Dr Fu Manchu has been a byword for the grand super-villain
since he first appeared in serialised novels by Sax Rohmer in 1912. It’s easy
to see why he captured the British public’s imagination - his Asian
inscrutability and genocidal hostility toward whites played perfectly into the
Edwardian era’s fear of the foreigner in all forms heading into World War One.
All manner of untrustworthy qualities and intentions could be attached to a
figure who is ‘not British’. Not being ‘one of us’ implies his morality is
already suspect. What would such a man be capable of if not gifted by birth to
become a well-bred gentleman in the most civilised country on earth? A land of sportsmanship and ‘playing the white
man’ with all the imaginary associations that entails? Would he not compensate
for his unfortunate cultural upbringing by embracing evil, particularly in a
far-off land whose practises we don’t know and are therefore presumed unspeakably
barbaric until we educate them correctly by colonisation? There’s gratitude. Good
lord, one could work oneself up into an imperial lather at the thought of such
lurking malevolence.
But seriously, Fu Manchu in his many forms such as cinema, TV
and comic books taps into just the same irresistible fictional demonization as
the Germans in historic war comics do even today, thrilling the schoolboy and
adult alike, but with added far eastern exoticism. Rohmer knew he was on to a
good thing when he created the character. Born as the very English Arthur Henry
Ward, he began his working life as a civil servant in Birmingham till he could
make a living as a writer, initially as a sketch-writer and biographer for
music-hall artists such as Little Tich. Eventually, he become a full-time
fiction author under the mystical pseudonym of Sax Rohmer. His main
inspirations were the fantastical Edgar Allen Poe and more notably Arthur Conan
Doyle, with whom he had much in common when it came to shaping and responding
to the success of his most famous literary creation.
The Fu Manchu plot formula centred around the clashes between
this Asiatic megalomaniac and the fine men of the British establishment, namely
Dr Petrie who narrated the stories a’ la Dr Watson and Denis Nayland-Smith of
the Secret Service, who rose to influence by way of Scotland Yard. As Conan
Doyle found with Sherlock Holmes, the association with such a singular creation
can be a grinding limitation and instead of similarly killing off his hero, Rohmer
simply stopped producing the series after three novels. After a gap of some
fourteen years, from 1917-1931, he revived the characters (with a knighted
Nayland-Smith) when the novels became lucrative movie translations starring
Warner Oland as the titular tyrant in the late 1920s.
The Mask of Fu Manchu was filmed in 1932 by William
Randolph Hearst’s Cosmopolitan Pictures studio, a smart example of business
synergy as he produced films that had mainly pre-existed as serialisations in
his own magazines (such as Cosmopolitan). This allowed him to publicise his
released movies in his magazines and gave studios with whom he had distribution
deals prized access to his vast fund of story properties - in the case of this
film it was M-G-M.
We are briskly walked into the plot of The Mask of Fu Manchu by an urgent meeting between Sir Denis (Lewis
Stone) and Egyptologist Sir Lionel Barton, played by Lawrence Grant, in which
the explorer is warned of the critical urgency of his bid to find the relics of
Genghis Khan. It seems the power-crazed Fu Manchu wants to get his hands on the
sword and mask as well, through which he will become the occult reincarnation
of the ancient warrior - and the white man will be slaughtered by a blood-bath
emanating from the East. This simply
isn’t cricket for the Foreign Office so whitey must get there first.
Stone would find lasting fame in Mickey Rooney’s long-running
Andy Hardy film series playing his father Judge James. Lawrence Grant went on
to appear in the horror films Werewolf of London (1935), as the Burgomaster in
Son of Frankenstein (1939) and in Spencer Tracy’s 1942 remake of Dr Jekyll and
Mr Hyde.
