.com; it holds a solid 87% on the Tomatometer at RottenTomatoes.com; and IMDB.com shows it’s cemented a resounding 7.8 (out of 100) on IMDB.com User profiles. While those are indeed some impressive heights, that’s chump change when compared to the fact that in 1989 the U.S.’s National Film Preservation Board induced the title into the National Film Registry, the federal organization that seeks to retain pictures that have contributed to the legacy of film as an artform since its inception. I’ve also read that it’s a personal favorite of some of the biggest and best filmmakers around the world who site it as a crowning inspiration for what so many have tried to accomplish when getting into the entertainment business … so let’s all just agree that it is most definitely a production of some notoriety.
Chiefly because I’m dealing with a flick as monumental as The Searchers, I’ve decided to break my review into two parts. (Well, that and the fact that I owe a distributor two publishing citations also plays into my thought process.) I’m doing this as well as there’s something unique about the story that’s been written about perhaps ad nauseum elsewhere on the World Wide Web; but as I cover Westerns in this space as (A) I like them, (B) they’ve built an enduring influence on Fantasy and Science Fiction, and (C) it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to I’d like to sound off on a visual technique that director John Ford implemented at three places in his feature … and I’d like to give my two cents on what it all might mean.
So … instead of ‘buckle up’ why don’t all of you ‘saddle up.’ We’re going to take a wild ride back into the days of yesteryear – albeit briefly and with less dust – to examine one narrative aspect to one of the greatest motion pictures of all time.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“An American Civil War veteran embarks on a years-long journey to rescue his niece from the Comanches after the rest of his brother’s family is massacred in a raid on their Texas farm.”
For a short time in my life, I thought I might want to make motion pictures.
I’ve told the story elsewhere – it really isn’t anything elaborate – but the straight skinny of it is I was on track to a somewhat exclusive education opportunity when my alma mater entirely screwed the pooch on my behalf, refusing to forward the copy of my collegiate transcript I paid for over a clerical error on their part. At last minute, I wound up dropped from the program; but – as I was away on vacation – I didn’t receive notice until it was far too late to fix the problem. Life went on, folks, and I’m here where I am now with few complaints … but I still have absolutely nothing to do with my alma mater.
But whilst I was in college, one of the films that was recommended for my study was The Searchers. I had to watch, research, and review several productions; but – for very specific reasons – I opted to pass on the John Ford and John Wayne collaboration. What I recall thinking at the time (when my advisor and I were choosing these various flicks for my further attention) was that Searchers was far more of a technical achievement than it was anything groundbreaking with story. Yes, it had some character development, and it definitely had some solid acting worth some watch; but I felt – maybe naively – way back then that the end result was too much about ‘shooting’ a film than it was ‘telling’ a story. As such, we agreed to pass it over for the purposes of the course.
Good things come to those who wait, and now – decades later – I get to sling a few words about what I found then (and do today) most notable about it. Of course, this may be something that has already undergone a great deal of criticism around the world; and that’s perfectly okay. Each of us only has to be true to oneself, and I’m still seizing this opportunity whilst it’s in front of me now. I’ll happily tell you more about The Searchers as a completed whole in a later review. For now, let’s talk about framing …
Without going into any great extrapolation of the plot, Searchers is a Western that stretches over several years; and the main thrust of all the action involves two men – Ethan Edwards (as played by John Wayne) and Martin Pawley (Jeffrey Hunter) – spend the better part of a decade in search of their niece/sister who was abducted in a raid by Comanche Indians that left almost the whole remainder of her family dead. Across hills and over the plans, the pair search relentless, no maybe how near or far whatever scrap of a clue suggests the young woman was taken. Eventually, they do find her; and – make of that what you will – it’s a moment of redemption that’s delivered quite touchingly in spite of all that’s happened in the process.
As director, Ford was no stranger to film – as a whole – and he was certainly no stranger to Westerns. He and Wayne had essentially broken ground on some of the best moments this singularly American film genre has ever offered; and I think it’s fair to approach The Searchers as both a crowning achievement as well as a kind of cinematic ‘good-bye’ to the ideas and concepts that had made so many of these projects great. Society was a’changin’ – technology and war had truly pushed mankind into an all-new era of science, education, and opportunity – and it didn’t look like Westerns would be around as frequently as they had been in years past. In no small way, this influence – this passing of the torch – fed into the story and visuals with uncanny clarity.
Perhaps it was for this reason that Ford framed the opening and closing of the picture in the manner he did. At the onset, the screen is filled with pure darkness while slowly what can eventually be perceived as the opening of a door gives way to expressive color. With a character or two, we’re taken through the doorway to stand on the porch outside in order to behold the truly awe-inspiring expanse of the Great Outdoors – some of the most impressive peaks of Monument Valley. (Google it, if you must: I’ll be here when you get back from the sheer majesty.) It’s at this point that the family see that Uncle Ethan – a Civil War veteran who has stayed away from home for some time – is returning, and our story is now set to unfold.
Similarly, the closing scene to Searchers coopts that opening structure, but here Ford has the procedure essentially playing out in reverse. As I mentioned, young Debbie (now a woman played by a young Natalie Wood) comes back home in Uncle Ethan’s arms – yes, those who know here might sense that I’m specifically ignoring any discussion of character development because it doesn’t matter to the visuals. He sets her on the ground, and she’s joined by her other remaining relatives; and – together in arms – they all head back into the home, marching into and out of the frame into that blackness beyond. Ethan turns, and – in a customary gait known only to ‘The Duke’ – he marches away slowly. The door closes, plunging the screen back into that same darkness of the flick’s opening sequence.
It’s of doors that I wish to speak.
