Today’s history lesson, gentle readers, involves the disappointing cultural reception – though perfectly well understood – of 1935’s Mad Love, one of the screen’s earliest attempts at Body Horror.
Directed by Karl Freund from a story based on the novel “The Hands Of Orlac” by Maurice Renard, Mad Love is a somewhat mildly convoluted tale of a kinda/sorta love triangle between three principles: rising theater star Yvonne Orlac, her concert pianist husband Stephen Orlac, and famed surgeon and philanthropist Dr. Gogol. Essentially, these three characters collide in a dark tale of … well … let’s call it love and madness – hence, the film’s title – wherein even acts of professional charity prove yet again that no good deed goes unpunished. Even though audiences probably knew full well going in that such emotional fixations between men and women can lead to tragic turns of Fate, the motion picture never quite developed a head of steam anywhere it was screened; but the truth is that the circumstances for its failure are a bit more complex.
America was in the midst of the Great Depression. Experts suggest that this dark phase of American History was at its worst between 1932 and 1934; and that reality alone might lead one to conclude that tragedies probably were far from the top of the list for what viewers wanted to endure for at a night out at the movies, the place where they go seeking an escape from the trials of daily life. Indeed, Horror movies in particular had shown a rather precipitous plunge in box office receipts; and studios, too, had fallen into a bit of fiscal disarray. They had pushed this relatively new genre into overdrive based on earlier efforts’ popularity – i.e. Universal’s Dracula (1931), Frankenstein (1931), The Invisible Man (1933), etc. – but by 1936 even Universal Pictures was seized out from under its owners – the Laemmle family – over the studio’s inability to handle its debts. Couple this downturn with the fact that the Hays Code – the industry’s self-imposed requirements to curb explorations of violence – went into 1934, storytellers were hard-pressed to develop Horror projects because … well … what good is a thriller/chiller devoid of even modest graphic ferocity? These new rules favored psychological twists as opposed to sensational images; and such new constructs meant that the old stories wouldn’t quite work.
Additionally, foreign markets had grown increasingly skeptical of placing such American offerings into theatrical circulation. These countries, too, were finding these stories increasingly void of morality and virtues; and, while not every nation completely shut down access to Horror films, the impact on the entertainment industry – i.e. lost ticket sales – was a significant loss of revenue. Reel life collided with real life in ways no executive quite expected; and, as such, prospects for just about anything Horror or Horror-adjacent were sometimes as grim as these pictures’ subject matter. While this global embargo wouldn’t last long, its effects were definitely felt for a few critical years … and it’s this timeframe – 1935 – in which Peter Lorre’s American debut occurred.
So … what’s an otherwise good scare to do?
Directed by Karl Freund from a story based on the novel “The Hands Of Orlac” by Maurice Renard, Mad Love is a somewhat mildly convoluted tale of a kinda/sorta love triangle between three principles: rising theater star Yvonne Orlac, her concert pianist husband Stephen Orlac, and famed surgeon and philanthropist Dr. Gogol. Essentially, these three characters collide in a dark tale of … well … let’s call it love and madness – hence, the film’s title – wherein even acts of professional charity prove yet again that no good deed goes unpunished. Even though audiences probably knew full well going in that such emotional fixations between men and women can lead to tragic turns of Fate, the motion picture never quite developed a head of steam anywhere it was screened; but the truth is that the circumstances for its failure are a bit more complex.
America was in the midst of the Great Depression. Experts suggest that this dark phase of American History was at its worst between 1932 and 1934; and that reality alone might lead one to conclude that tragedies probably were far from the top of the list for what viewers wanted to endure for at a night out at the movies, the place where they go seeking an escape from the trials of daily life. Indeed, Horror movies in particular had shown a rather precipitous plunge in box office receipts; and studios, too, had fallen into a bit of fiscal disarray. They had pushed this relatively new genre into overdrive based on earlier efforts’ popularity – i.e. Universal’s Dracula (1931), Frankenstein (1931), The Invisible Man (1933), etc. – but by 1936 even Universal Pictures was seized out from under its owners – the Laemmle family – over the studio’s inability to handle its debts. Couple this downturn with the fact that the Hays Code – the industry’s self-imposed requirements to curb explorations of violence – went into 1934, storytellers were hard-pressed to develop Horror projects because … well … what good is a thriller/chiller devoid of even modest graphic ferocity? These new rules favored psychological twists as opposed to sensational images; and such new constructs meant that the old stories wouldn’t quite work.
