In 1932, director James Whale followed his huge success with Frankenstein by creating another
atmospheric chiller, continuing his collaborations with actors Boris Karloff
and Ernest Thesiger and other creative personnel from his previous films, as
well as introducing Charles Laughton to both the genre and American audiences
in his first Hollywood role.
What was to become a classic horror film staple plot actually
began as a faithful adaptation by Benn Levy of the esteemed J.B. Priestley’s
1927 novel Benighted concerning a
group of bedraggled tourists who take refuge in a spooky house terrorised by a
family keeping sinister secrets. The film retains the original novel’s
characters, its oppressive gothic atmosphere and the essence of post-World War
One angst embodied in Roger Penderel, a shell-shocked survivor of the
battlefield. In fact, there is a richly effective theme of gloom that hangs
over all of the players which they must fight valiantly to dispel in order to
ultimately come to terms with life by the following morning.
We open with Penderel, (double Oscar-winner and famous Garbo
co-star Melvyn Douglas), being chauffeured haphazardly through torrential rain
and mud by his beleaguered friends Philip and Margaret Waverton when they are
forced to seek shelter at a nearby house.
The Wavertons are Raymond Massey and Gloria Stuart, who
steered interesting careers for themselves in real-life. Massey was a Broadway star who would go on to
recreate cast-mate Karloff’s celebrated stage turn as Jonathan Brewster (a role
written for and in-jokingly referencing him) on screen when the former was
locked into still performing it on War Two for over 40 years, till her comeback
eventually resulted in becoming the oldest Academy Award nominee in history as
centenarian survivor Rose Dawson in James Cameron’s Titanic at the age of 87. (She died after reached her own century
in 2010).
The bedraggled friends are ‘greeted’ at the door by the
impassive, unsettling visage of Boris Karloff as the mute, scarred butler
Morgan. Billed for blunt brand-name exploitation simply as Karloff in posters, he
also suffered the indignity of a clumsy prologue card that feels the need to
explain he is the same marquee surname from Frankenstein.
Producer Carl Laemmle Jr then compounds the insensitivity by still not quoting
his first name, somewhat undermining the final compliment: “We explain this to settle all disputes in advance, even though such
disputes are a tribute to his great versatility”. (Surely the marketing team
could have negated any confusion and been a shade more respectful to the actor
by labelling him as ‘Boris ‘Frankenstein’ Karloff’?).
Regardless, Karloff generates an impressive air of brooding
menace without dialogue, gradually turning more zombified and threatening as we
learn more about the house occupants. We meet the curious brother and sister
act of Horace (Ernest Thesiger) and Rebecca Femm (Eva Moore). He is a nervous,
cadaverous host while his deaf, inhospitable sister glowers and barks with
irascible puritan disgust at the ‘godless’ family around her. Moore was a stage
actress and committed suffragette who, via her daughter Jill Esmond’s marriage
to Laurence Olivier, became his mother-in-law. Thesiger of course became part
of Whale’s film repertory company, soon to play Dr Pretorius in Bride of Frankenstein after working once
again with Karloff on The Ghoul.
Our worst fears about Morgan are confirmed by Horace when he
privately reveals to Massey that his servant is “an uncivilised brute” prone to dangerous rage when drunk.
Margaret’s response is an impressive sang-froid, more keen to remove her wet
clothes than letting the homicidal potential of the butler sink in. Rebecca takes her to a room to change where
she surveys the young lovely with suspiciously enthusiastic disapproval: “You revel in the joys of fleshly love,
don’t you?” she drools. Suddenly, a vigorous knocking at the door heralds
new guests to the impromptu party…
ENTER LAUGHTON
Charles Laughton, like Lon Chaney, only made a handful of
what might be classed as horror films in his enormously varied career gallery.
Both actors achieved renown in the same part, Quasimodo, in The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Laughton’s
1939 version is arguably the greatest interpretation to date. Despite their
other shared trait of great versatility, Laughton managed to escape the
misleading label of ‘horror actor’ that forever followed Chaney. This may be largely
due to Chaney’s tragic death in 1930 when sound was in its infancy. Much of his
huge output of silent films is lost, increasing the vividity of his brilliance
as Hugo’s endearing monster, as Eric, The
Phantom of The Opera and his dual roles in the still-missing London After Midnight. Laughton was
fortunate in only having moon-lighted from his esteemed stage work to dabble in
silent shorts written by H.G. Wells and British ‘quota-quickie’ features before
making an immediate and long-lasting impact in Hollywood just as the technology
for ‘talkies’ began to be viable. His good fortune in the profession
nonetheless connected him with a number of talents who became famous in horror
cinema.
Laughton was a Yorkshireman, born in Scarborough to hotelier
parents. He was schooled at the strict Jesuit college of Stonyhurst whose
regime instilled in him life-long feelings of Catholic guilt, which cannot have
made his emerging homosexuality any easier to bear in an already repressive
era. Being the eldest of three boys, Laughton was primed to take over the
family business of the grand Pavilion Hotel by training in London, arranged
through his notoriously upwardly mobile mother Eliza, at the very posh
Claridge’s. Charles gained his first sampling of the delights of the West End
theatre world, appreciating the work of actors such as Gerald Du Maurier and
other names whom he would meet as hotel guests.