Doors symbolize things. They mean stuff. There are many adages about doors and their openings and exactly what they mean; and there isn’t any doubt that Ford – using this foundation – was trying to establish something as such with his film. Some might say that it’s a commentary about opportunity – the West was a place where a great many settlers set out in search of their own fortune and fame – and I suspect that there’s nothing wrong with that perception. But I’ve always seen this technique as making a point about civilization.
You see, while we live civilization in the light collectively, it’s really something that we experience individually. Think of it as our own private dark away from the harsh spotlight of mankind. Even though we might be afraid of the dark, we still find a bit of comfort in there. It’s just us and no one else. Alone, we can live with our family under a roof and within these four ways; and we’re free to make whatever choice we might, do whatever it is we choose to do, and be whatever man, woman, or child we’re best at home with. In this darkness, we are fundamentally who we are; and it might be the only place we’re ever truly at soul fulfilling peace. This isn’t to say that, conversely, we’re afraid of the light: this is more about balancing that equilibrium between being calm and feeling safe. Out there in the light, danger abounds. Out there in the light, we might have to bend a rule in order to make ends meet. Out there, we’re who we need to be to survive; but at home – in the dark – that’s the only place where you and I are fully allowed to exist peaceably. It just is.
Without going into any great extrapolation of the plot, Searchers is a Western that stretches over several years; and the main thrust of all the action involves two men – Ethan Edwards (as played by John Wayne) and Martin Pawley (Jeffrey Hunter) – spend the better part of a decade in search of their niece/sister who was abducted in a raid by Comanche Indians that left almost the whole remainder of her family dead. Across hills and over the plans, the pair search relentless, no maybe how near or far whatever scrap of a clue suggests the young woman was taken. Eventually, they do find her; and – make of that what you will – it’s a moment of redemption that’s delivered quite touchingly in spite of all that’s happened in the process.
As director, Ford was no stranger to film – as a whole – and he was certainly no stranger to Westerns. He and Wayne had essentially broken ground on some of the best moments this singularly American film genre has ever offered; and I think it’s fair to approach The Searchers as both a crowning achievement as well as a kind of cinematic ‘good-bye’ to the ideas and concepts that had made so many of these projects great. Society was a’changin’ – technology and war had truly pushed mankind into an all-new era of science, education, and opportunity – and it didn’t look like Westerns would be around as frequently as they had been in years past. In no small way, this influence – this passing of the torch – fed into the story and visuals with uncanny clarity.
Perhaps it was for this reason that Ford framed the opening and closing of the picture in the manner he did. At the onset, the screen is filled with pure darkness while slowly what can eventually be perceived as the opening of a door gives way to expressive color. With a character or two, we’re taken through the doorway to stand on the porch outside in order to behold the truly awe-inspiring expanse of the Great Outdoors – some of the most impressive peaks of Monument Valley. (Google it, if you must: I’ll be here when you get back from the sheer majesty.) It’s at this point that the family see that Uncle Ethan – a Civil War veteran who has stayed away from home for some time – is returning, and our story is now set to unfold.
Similarly, the closing scene to Searchers coopts that opening structure, but here Ford has the procedure essentially playing out in reverse. As I mentioned, young Debbie (now a woman played by a young Natalie Wood) comes back home in Uncle Ethan’s arms – yes, those who know here might sense that I’m specifically ignoring any discussion of character development because it doesn’t matter to the visuals. He sets her on the ground, and she’s joined by her other remaining relatives; and – together in arms – they all head back into the home, marching into and out of the frame into that blackness beyond. Ethan turns, and – in a customary gait known only to ‘The Duke’ – he marches away slowly. The door closes, plunging the screen back into that same darkness of the flick’s opening sequence.
It’s of doors that I wish to speak.
Doors symbolize things. They mean stuff. There are many adages about doors and their openings and exactly what they mean; and there isn’t any doubt that Ford – using this foundation – was trying to establish something as such with his film. Some might say that it’s a commentary about opportunity – the West was a place where a great many settlers set out in search of their own fortune and fame – and I suspect that there’s nothing wrong with that perception. But I’ve always seen this technique as making a point about civilization.
You see, while we live civilization in the light collectively, it’s really something that we experience individually. Think of it as our own private dark away from the harsh spotlight of mankind. Even though we might be afraid of the dark, we still find a bit of comfort in there. It’s just us and no one else. Alone, we can live with our family under a roof and within these four ways; and we’re free to make whatever choice we might, do whatever it is we choose to do, and be whatever man, woman, or child we’re best at home with. In this darkness, we are fundamentally who we are; and it might be the only place we’re ever truly at soul fulfilling peace. This isn’t to say that, conversely, we’re afraid of the light: this is more about balancing that equilibrium between being calm and feeling safe. Out there in the light, danger abounds. Out there in the light, we might have to bend a rule in order to make ends meet. Out there, we’re who we need to be to survive; but at home – in the dark – that’s the only place where you and I are fully allowed to exist peaceably. It just is.
Ethan Edwards is a character who only feels himself in the light. He’s been far and wide. He has stories to tell. He’s lived a life of harsh choices; and he’s learned to speak his mind – speak ‘his peace regardless of who he’s with, what they’ll think of him, and what consequences he may have to suffer as a result. The character says as such in several moments in the film, but I think Ford best represented this idea in the opening and the closing of his Western: Edwards avoids the light. There are things in the light that he isn’t meant for; and there are things out here – in the light – needing a man like him to see them done. That’s why he, ultimately, is shown walking away in the ending. Of course, this doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll vanish into the ether; rather, it’s just underscoring that Ford’s darkness – that civility awaiting within – isn’t meant for him.