Additionally, foreign markets had grown increasingly skeptical of placing such American offerings into theatrical circulation. These countries, too, were finding these stories increasingly void of morality and virtues; and, while not every nation completely shut down access to Horror films, the impact on the entertainment industry – i.e. lost ticket sales – was a significant loss of revenue. Reel life collided with real life in ways no executive quite expected; and, as such, prospects for just about anything Horror or Horror-adjacent were sometimes as grim as these pictures’ subject matter. While this global embargo wouldn’t last long, its effects were definitely felt for a few critical years … and it’s this timeframe – 1935 – in which Peter Lorre’s American debut occurred.
So … what’s an otherwise good scare to do?
Mad Love pretty much disappeared as quickly as it emerged; and I’ve read that this disappearing act endured for – gasp! – several decades. From what I understand, many credit the late movie critic Pauline Kael for its rediscovery: in her 1971 essay regarding the making of 1941’s Citizen Kane, she mentioned that that picture’s cinematographer – the much-praised Gregg Toland – had worked on Mad Love and, stylistically, the two films looked related. Naturally, film scholars, academics, and cineastes took notice of Kael’s association; and this prompted them to seek out and explore a flick of which many of them had never heard. Cult status was soon afforded Love; and this is largely how the picture is thought of today.
My two cents?
Yes, it deserves better.
(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:
“In Paris, a demented surgeon's obsession with a British actress leads him to secretly replace her concert-pianist husband's mangled hands with those of a guillotined murderer with a gift for knife-throwing.”
While it can be said that even the best films have some blemishes, I’ve often argued that some of the worst regarded projects might still show us something worthwhile.
Largely, that’s the case with Mad Love, a film that – like the little engine that could – is still fighting an uphill battle for mere respectability given the fact that it was mostly torched by everyone in its screen infancy. The mid-1930’s are exactly revered for its Horror output; but Love suffered a great deal of criticisms more for when it was released – out of synch culturally, out of step with global interests in entertainment, etc. – than it rightly deserved. Actor Peter Lorre delivers an interesting leading performance, but the script – attributed to P.J. Wolfson and John L. Balderston – also shifts gears a bit too quickly in his descent into madness. Occasionally, the script feels so lost in transition that one might wonder if the screenwriters were commenting on their era more than they were the struggles of a brilliant yet flawed mind. When you propose a situation with this much to unpack, every development needs a bit more extrapolation: when that doesn’t happen, it’s easy for viewers to get lost along the way.
My two cents?
Yes, it deserves better.
(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:
“In Paris, a demented surgeon's obsession with a British actress leads him to secretly replace her concert-pianist husband's mangled hands with those of a guillotined murderer with a gift for knife-throwing.”
While it can be said that even the best films have some blemishes, I’ve often argued that some of the worst regarded projects might still show us something worthwhile.
Largely, that’s the case with Mad Love, a film that – like the little engine that could – is still fighting an uphill battle for mere respectability given the fact that it was mostly torched by everyone in its screen infancy. The mid-1930’s are exactly revered for its Horror output; but Love suffered a great deal of criticisms more for when it was released – out of synch culturally, out of step with global interests in entertainment, etc. – than it rightly deserved. Actor Peter Lorre delivers an interesting leading performance, but the script – attributed to P.J. Wolfson and John L. Balderston – also shifts gears a bit too quickly in his descent into madness. Occasionally, the script feels so lost in transition that one might wonder if the screenwriters were commenting on their era more than they were the struggles of a brilliant yet flawed mind. When you propose a situation with this much to unpack, every development needs a bit more extrapolation: when that doesn’t happen, it’s easy for viewers to get lost along the way.