Barton’s mission is soon derailed though when he is
chloroformed by masked Chinese kidnappers and presented to Fu himself - Boris
Karloff. The Frankenstein star was on
loan to M-G-M whilst Universal were still awaiting a suitable in-house horror
role for him. However, this new film for their rival didn’t have a finished one
either. Karloff recalled: “It was a
shambles…For about a week before we got started I kept asking for a script. I
was met with roars of laughter at the idea that there was a script”. On the
first shooting day he sat patiently while make-up artist Cecil Holland made him
up as Fu, transforming him via a long thin moustache, reshaping his eyes and
ears, adding Asian eyepieces and long fingernails. It was an elaborate process
taking two and a half hours, and even after that the text problems still hadn’t
been resolved. He was landed with a dense four-page speech with no time to
prepare just before being made up, which I can vouch for as being hideously
unfair especially on your first day. After that had been percolating in his
mind, upon Holland finishing, he was then given a replacement script now
written in offensively pidgin English. This unsatisfactory treatment would be
par for the course during filming.
Fortunately, in the film all of Karloff’s final dialogue is
uttered in silky urbane tones of perfect English, all the more appropriate for
a hyphenate of earned doctorates from all the best universities. He actually appears
to savour his lines pleasingly, relishing the Bondian bad-guy hospitality with
edge: “See that he is quite comfortable –
for the present”, teasing Barton with a gratefully-received glass of
(actually salt) water and cackling at the cruel joke, the fiend. Even his
gorgeous, Western-looking daughter Fah Lo See (Myrna Loy) has her siren-like
charms undermined slyly upon her entrance by him: “My ugly and insignificant daughter”.
At least The Mask of Fu
Manchu’s director Charles Brabin (replacing the sacked Charles Vidor) had
money spent on detailed and convincing set design, beginning with the
intriguing opening to the tomb guarded by two ornate warrior demons. The
expedition party breaking it open consists of the distinguished Jean Hersholt
as the German Dr Berg, Barton's daughter Sheila (Karen Morley) her fiance Terry
Granville (Charles Starrett), and McLeod (David Torrence). Barton’s abduction
means time is even more precious. Berg wastes no time admiring the
beautifully-rendered design. “Mac, gimme
the axe”.
Mcleod is tragically given a weapon in reply that night when
a coolie zip-lines into his room while he’s guarding the treasure. He is fatally
stabbed while shooting the assassin. I must say a quick word about the lovers
who I’d rather had traded places with him. The ‘Yellow Peril’ alert activated
by the news of Barton’s kidnapping is certainly embodied by the over-ripe histrionics
of Morley. She is a perfect match for Starrett’s Terry, the lantern-jawed,
pith-helmeted hero explorer. Her unconvincing wails bounce off his stiff
granite determination like bullets twanging off a cliff-face. With their line
deliveries proving attention-drawing liabilities as performers, they are made
for each other.
After McLeod’s back-stabbing, Tense Terry sets his chin to
‘stun’ and secretly takes the sword and mask to Fu, hoping to exchange then for
Barton. Fu suavely claims Sir Lionel is merely his guest. Fu links the sword up
to a crackling Tesla coil to test the sword’s veracity, which is bad news for
Terry as it is fried to ashes. Our hero didn’t know that Nayland-Smith
(recently arrived) switched a phony scimitar with it. He is whipped mercilessly
under the perversely-thrilled gaze of Fah Lo See who is developing the hots for
his western integrity. She wants him as a plaything, which Daddy is only too
happy to oblige since it gives him the chance to perform surgery and inject
Terry with “Dragon’s blood, my own blood,
and the organs of different reptiles mixed with the magic brew of the scared
seven herbs”.
Terry is spaced-out when he returns to the expeditionary
camp, numbly pretending to his friends that Nayland-Smith wants the real relics
to be taken by him. Sheila’s feminine intuition spots that his acting has
suddenly become more naturalistic but they go along to see where he will lead
them.She
exposes the fallacy in Fah Lo See’s brainwashing, bringing Terry back to his stoic senses
by appealing to his deep-seated love for her.
This allows Karloff to grandly enjoy announcing even more tortures,
including the room of the Golden Peacock for her, and a fiendish sand-timer
controlled see-saw poised over a pit of crocodiles for Nayland-Smith. These
cliff-hanger threats fondly recall those fun Republic serials of the era, and
the climactic use of a million- volt ray-gun by our heroes is pure Dr Zarkhov.
The Mask of Fu Manchu made only a small profit upon
release. A later 1960s series of films starring Christopher Lee as Fu Manchu
fared better. Then again, the disastrous 1979 The
Fiendish Plot of Dr Fu Manchu placed a sad final cap on Peter Sellers’
incredible career.
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