To further demonstrate that idea, Ford incorporates another bit of visual framing relatively early in the film: Edwards and Pawley are returning from serving their time on the posse meant to capture or confront the villainous Comanche only to find the Edwards’ homestead still burning from the Indians who destroyed it the day before. Around the side of the house there’s what I assume to be a food shelter – a squat barn – and Uncle Ethan marches toward the place after finding his sister-in-law’s torn and bloodied dress on the ground before it.
To stage this for the camera, Ford chose to place it inside the shed, sheltering it in that same darkness that both opens and closes the picture. As he backs into the space, Ethan stands in the doorway, his expression aghast at what he finds inside. Though we’re never shown the obviously despicable display, it’s very clear by Wayne’s eyes that he’s horrified beyond the pale, suggesting that we – as the uninitiated to this world of violence and bloodshed – would not wish to behold anything like it.
What does this usage of framing say about the aforementioned darkness?
Again, I think it underscores the great risks that each of us places upon our own shoulders when we choose safety and comfort. Civilization – whatever form it takes – has risks; and those risks will necessarily need to be defended at times. Though we might think we’re in a place of tranquility, all it takes is for a single shaft of that light outdoors to find a way through the doorway into our preferred stillness; and it can all be taken away in an instant. Tragedy descends upon the Edwards family, and only by heading out into the wild frontier, facing it, reconciling whatever misdeeds have been carried out against us, and returning will we inevitably find that same sheltering dark waiting for us on our return. Of course, we’ll be changed by what we’ve endured … but we’ll always find who we are once more when we’re back in the embrace of pure blackness.
The Searchers (1956) was produced by C.V. Whitney Pictures. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights and sounds to be as monumental as when they were first conceived: the film looks utterly fabulous in 4K. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? There’s a great audience commentary along with some exceptional looks into the film’s enduring history worth your discovery. It’s a great, great collection.
Highest Recommendation Possible.
It should go without saying that there are motion pictures everyone should see, and I’d certainly put The Searchers on that list. This doesn’t in any way imply that I think that every viewer will embrace it as feverishly as have so many ‘in the know.’ Shot in the 1950’s, it arguably uses some storytelling tropes that might not resonate as strongly with some; and there’s a strong undercurrent of racism to a few characters, something that falls out of favor with audiences even when the tale is meant to denounce a lead character’s darker choices. Still, The Searcher deserves to be seen for what it accomplishes visually: from start-to-finish, it’s a primer of what can be accomplished when a true auteur of cinema sets out to give audiences a crowning achievement … and it shows in so, so, so many ways.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Searchers (1956) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
To further demonstrate that idea, Ford incorporates another bit of visual framing relatively early in the film: Edwards and Pawley are returning from serving their time on the posse meant to capture or confront the villainous Comanche only to find the Edwards’ homestead still burning from the Indians who destroyed it the day before. Around the side of the house there’s what I assume to be a food shelter – a squat barn – and Uncle Ethan marches toward the place after finding his sister-in-law’s torn and bloodied dress on the ground before it.
To stage this for the camera, Ford chose to place it inside the shed, sheltering it in that same darkness that both opens and closes the picture. As he backs into the space, Ethan stands in the doorway, his expression aghast at what he finds inside. Though we’re never shown the obviously despicable display, it’s very clear by Wayne’s eyes that he’s horrified beyond the pale, suggesting that we – as the uninitiated to this world of violence and bloodshed – would not wish to behold anything like it.
What does this usage of framing say about the aforementioned darkness?
Again, I think it underscores the great risks that each of us places upon our own shoulders when we choose safety and comfort. Civilization – whatever form it takes – has risks; and those risks will necessarily need to be defended at times. Though we might think we’re in a place of tranquility, all it takes is for a single shaft of that light outdoors to find a way through the doorway into our preferred stillness; and it can all be taken away in an instant. Tragedy descends upon the Edwards family, and only by heading out into the wild frontier, facing it, reconciling whatever misdeeds have been carried out against us, and returning will we inevitably find that same sheltering dark waiting for us on our return. Of course, we’ll be changed by what we’ve endured … but we’ll always find who we are once more when we’re back in the embrace of pure blackness.
The Searchers (1956) was produced by C.V. Whitney Pictures. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights and sounds to be as monumental as when they were first conceived: the film looks utterly fabulous in 4K. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? There’s a great audience commentary along with some exceptional looks into the film’s enduring history worth your discovery. It’s a great, great collection.
Highest Recommendation Possible.
It should go without saying that there are motion pictures everyone should see, and I’d certainly put The Searchers on that list. This doesn’t in any way imply that I think that every viewer will embrace it as feverishly as have so many ‘in the know.’ Shot in the 1950’s, it arguably uses some storytelling tropes that might not resonate as strongly with some; and there’s a strong undercurrent of racism to a few characters, something that falls out of favor with audiences even when the tale is meant to denounce a lead character’s darker choices. Still, The Searcher deserves to be seen for what it accomplishes visually: from start-to-finish, it’s a primer of what can be accomplished when a true auteur of cinema sets out to give audiences a crowning achievement … and it shows in so, so, so many ways.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Searchers (1956) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
Good morning, gentle readers, and welcome to January 15th, 2025!
It's a New Year, right? One would think that maybe the Universe would give you a break?
Well, that would be a solid 'no.'
I don't want to get into all of the details regarding just how expensive life has grown in the past few weeks/months because -- alas -- that isn't what I do here on SciFiHistory.Net. Let's just say that the Universe has been decidedly unkind as of late. You try to do good things, and you always hope for the best, but sometimes whoever up there in the great wide open calling the shots sees things differently. You try to adjust, but -- again, alas -- there's always a monkey wrench waiting to be tossed into the machine.
In any event, my laptop decided it was time to take a permanent vacation yesterday.
Absolutely ugh, if you ask me.