On the eve of her last show, actress Yvonne Orlac (played by Frances Drake) finds herself cornered by her biggest admirer: famed surgeon Dr. Gogol (Peter Lorre) admits to being the play’s biggest benefactor exclusively owed to his physical attraction to the woman. Shocked to learn that she’s been secretly married to pianist Stephen (Colin Clive) for over a year, he suddenly feels that the lady has made the fool of him and his affections, reducing him in front of her castmates to the role of a cuckold. After the show’s curtain call, the good doctor ravishes her with an unwanted, inappropriate kiss – a necessary reward for his investment to the troupe – and this moment demonstrates that – when it comes to Yvonne – he’s a broken psyche.
Later that evening, Steven is returning home from a concert via train only to find himself gravely wounded when it derails. Frantic, Yvonne rushes to the scene with the police where she’s aghast to see that her beloved’s hands – the source of their livelihood – have been crushed in the accident. At the hospital, the responding surgeon insists that they must be amputated; but Yvonne – knowing what a friend she has in Gogol – demands that her husband be transferred to his facility, believing that perhaps he has the genius sufficient to save Stephen’s hands. Indeed, the doctor privately concocts a scheme wherein he’ll secretly replace these mangled appendages with those of a recently executed murderer – Rollo (Edward Brophy) – who was also aboard the ill-fated train.
Under the influence of his broken mind, Gogol believes – albeit mistakenly – that his sparing Stephen such a consequential loss to his career will drive the grateful Yvonne out of that man’s arms into his, a development that never transpires. When this doesn’t happen, the screws in the man’s fractured brain are thematically only twisted further; and he hatches an even darker scheme to brainwash the pianist into believing that his new hands are actually haunted by the influence of the murderous Rollo. Since Stephen has suddenly developed a penchant for accurately throwing knives – the killer’s signature technique – the trip to Crazy Town isn’t as far-fetched as it would initially seem.
Suffice it to say, Love works on a fair degree of convolution. Watchers have to suspend their disbelief over whether or not such a trait as knife throwing could be passed on from person-to-person; but this is a small leap for those who enjoy Body Horror, of which Love certainly qualifies. (For those unaware, Body Horror involves the use or loss of control of one’s body as a central conceit; and it generally includes the transformation of the victim from an ordinary person into something monstrous.) Succinctly, Stephen isn’t the only one here undergoing a metamorphosis; viewers watch in delight (or dismay if not downright disgust) as Gogol, too, begins to come out of his prim, proper, and poised demeanor into something deliciously evil.
Later that evening, Steven is returning home from a concert via train only to find himself gravely wounded when it derails. Frantic, Yvonne rushes to the scene with the police where she’s aghast to see that her beloved’s hands – the source of their livelihood – have been crushed in the accident. At the hospital, the responding surgeon insists that they must be amputated; but Yvonne – knowing what a friend she has in Gogol – demands that her husband be transferred to his facility, believing that perhaps he has the genius sufficient to save Stephen’s hands. Indeed, the doctor privately concocts a scheme wherein he’ll secretly replace these mangled appendages with those of a recently executed murderer – Rollo (Edward Brophy) – who was also aboard the ill-fated train.
Under the influence of his broken mind, Gogol believes – albeit mistakenly – that his sparing Stephen such a consequential loss to his career will drive the grateful Yvonne out of that man’s arms into his, a development that never transpires. When this doesn’t happen, the screws in the man’s fractured brain are thematically only twisted further; and he hatches an even darker scheme to brainwash the pianist into believing that his new hands are actually haunted by the influence of the murderous Rollo. Since Stephen has suddenly developed a penchant for accurately throwing knives – the killer’s signature technique – the trip to Crazy Town isn’t as far-fetched as it would initially seem.
