This creaky horror
pot-boiler echoing the silent The Cat and
the Canary (1927) suffers from stagey playing and some horrendous racism
for good measure. It was produced by Mayfair Pictures Corporation, a name that
conjures up all the sophistication that the film doesn’t, a Los Angeles mini
studio belonging to sound engineer Ralph M. Like who channelled his technical
crew salary and income from leasing out the studio space into forming the
production company. The Monster Walks
was part of an eleven film output Mayfair made between 1931-32, all usually
made to a format of being studio-bound and lasting roughly one hour.
Directed by
Frank Strayer, the plot is the familiar one of the young innocent heir to a
fortune, Ruth Earlton, who sleeps over in the family house and is thus targeted
by unknown plotters keen to take the inheritance for themselves by any means
necessary. In a stormy night prologue, her father is discovered dead by his
house-keeper Mrs Krug and her son ‘Hanns’. Mrs Krug is played by Martha Mattox
who was in the superior The Cat and the
Canary as Mammy Pleasant and here she is a dead-ringer for the frostily
devious Frau Blucher in Mel Brooks’ Young
Frankenstein. She has a habit of reciting portentous lines…portentously -
describing Mr Earlton’s death: ‘Yes’. (Pause.
Looks away meaningfully). ‘It was very sudden’. To be fair, as with the foul play of the plot
she’s not the only suspect accused of this crime. Russian-American Mischa Auer
as Hanns is a tall, eccentrically dark presence, the actor managing to distinguish
himself later in his career with an Academy Award nomination in 1938 for My Man Godfrey. We are shown none too
subtly that the pair are angling for some great reward from the will. Mrs Krug
quells his impatience: “Wait until the
will is read. We may be rich”. This functional splat of dialogue is typical
of Robert Ellis’s script.
Ruth Earlton
(Vera Reynolds) arrives with her fiancé Dr Ted Carver played by Rex Lease. Ruth
is terrified before she even sits down to hear the will, namely because her father
kept an intimidating animal companion called Yogi who freely roamed the house
during her childhood. Yogi is not a bear but a chimpanzee; the script valiantly
attempts to confuse us even more by referring to him as ‘an ape’. The excitable
Yogi, once a victim of Earlton’s mysterious experiments, is still around but
kept locked in a cage in the cellar due to being a shrieking, leaping bundle of
jealousy toward Ruth, we gather.
Reynolds and
Lease had worked their way up through silent films and do their best with the
material at hand as they slog through the thankless Scooby Doo machinations. After
the will gives Ruth sole inheritance of the fortune, the Krugs seethe on
hearing that Mrs Krug will only receive a $50 a month lifetime pension for her
devotion to the old man. In the event of Ruth’s death, the estate will go to
the kindly wheelchair-bound paraplegic Uncle Robert who is clearly a saint,
above grubby suspicion. As Ruth prepares for bed, a painting tilts to the side,
permitting a peephole for someone to spy upon her. The clock strikes midnight
and is snuffed out by a creeping hairy arm that proceeds to attack her through
the bed-head. Ruth puts two and two together to make ‘chimp’. Lease manfully
assumes the role of house detective and quizzes Hanns, who nixes the
possibility of rogue monkey business, assuring him that Yogi is firmly
incarcerated.
At this
point it’s worth mentioning that Strayer and company availed themselves of a
secret weapon in the cast – one that backfires terribly – in the form of
beleaguered black actor Willie Best. Although he appeared in over a hundred
films, (which is an achievement admittedly) he allowed himself to be billed for
a handful of them under his nickname of ‘Sleep N’Eat’. Like fellow actor Stepin
Fetchit, this manipulation would earn widespread criticism by minority
performers for pandering to ruinous stereotypes instead of advancement. What
made it worse was the atrociously racist characterisation he was saddled with
in films like The Monster Walks. He
is cast as Exodus, the wide-eyed, dim-bulb cowardly chauffeur to the young couple
who, rather than leading his people to a promised land, gets to supply such
choice expressions for whitey’s amusement as “Where the dead man at?” (and a famously appalling closing line we
will come to at the end). Suddenly Cleavon Little’s Sheriff Bart appears to be
documentary, not satire, in Mel Brooks’ other 1974 spoof gem Blazing Saddles, only there the black
actor can mercifully subvert the stereotype. For Best, he is forced to represent
it - in witless comic ‘relief’ ‘gibbering such as when he trips and thinks his
foot is caught in the monkey’s mouth rather than the polar-bear rug.
The plot
pushes its busted-wheel jalopy further along as Ruth switches bed places with
Mrs Krug unbeknownst to our clandestine connivers, earning the housekeeper a
fatal visit from the hairy hand of fate. The now-intrepid Doctor decides to
examine the avuncular Uncle subtly to be sure his paralysis is real without causing
offense. Ten minutes from the end, the murderers blow their own cover to the
audience when we discover it was Robert and Hanns colluding all along with the
unfortunate Mrs Krug for the dough – and that Hanns is Robert’s son by Mrs
Krug! He berates the heart-broken Hanns for killing the wrong person.
By now, the
solicitor Mr Wilkes (Sidney Bracey) and the Doctor are putting the pieces
together, although in Lease’s case his jigsaw assembly occasionally suffers
from inexplicable mental pause-button pressing: “There’s only one possible – solution” he concludes. Meanwhile
Hanns has Ruth tied to a post while he sadistically lashes Yogi through the
cage bars with a whip, presumably as there are no train-tracks near-by. Yogi
understandably doesn’t appreciate this attention, catches the whip and reels in
Hanns to eventually perform on him the very crime of which he was accused
earlier on. Uncle Robert is left alone to be apprehended, his motive
half-heartedly explained as the work of “an
exponent of the Darwinian theory”. (If it wasn’t for those meddling kids…)
Fortunately,
Darwinism at least meant this film died out into the public domain as not being
among the fittest to survive. Unfortunately, the final line has been preserved
in notorious posterity: Exodus surveys Yogi the vigilante chimp and remarks: “Ah had a gran’pappy that looked sump’n like
him – but he wasn’t as active”.
Those were
the days. How they must have laughed…all the way to the cross-burnings.
In Denis
Gifford’s marvellous book A Pictorial
History of Horror Movies, he firstly references a promotional tag-line for
the film: ‘Greater than ‘Frankenstein’
say the critics!’ This sounds plausible, if by that they meant it was a
mistake of creation even more poorly-conceived than the young scientist’s.
Moreover, Gifford uncovered that The
Monster Walks was also banned on its initial release: “blue-pencilled by the British Censor until he had introduced his
Horror Certificate”. Some things are better left alone…
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