So I'm using the wife's personal laptop as a stand-in for the foreseeable, and anyone who has found himself or herself in such a predicament knows all-too-well that that isn't an easy adjustment. As keyboard warriors, we get used to the feel of our own respective machines; and I can't seem to get through a single sentence on the wifey's unit without a spelling error I have to correct here or there. Again, I don't mean to complain: I'm just sharing out of sheer frustration.
In any event, this means that new content to the MainPage and the Daily Citation Pages is going to be somewhat limited over the course of the next few days. I'm doing research for a new machine, but -- as I've implied -- sometimes it pours when it rains, so funds are a bit scant right now. Plus, I want to get the right machine as the last one I picked out after scads of research ended up only lasting 16 months ... trust me, you don't want to hear about it.
I have a review or two that I'm hoping to post -- a Western and another Folk Horror from the good people at Severin Films -- so please do keep your eyes peeled for those. I might get one or the other up later today. But as I'm without my usual graphics software in the interim as well, these new additions might end up being a bit light on pics.
As always, thanks for reading ... thanks for sharing ... thanks for being a fan ... and live long and prosper!
-- EZ
It's a New Year, right? One would think that maybe the Universe would give you a break?
Well, that would be a solid 'no.'
I don't want to get into all of the details regarding just how expensive life has grown in the past few weeks/months because -- alas -- that isn't what I do here on SciFiHistory.Net. Let's just say that the Universe has been decidedly unkind as of late. You try to do good things, and you always hope for the best, but sometimes whoever up there in the great wide open calling the shots sees things differently. You try to adjust, but -- again, alas -- there's always a monkey wrench waiting to be tossed into the machine.
In any event, my laptop decided it was time to take a permanent vacation yesterday.
Absolutely ugh, if you ask me.
So I'm using the wife's personal laptop as a stand-in for the foreseeable, and anyone who has found himself or herself in such a predicament knows all-too-well that that isn't an easy adjustment. As keyboard warriors, we get used to the feel of our own respective machines; and I can't seem to get through a single sentence on the wifey's unit without a spelling error I have to correct here or there. Again, I don't mean to complain: I'm just sharing out of sheer frustration.
In any event, this means that new content to the MainPage and the Daily Citation Pages is going to be somewhat limited over the course of the next few days. I'm doing research for a new machine, but -- as I've implied -- sometimes it pours when it rains, so funds are a bit scant right now. Plus, I want to get the right machine as the last one I picked out after scads of research ended up only lasting 16 months ... trust me, you don't want to hear about it.
I have a review or two that I'm hoping to post -- a Western and another Folk Horror from the good people at Severin Films -- so please do keep your eyes peeled for those. I might get one or the other up later today. But as I'm without my usual graphics software in the interim as well, these new additions might end up being a bit light on pics.
As always, thanks for reading ... thanks for sharing ... thanks for being a fan ... and live long and prosper!
-- EZ
- Published on
I’m the first to admit that I don’t always see what others see in a particular film.
Frankly, this is a lesser phenomenon that’s followed me all of my life, and I first took note of it in my High School years. My friends and I would go out on Friday Night to the theater to watch something billed as the latest and greatest Comedy, Mystery, Thriller or other. We’d watch, maybe share a few laughs, and then head to the greasy mom-and-pop Italian joint for some cheesy bread and sodas. While gnoshing, we’d swap our opinions of the flick; and I realized over time that they all actually enjoyed a good deal of these pictures that I found, largely, thin and predictable and forgettable. Of course, I never made much of it back then – I simply chalked it up to different strokes for different folks – but in looking back years later I came to accept that what I sought in the movie-going experience was vastly different from what they did.
While I was looking for art, technique, and theme, they were wanting little more than a two-hour distraction.
Now, yes, there’s certainly room for such differing approaches: as I’ve always reminded readers, the job of a critic isn’t to make anyone like something he or she isn’t inclined to enjoy. I didn’t consider myself a reviewer all those years ago – Hell, I’m not even sure I do as much decades later – but I’ve always known my desire to evaluate storytelling beyond just its good and bad pieces. Looking at a story and how its delivered might take a bit of fun out of sitting in the dark; and yet there’s still some nobility in it, however big, however small.
Thankfully, there are occasions when I can drop a good deal of these cerebral filters, set aside my natural tendency to evaluate substance, and see largely what others do in a certain flick … especially something decidedly ‘just a bit outside’ as is 1973’ Psychomania (aka The Death Wheelers). While this is by no means a great motion picture, it has that undercurrent of British charm – maybe even a bit of tongue in cheek – that bubbles to the surface, assuring watchers that it’s entirely okay not to take any of its ‘life after death’ trickery seriously. Directed by Don Sharp from a story by Arnaud d’Usseau and Julian Zimet, it’s the tale of a notorious small-town biker gang whose leaders manages to transcend death and then wants nothing more than to drag his mates as well into the afterlife so they can continue raising Hell as spectral entities. Mind you: none of it makes a lick of sense … but it works, largely because viewers likely end up not caring about such practical mechanics in favor of just watching bad boys (and girls) continue to be bad boys (and girls) after they’ve died and come back.
Who among us wouldn’t want to have such diabolical good luck?
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
Frankly, this is a lesser phenomenon that’s followed me all of my life, and I first took note of it in my High School years. My friends and I would go out on Friday Night to the theater to watch something billed as the latest and greatest Comedy, Mystery, Thriller or other. We’d watch, maybe share a few laughs, and then head to the greasy mom-and-pop Italian joint for some cheesy bread and sodas. While gnoshing, we’d swap our opinions of the flick; and I realized over time that they all actually enjoyed a good deal of these pictures that I found, largely, thin and predictable and forgettable. Of course, I never made much of it back then – I simply chalked it up to different strokes for different folks – but in looking back years later I came to accept that what I sought in the movie-going experience was vastly different from what they did.