Suffice it to say, Love works on a fair degree of convolution. Watchers have to suspend their disbelief over whether or not such a trait as knife throwing could be passed on from person-to-person; but this is a small leap for those who enjoy Body Horror, of which Love certainly qualifies. (For those unaware, Body Horror involves the use or loss of control of one’s body as a central conceit; and it generally includes the transformation of the victim from an ordinary person into something monstrous.) Succinctly, Stephen isn’t the only one here undergoing a metamorphosis; viewers watch in delight (or dismay if not downright disgust) as Gogol, too, begins to come out of his prim, proper, and poised demeanor into something deliciously evil.
Just as Helen of Troy gets blamed with having a face that sent nations to war, Yvonne – or, at least, her beauty – serves as the catalyst to drive Stephen and Gogol to (in different ways) do what they do in pursuit of her affection. While Stephen’s is the vastly more acceptable portrayal of a man driven to do what he can to keep their union intact, it still taxes him psychologically. One might even conclude that it’s this undercurrent of sexual desire that manifests his dark side: clearly, the difficulty of coming to grips (pun intended) with the changes he’s undergoing has created untold stress. Gogol – in his duplicitous state – capitalizes on that emotional pain, and he rather easily pushes his competitor into his hysteria. Little does the doctor know that it will prove his very own undoing.
Where Love doesn’t quite work as well is in handling its assortment of subplots.
In order to demonstrate how driven he is to possess Yvonne, Gogol purchases the wax likeness of the actress on display in the theater lobby. Secreting it away into his private study, it becomes a visual clue to his obsession, one which only a few key players will know about and speak over rather conveniently when the need arises. One such person is Gogol’s housemaid, Françoise (May Beatty), a role played so downright vaudevillian it feels like it belongs in a different picture. In fact, the way she prattle about constantly – in a relatively low-brow state of attire – beggars the question of why Gogol would’ve hired such a nincompoop in the first place. Eventually, she’s bribed by a bottle of liquor, and barely even a swallow induces her to a state of double vision, an element which plays out in cringeworthy fashion in the latter half.
Additionally, audiences are introduced to an American reporter: Reagan (Ted Healy) has been dispatched to Europe to cover Rollo’s execution, an event that occurs apparently only moments after the villain survives the aforementioned train crash. While enjoying the foreign land, Reagan also takes it upon himself to try to recruit the world-renowned Gogol to pen feature commentaries for his newspaper, a plot point which essentially goes nowhere in the already fairly-heavily-involved premise. The perception is given that several months go by between Love’s start and finish; and yet there’s no plausible theory offered for why the reporter remains on the scene in France when – more likely – he would’ve been recalled by his editors given the state of the world at the time.
Still, Love’s greatest asset is in resting the lion’s share of its narrative weight on Lorre’s capable shoulders. What emerges under his interpretation is how fragile a learned man’s mind could be turned to villainy. Often quoting mythology and poetry, Gogol dresses impeccably, speaks eloquently, and plays the role of the man about town with great finesse. It’s in the picture’s smaller yet duskier moments that his monomaniacal nature springs to life; and we witness the good doctor completely incapacitated when a young child requiring surgery shows up on his operating table. Overcome with grief over the loss of Yvonne and now gripped with auditory hallucinations, he’s the shell of the man we saw earlier … but the cackling wacko – complete with one of the most macabre costumes of a beheaded man seemingly made whole again by science – slowly coming to life will be anything but silent in his relentless pursuit of love gone mad.
Where Love doesn’t quite work as well is in handling its assortment of subplots.
In order to demonstrate how driven he is to possess Yvonne, Gogol purchases the wax likeness of the actress on display in the theater lobby. Secreting it away into his private study, it becomes a visual clue to his obsession, one which only a few key players will know about and speak over rather conveniently when the need arises. One such person is Gogol’s housemaid, Françoise (May Beatty), a role played so downright vaudevillian it feels like it belongs in a different picture. In fact, the way she prattle about constantly – in a relatively low-brow state of attire – beggars the question of why Gogol would’ve hired such a nincompoop in the first place. Eventually, she’s bribed by a bottle of liquor, and barely even a swallow induces her to a state of double vision, an element which plays out in cringeworthy fashion in the latter half.