While I was looking for art, technique, and theme, they were wanting little more than a two-hour distraction.
Now, yes, there’s certainly room for such differing approaches: as I’ve always reminded readers, the job of a critic isn’t to make anyone like something he or she isn’t inclined to enjoy. I didn’t consider myself a reviewer all those years ago – Hell, I’m not even sure I do as much decades later – but I’ve always known my desire to evaluate storytelling beyond just its good and bad pieces. Looking at a story and how its delivered might take a bit of fun out of sitting in the dark; and yet there’s still some nobility in it, however big, however small.
Thankfully, there are occasions when I can drop a good deal of these cerebral filters, set aside my natural tendency to evaluate substance, and see largely what others do in a certain flick … especially something decidedly ‘just a bit outside’ as is 1973’ Psychomania (aka The Death Wheelers). While this is by no means a great motion picture, it has that undercurrent of British charm – maybe even a bit of tongue in cheek – that bubbles to the surface, assuring watchers that it’s entirely okay not to take any of its ‘life after death’ trickery seriously. Directed by Don Sharp from a story by Arnaud d’Usseau and Julian Zimet, it’s the tale of a notorious small-town biker gang whose leaders manages to transcend death and then wants nothing more than to drag his mates as well into the afterlife so they can continue raising Hell as spectral entities. Mind you: none of it makes a lick of sense … but it works, largely because viewers likely end up not caring about such practical mechanics in favor of just watching bad boys (and girls) continue to be bad boys (and girls) after they’ve died and come back.
Who among us wouldn’t want to have such diabolical good luck?
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
An amiable, psychopathic leader of a violent teen motorbike gang is spurred by his mother, a Satan-worshiping spiritual medium, into committing suicide and returning to life as an ‘undead.’”
In the 1950’s, Hollywood studios and others around the world embraced motorcycle culture as ‘a thing.’ Initially, I think it’s safe to say that these stories were more of a celebration of individuals who saw themselves as not so much part of their own society as they were players in a microcosm that still tried to race to their own respective beats, their own respective paces. These rebels with or without a cause really wanted nothing more than to be left alone to ride their bikes in peace – something mankind at large wasn’t going to let them do – and their myths then strongly evolved in the 1960’s to represent authentic outlaws. Gone were the days when these riders were just wanting an unpopulated stretch of open road: now they were Hellbent on bringing down ‘the man’ in whatever form he occupied, and they’d stop at nothing to see their beastly dreams realized.
As often happens when trends wear on, storytellers try to inject new life into them, which is the first thing that comes to mind in digesting Psychomania. It isn’t a throwback to the days when these leather clad misfits were just an eyesore on the landscape of the small town; rather, it’s that and something more, meaning that screenwriters d’Usseau and Zimet simply thought, “What happens if we make them zombies?” Well, naturally, they couldn’t be all authentic slumbering and doddering members of the Biking Dead, so they agreed that coming back from a life-ending experience wouldn’t change them all that much … well, except for making them immortal … and maybe giving them superhuman powers somehow.
???
This is what I meant above when I suggested that Psychomania only works on a level wherein little if anything that transpires makes any narrative sense. These undead motorcyclists don’t behave any differently than they did when they were first brought to life on the screen, meaning that the addition of any other powers – super strength, chiefly – is little more than a magical afterthought. In any other picture that deals with zombies, these reanimated stiffs still suffer the wrath of legitimate science – their flesh decays, their bones break, etc. – but in Don Sharp’s film such mortal shortcomings would be a bridge too far. His dead are, basically, superdead; and all they want to do is have a good time!
An amiable, psychopathic leader of a violent teen motorbike gang is spurred by his mother, a Satan-worshiping spiritual medium, into committing suicide and returning to life as an ‘undead.’”
In the 1950’s, Hollywood studios and others around the world embraced motorcycle culture as ‘a thing.’ Initially, I think it’s safe to say that these stories were more of a celebration of individuals who saw themselves as not so much part of their own society as they were players in a microcosm that still tried to race to their own respective beats, their own respective paces. These rebels with or without a cause really wanted nothing more than to be left alone to ride their bikes in peace – something mankind at large wasn’t going to let them do – and their myths then strongly evolved in the 1960’s to represent authentic outlaws. Gone were the days when these riders were just wanting an unpopulated stretch of open road: now they were Hellbent on bringing down ‘the man’ in whatever form he occupied, and they’d stop at nothing to see their beastly dreams realized.
As often happens when trends wear on, storytellers try to inject new life into them, which is the first thing that comes to mind in digesting Psychomania. It isn’t a throwback to the days when these leather clad misfits were just an eyesore on the landscape of the small town; rather, it’s that and something more, meaning that screenwriters d’Usseau and Zimet simply thought, “What happens if we make them zombies?” Well, naturally, they couldn’t be all authentic slumbering and doddering members of the Biking Dead, so they agreed that coming back from a life-ending experience wouldn’t change them all that much … well, except for making them immortal … and maybe giving them superhuman powers somehow.
???
This is what I meant above when I suggested that Psychomania only works on a level wherein little if anything that transpires makes any narrative sense. These undead motorcyclists don’t behave any differently than they did when they were first brought to life on the screen, meaning that the addition of any other powers – super strength, chiefly – is little more than a magical afterthought. In any other picture that deals with zombies, these reanimated stiffs still suffer the wrath of legitimate science – their flesh decays, their bones break, etc. – but in Don Sharp’s film such mortal shortcomings would be a bridge too far. His dead are, basically, superdead; and all they want to do is have a good time!
The charismatic leader of The Living Dead, Tom Lathom (played by Nicky Henson) looks a bit more like a British tennis player than he does a screen heavy. His daily pursuits is nothing more than to drag his followers into one bout of shenanigans after another, terrorizing the residents of an otherwise peaceful countryside. In fact, there’s absolutely nothing that troubles his spirits whatsoever except getting into the knickers of fellow rider Abby Holman (Mary Larkin) and that nagging sensation in the back of his mind that there’s much, much more to the death of his father than dear mother – Mrs. Latham (Beryl Reid) – will share with him. When he discovers that his spiritualist mum may very well have made a pact with the Devil – or, minimally, their butler Shadwell (George Sanders) who might’ve been the devil incarnate or one of his minions – it’s enough to make a man commit suicide … especially after he learns that all one need do is believe he’s immortal at the time of death in order to return in tip top shape!
See what I mean?
Truly, there’s nothing but a bit of overwrought silliness across every layer of Psychomania’s light – and I do mean light – premise.
As Fate would have it, Lathom’s central motivation to wanting to transcend life itself is tied to little more than the fact that he can do it. Naturally, returning from the other side comes at a premium – he can’t be killed again, and he’s currently inhabited super strength in the process – so this grants the young man the added bonus of ramping up his reign of terror to previously unseen levels. (When you’re never at risk of being harmed, you’re even more empowered in your impetuousness, it would seem.) Because this level of chaos and merriment knows no bounds, he naturally wants the gang to join him in his immortality; and his example serves as the catalyst for the rest to follow suit. Still, there’s tension building in the group when Abby becomes the single hold-out, senselessly clinging to this thing we call life because … well … I guess it still means something to her to go shopping with her mother.
Henson and the cast likely had a good time suiting up and getting into the trenches here. The scenes of motor-fueled merriment do go on a bit long – racing around endlessly through sharp curves, terrorizing men and women walking idly along the street, bashing their bikes into the corner supermarket and running down a baby carriage. It’s the kind of hyped destructive frenzy one might expect from a mid-1970’s Roger Corman feature; and it works entirely only on that level. Of course, the voice of authority shows up again and again in the face of the local police inspector Hesseltine (Robert Hardy), but he’s portrayed as little more than a toothless tiger who hasn’t the wits nor the temperament required to tame these wild animals, even more so after they’ve passed over.
Eventually, Mommy Dearest comes to her senses. Once she realizes that her son Tom has kinda/sorta seized the usage of the Dark Arts for his own personal needs, she can no longer tolerate giving him eternal life. Though the script had never really hammered out perfectly how all of its life extensions worked (there’s a ceremony with a baby and a rare frog along with some magical room in that Latham mansion), the good lady and her butler eventually come to their senses and perform a spiritual switcheroo, one that ultimately turns Tom and his rebel rousers into stone monoliths (think Stonehenge but stockier) while the beguiled Abby watches on in feigned disbelief.
Spielberg, this aint …
“What makes this Folk Horror?” you might ask.
Well, the aforementioned Stonehenge – that prehistoric megalithic structure out on the plains in Wiltshire, England – gets a small-scale duplicate here as the Surrey countryside has its own archaeological oddity known as The Seven Witches. These ancient stones serve as a gathering spot for The Living Dead – they’re shown riding amongst them on several occasions – and at one point in the film Shadwell recounts the story of a coven that previously operated on the land who were eventually ‘turned to stone’ for their disobedience to the black arts. Indeed, once the bikers learn of Tom’s death early in the picture, they opt to inter him themselves in the ground of the magical spot; and it’s reasonable to assume that this spectrally tainted ground may very well have played some part – however small – in his resurrection.
Whatever the case, it’s entirely fitting that when the gang are finally together and the spell is reversed, they, too, become enshrined as stones in the place that meant so much to them.
See what I mean?
Truly, there’s nothing but a bit of overwrought silliness across every layer of Psychomania’s light – and I do mean light – premise.
As Fate would have it, Lathom’s central motivation to wanting to transcend life itself is tied to little more than the fact that he can do it. Naturally, returning from the other side comes at a premium – he can’t be killed again, and he’s currently inhabited super strength in the process – so this grants the young man the added bonus of ramping up his reign of terror to previously unseen levels. (When you’re never at risk of being harmed, you’re even more empowered in your impetuousness, it would seem.) Because this level of chaos and merriment knows no bounds, he naturally wants the gang to join him in his immortality; and his example serves as the catalyst for the rest to follow suit. Still, there’s tension building in the group when Abby becomes the single hold-out, senselessly clinging to this thing we call life because … well … I guess it still means something to her to go shopping with her mother.
Henson and the cast likely had a good time suiting up and getting into the trenches here. The scenes of motor-fueled merriment do go on a bit long – racing around endlessly through sharp curves, terrorizing men and women walking idly along the street, bashing their bikes into the corner supermarket and running down a baby carriage. It’s the kind of hyped destructive frenzy one might expect from a mid-1970’s Roger Corman feature; and it works entirely only on that level. Of course, the voice of authority shows up again and again in the face of the local police inspector Hesseltine (Robert Hardy), but he’s portrayed as little more than a toothless tiger who hasn’t the wits nor the temperament required to tame these wild animals, even more so after they’ve passed over.
Eventually, Mommy Dearest comes to her senses. Once she realizes that her son Tom has kinda/sorta seized the usage of the Dark Arts for his own personal needs, she can no longer tolerate giving him eternal life. Though the script had never really hammered out perfectly how all of its life extensions worked (there’s a ceremony with a baby and a rare frog along with some magical room in that Latham mansion), the good lady and her butler eventually come to their senses and perform a spiritual switcheroo, one that ultimately turns Tom and his rebel rousers into stone monoliths (think Stonehenge but stockier) while the beguiled Abby watches on in feigned disbelief.
Spielberg, this aint …
“What makes this Folk Horror?” you might ask.