Additionally, audiences are introduced to an American reporter: Reagan (Ted Healy) has been dispatched to Europe to cover Rollo’s execution, an event that occurs apparently only moments after the villain survives the aforementioned train crash. While enjoying the foreign land, Reagan also takes it upon himself to try to recruit the world-renowned Gogol to pen feature commentaries for his newspaper, a plot point which essentially goes nowhere in the already fairly-heavily-involved premise. The perception is given that several months go by between Love’s start and finish; and yet there’s no plausible theory offered for why the reporter remains on the scene in France when – more likely – he would’ve been recalled by his editors given the state of the world at the time.
Still, Love’s greatest asset is in resting the lion’s share of its narrative weight on Lorre’s capable shoulders. What emerges under his interpretation is how fragile a learned man’s mind could be turned to villainy. Often quoting mythology and poetry, Gogol dresses impeccably, speaks eloquently, and plays the role of the man about town with great finesse. It’s in the picture’s smaller yet duskier moments that his monomaniacal nature springs to life; and we witness the good doctor completely incapacitated when a young child requiring surgery shows up on his operating table. Overcome with grief over the loss of Yvonne and now gripped with auditory hallucinations, he’s the shell of the man we saw earlier … but the cackling wacko – complete with one of the most macabre costumes of a beheaded man seemingly made whole again by science – slowly coming to life will be anything but silent in his relentless pursuit of love gone mad.
Mad Love (1935) was produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been handled by the fine folks at Warner Archive. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I can assure readers that this picture both looks and sounds pretty fabulous throughout: there are a few scenes with the usual grain – and one with a weird edit (which must go back to the source material) – but there’s nothing that impedes the entertainment value. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? All the disc boasts is an audio commentary from film historian Steve Haberman which – at times – sounds more like he’s reading from his book report than actually ‘commentating,’ but maybe that’s just me. It’s definitely informative, but it also has several silent passages wherein he’s clearly lost in thought or watching the picture.
Recommended.
Having finally seen a film I’ve read so much about, I’m thrilled to say that – most definitely – I found it as worthwhile an effort have so many have already proclaimed. Mad Love is a curious delight – one with flaws tied more to the era of its production than anything else – but that’s not to say its perfect. The humor with Gogol’s housekeeper never quite settles in and feels like it should’ve been sent to another flick; and there’s no sufficient explanation for why an American news reporter sent overseas to cover an execution remains embedded in France what I’m led to believe is months later. Furthermore, Orlac begins to question his own sanity a bit too easily; and the story covers so much ground – with subplots coming and going – that the pacing suffers in a few spots. But … behold Lorre! He gives a pretty impressive turn as the eventually unraveled physician, a man whose obviously learned mind betrays him. Yeah … maybe it happens a bit too easily … but there’s still a bit of wired lunacy that shows just what talent the actor controlled.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary copy of Mad Love (1935) – as part of their Blu-ray set of Hollywood Legends Of Horror Collection – 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
Recommended.
Having finally seen a film I’ve read so much about, I’m thrilled to say that – most definitely – I found it as worthwhile an effort have so many have already proclaimed. Mad Love is a curious delight – one with flaws tied more to the era of its production than anything else – but that’s not to say its perfect. The humor with Gogol’s housekeeper never quite settles in and feels like it should’ve been sent to another flick; and there’s no sufficient explanation for why an American news reporter sent overseas to cover an execution remains embedded in France what I’m led to believe is months later. Furthermore, Orlac begins to question his own sanity a bit too easily; and the story covers so much ground – with subplots coming and going – that the pacing suffers in a few spots. But … behold Lorre! He gives a pretty impressive turn as the eventually unraveled physician, a man whose obviously learned mind betrays him. Yeah … maybe it happens a bit too easily … but there’s still a bit of wired lunacy that shows just what talent the actor controlled.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary copy of Mad Love (1935) – as part of their Blu-ray set of Hollywood Legends Of Horror Collection – 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
RSS Feed