Well, the aforementioned Stonehenge – that prehistoric megalithic structure out on the plains in Wiltshire, England – gets a small-scale duplicate here as the Surrey countryside has its own archaeological oddity known as The Seven Witches. These ancient stones serve as a gathering spot for The Living Dead – they’re shown riding amongst them on several occasions – and at one point in the film Shadwell recounts the story of a coven that previously operated on the land who were eventually ‘turned to stone’ for their disobedience to the black arts. Indeed, once the bikers learn of Tom’s death early in the picture, they opt to inter him themselves in the ground of the magical spot; and it’s reasonable to assume that this spectrally tainted ground may very well have played some part – however small – in his resurrection.
Whatever the case, it’s entirely fitting that when the gang are finally together and the spell is reversed, they, too, become enshrined as stones in the place that meant so much to them.
Psychomania (1973) was produced by Benmar Productions. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Severin Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert … wow. I found the provided sights and sounds to look pretty damn exceptional in this one: everything looks sharp and crisp, perhaps about as good as was ever intended. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? In order to be precise, I’m doing the reliable copy-and-paste from the Severin Films’ website:
I’ve watched the interviews and listened to the commentary track. While I found the interviews quite good, Ms. Perez Cuervo’s commentary was a bit light, frankly. There’s a lot of stillness to certain sections – not sure if she forgot she was being recorded, or she simply had nothing to say about so many scenes – leaving me a bit underwhelmed. What she did have to say was insightful; I just wish she had a bit more of it.
Recommended.
Psychomania (1973) might be one of the first Cult films that I’ve had the good fortune to watch, review, and fundamentally agree that, yes, it deserves its Cult status, however modestly. Working entirely off of the mood it creates, the production takes itself entirely too seriously, so much so that one has to wonder whether or not the cast believed anyone in the audience would inevitably take seriously any of its nonsense – from the churlish riders endlessly harassing street walkers to their ‘gee willikers’ embrace of the Dark Arts. At times, actor Henson seems to be an almost caricature of the bad boy toughie – did he suspect this was all a lark? – so its near impossible to take his moments of scene chewing as if he intended such skullduggery or bravado. The end result smacks heartily of the ‘so bad it’s good’ effect in high gear.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Severin Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Psychomania (1973) – as part of their All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Introduction By Film Historian Chris Alexander
- Audio Commentary With Maria J. Pérez Cuervo, Founding Editor Of Hellebore Magazine
- Stone Warnings – Dr. Diane A. Rodgers On Stone Circles And Standing Stones In Film And Television
- Return Of The Living Dead – Interviews With Actors Nicky Henson, Mary Larkin, Denis Gilmore, Roy Holder And Rocky Taylor
- The Sound Of PSYCHOMANIA – Interview With Soundtrack Composer John Cameron
- Riding Free – Interview With "Riding Free" Singer Harvey Andrews
- Theatrical Trailer
I’ve watched the interviews and listened to the commentary track. While I found the interviews quite good, Ms. Perez Cuervo’s commentary was a bit light, frankly. There’s a lot of stillness to certain sections – not sure if she forgot she was being recorded, or she simply had nothing to say about so many scenes – leaving me a bit underwhelmed. What she did have to say was insightful; I just wish she had a bit more of it.
Recommended.
Psychomania (1973) might be one of the first Cult films that I’ve had the good fortune to watch, review, and fundamentally agree that, yes, it deserves its Cult status, however modestly. Working entirely off of the mood it creates, the production takes itself entirely too seriously, so much so that one has to wonder whether or not the cast believed anyone in the audience would inevitably take seriously any of its nonsense – from the churlish riders endlessly harassing street walkers to their ‘gee willikers’ embrace of the Dark Arts. At times, actor Henson seems to be an almost caricature of the bad boy toughie – did he suspect this was all a lark? – so its near impossible to take his moments of scene chewing as if he intended such skullduggery or bravado. The end result smacks heartily of the ‘so bad it’s good’ effect in high gear.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Severin Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Psychomania (1973) – as part of their All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
Universal Pictures has gone to great pains as of late to keep the legacy of their original Monster Movie Universe alive.
Franchises like Dracula, Frankenstein, The Wolf Man, the Creature From The Black Lagoon, and The Invisible Man have enjoyed several home video releases in a variety of collections -- some together and some solo. Granted, a good deal of these entries arguably lack the luster of what special effects can accomplish in the creature features of today; but ardent and faithful fans of Horror and Classic films alike continue to relish 'Old School Charm' for what it is -- a great device with which to weave some more relatable magic. Though some might argue a handful of the sequels were imperfect, the films still resonate with others because they focus more on the humans caught up in these extraordinary circumstances; and, yes, there's absolutely nothing wrong with a bit of rediscovery every generation.
For what it's worth, I enjoyed The Invisible Man Returns (1940) -- a chiller that turns an astonishing 85 years young today -- a tad more than its predecessor. There's nothing wrong with The Invisible Man (1933) whatsoever: my issue with it is that aside from the great tortured central performance of actor Claude Rains the story didn't do all that much for me as a viewer. Everyone else in it is fine; and yet I remember feeling a bit empty when it was all over and done with. The Invisible Man Returns might offer up only a modest variation on the same story; but I felt its various characters were a bit more fleshed out than were the faces of the original, circumstances being what they were.
According to the citation on Wikipedia.org, Unversal Studios launched a campaign to develop the Invisible Man's sequel after the positive box office success of Son Of Frankenstein, the 1939 sequel to their earlier Frankenstein (1931) production. As can happen when such a demand precedes a script submission, the affair allegedly went through a pair of hands before the studio settled on Joe May as director along with genre veteran Curt Siodmak crafting the shooting script. Frankly, this would be Siodmak's first foray into authentic monster movies; but the eventual success of The Invisible Man Returns would see him crafting a good handful of other cinematic outings in the years ahead. Director May, Lester Cole, and Cedric Belfrage also contributed to the finished screenplay.
Again according to Wikipedia.org, the early reporting surrounding the picture strongly suggested that screen heavyweights like Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi were at different times considered for the lead in Returns. Alas, neither actor are ultimately in the completed film; and there's the suggestion that Universal instead sought out the talents of a virtual unknown, perhaps thinking that might be a bit more economical especially if the film went gangbusters with audiences, leaving the prospect for future installments on the table. Lo and behold, Vincent Price -- a man who's star was truly starting to climb -- emerged with the part, and history was made.
There's a good deal written on both IMDB.com and Wikipedia.org that confirms Returns was not exactly a smooth production. Apparently, filming ran somewhat behind, and production costs -- while not unreasonable -- managed to accumulate. Special effects work of the day being what they were might very well have contributed to both this slowdown and run-up of the budget; but I've not seen any specific accounting for these overages, so I'll leave it at that. Sometimes -- as they say -- it is what it is.
Was it all worth the effort?
Unquestionably, Universal Studios was pleased with the results. Of course, I don't doubt the suits would've wanted to make a bit more from ticket sales; but IMDB.com indicates that the box office brought back just under four times what it cost to make the picture, and the movers and shakers arguably took that as a win. The performance also caused the studio to greenlight another foray into the world of the invisible, a Comedy this time out: The Invisible Woman (1940) is also credited to May and Siodmak (as screenwriters) along with Robert Lees, Frederic I. Rinaldo, and Gertrude Purcell, with A. Edward Sutherland directing.
It's also worth a mention that Returns went on to garner a 1941 Academy Awards nomination in the category of 'Best Special Effects,' the work on turning invisible and back being groundbreaking for its time on the silver screen. Though the picture ultimately lost out to The Thief Of Bagdad, its Special Effects formula would continue to be used on screens big and small for decades.
That is some legacy.
Franchises like Dracula, Frankenstein, The Wolf Man, the Creature From The Black Lagoon, and The Invisible Man have enjoyed several home video releases in a variety of collections -- some together and some solo. Granted, a good deal of these entries arguably lack the luster of what special effects can accomplish in the creature features of today; but ardent and faithful fans of Horror and Classic films alike continue to relish 'Old School Charm' for what it is -- a great device with which to weave some more relatable magic. Though some might argue a handful of the sequels were imperfect, the films still resonate with others because they focus more on the humans caught up in these extraordinary circumstances; and, yes, there's absolutely nothing wrong with a bit of rediscovery every generation.
For what it's worth, I enjoyed The Invisible Man Returns (1940) -- a chiller that turns an astonishing 85 years young today -- a tad more than its predecessor. There's nothing wrong with The Invisible Man (1933) whatsoever: my issue with it is that aside from the great tortured central performance of actor Claude Rains the story didn't do all that much for me as a viewer. Everyone else in it is fine; and yet I remember feeling a bit empty when it was all over and done with. The Invisible Man Returns might offer up only a modest variation on the same story; but I felt its various characters were a bit more fleshed out than were the faces of the original, circumstances being what they were.
According to the citation on Wikipedia.org, Unversal Studios launched a campaign to develop the Invisible Man's sequel after the positive box office success of Son Of Frankenstein, the 1939 sequel to their earlier Frankenstein (1931) production. As can happen when such a demand precedes a script submission, the affair allegedly went through a pair of hands before the studio settled on Joe May as director along with genre veteran Curt Siodmak crafting the shooting script. Frankly, this would be Siodmak's first foray into authentic monster movies; but the eventual success of The Invisible Man Returns would see him crafting a good handful of other cinematic outings in the years ahead. Director May, Lester Cole, and Cedric Belfrage also contributed to the finished screenplay.
Again according to Wikipedia.org, the early reporting surrounding the picture strongly suggested that screen heavyweights like Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi were at different times considered for the lead in Returns. Alas, neither actor are ultimately in the completed film; and there's the suggestion that Universal instead sought out the talents of a virtual unknown, perhaps thinking that might be a bit more economical especially if the film went gangbusters with audiences, leaving the prospect for future installments on the table. Lo and behold, Vincent Price -- a man who's star was truly starting to climb -- emerged with the part, and history was made.
There's a good deal written on both IMDB.com and Wikipedia.org that confirms Returns was not exactly a smooth production. Apparently, filming ran somewhat behind, and production costs -- while not unreasonable -- managed to accumulate. Special effects work of the day being what they were might very well have contributed to both this slowdown and run-up of the budget; but I've not seen any specific accounting for these overages, so I'll leave it at that. Sometimes -- as they say -- it is what it is.
Was it all worth the effort?
Unquestionably, Universal Studios was pleased with the results. Of course, I don't doubt the suits would've wanted to make a bit more from ticket sales; but IMDB.com indicates that the box office brought back just under four times what it cost to make the picture, and the movers and shakers arguably took that as a win. The performance also caused the studio to greenlight another foray into the world of the invisible, a Comedy this time out: The Invisible Woman (1940) is also credited to May and Siodmak (as screenwriters) along with Robert Lees, Frederic I. Rinaldo, and Gertrude Purcell, with A. Edward Sutherland directing.
It's also worth a mention that Returns went on to garner a 1941 Academy Awards nomination in the category of 'Best Special Effects,' the work on turning invisible and back being groundbreaking for its time on the silver screen. Though the picture ultimately lost out to The Thief Of Bagdad, its Special Effects formula would continue to be used on screens big and small for decades.
That is some legacy.
As always, thanks for reading ... thanks for sharing ... thanks for being a fan ... and live long and prosper!
-- EZ
-- EZ