The young man’s work experience was cut short though when he
signed up to fight in World War One. He eschewed the opportunity for the
officer’s rank that his social position would have allowed him, having no
appetite for a leading role in that sphere. He joined up as a lowly private and
fought until he was gassed in battle during the very last week of conflict. The
result was a lingering double legacy for life of throat problems and a new
sombreness that would never quite leave the formerly light-hearted boy. This dark
shadow was common to returning ex-soldiers, something J.B. Priestley would
allude to in The Old Dark House’s
source novel.
Laughton’s awakened appetite for the stage led him to amateur
roles with the Scarborough Players whilst running the family hotel. This
crystallised his burgeoning ambition for the actor’s life, so at the relatively
advanced age for a drama student of 24, he was auditioned successfully at RADA before
a panel including Claude Rains, thus establishing a meaningful professional
link with the eventual leading man of Universal’s The Invisible Man (directed by James Whale) and their 1943 remake
of The Phantom of the Opera. Laughton
was a focused, reclusive student, not wasting a second in learning from what
was only a one-year course back then. His character detail and inventiveness
was becoming extraordinary, moulding the plump clay of his physique and unprepossessing
face into memorable manifestations of his inner creativity.
Laughton’s work was getting noticed in student productions, even
in parts not wholly suited to him. He earned this prescient remark backstage
after Pygmalion by none other than
George Bernard Shaw: “You were perfectly
dreadful as Higgins, but I predict a brilliant career for you within a year”.
The renowned Shavian perceptiveness was bang on target.
Within that year, the ex-student was directed by the illustrious Theodore
Komisarjewsky in Gogol’s The Inspector
General opposite his recent tutor Claude Rains at London’s Barnes Theatre.
After acquitting himself well in two Chekhov plays, Laughton then made his West
End debut cameoing in Liliom at the
Duke of York’s with Ivor Novello who of course had been Hitchcock’s spooky The Lodger on screen in 1927. He was already
creating a hugely impressive start to his career. Indeed, in Simon Callow’s
excellent biography Charles Laughton: A
Difficult Actor, he notes that the year after graduating, in 1927, the actor
notched up “seven featured roles in seven
West End productions”. Crucially, this enabled him to bypass the lower
levels of cheap-jack repertory which can lead to bad habits in technique. He
was accustomed to working with the very best and would never sink to anything
less than fellow thoroughbreds from here onwards – an expectation that wasn’t
always the most understanding when dealing with others.
Despite such a busy schedule, it wasn’t all work with
Laughton. Whilst in the play Prohack,
he found mutual solace in a relationship with actress Elsa Lanchester with whom
he would share the rest of his life. She captivated him with her bohemian
sensibility and good humour as she would thrill audiences famously in 1935 as The Bride of Frankenstein under James
Whale’s direction. Whale made another horror connection with Laughton’s
prodigious work-load in the Grand Guignol A
Man With Red Hair, a frightening play detailing the bitter revenge of Laughton’s
character Crispin upon a world shunning him for his ugliness. Whale was a
sometime actor still at this point and played Laughton’s son. While it sounds
like a more psychotic version of his later Quasimodo, the adaptation of Hugh
Walpole’s text was by Benn Levy who would rework Priestley’s Benighted into The Old Dark House. A critic for Theatre World praised Laughton’s first scene with echoes of the
PTSD (called ‘shell-shock’ back then) that haunted the later Whale film: “His entrance is like the first whiff of
poison-gas we were once familiar with. A thing so evil and malignant that it
can paralyse one’s power to combat it by its apparent harmlessness...”
1931 was the dramatic turning point for Laughton in both his
professional and private life. The West End stage run of Payment Deferred was the hit that took the couple across the
Atlantic to New York exposure and from there to the offer of a Hollywood film
debut. However, before he and Elsa could take advantage of this, someone else’s
more sinister opportunism would have to be faced. During rehearsals in London,
Laughton’s secretly homosexual life had made him the victim of attempted
blackmail by one of his pick-ups. A policeman became involved in the incident and
an utterly ashamed Laughton was forced to confess his double life to Elsa. She
was shocked and felt betrayed by his deceit, yet after asking the truth about
the story, from then on, to her credit, never discussed his gay persuasion with
him again. They remained a steadfast couple – but with unspoken quicksand in
their marriage never to be entered into from that day.
Although Laughton would never reconcile his hidden demons, he
at least had plenty of public success from channelling his energies. When his Broadway
work led to a Hollywood contract, he seized the opportunity lustily, sensing
this was his medium from the beginning. The possibility for re-takes suited his
perfectionism and the care taken by each studio department allowed the highest
level of craftsmanship to be provided (and indulged for a demanding artist).
His first Hollywood role was supposed to be for Paramount in Benn Levy’s The Devil and the Deep, but when that
script proved unfinished, they loaned him to Universal where James Whale was now
ready to direct his old friend in The Old
Dark House…
Laughton’s entrance into Tinseltown via the eerie house of
the Femm family was a powerhouse one. Initially he dominates his first scene as
Sir William Porterhouse, bursting in as a hearty whirlwind of northern energy
with his young playmate Gladys Ducane (Lilian Bond). He chuckles and disarms,
using well the actor’s native Yorkshire accent and a matey, carousing unpretentiousness
to undercut the grandeur of his title. This reveals itself later to be
something of a bluff cover for a deep-seated legacy of bitterness under the
surface. Laughton expertly shifts the tone to a heart-felt confessional where
he recalls the painful spur of social snobbishness at his firm that drove his
wife to commit suicide and turned him into a vengeful possessed capitalist: “I swore I’d smash those fellers and their
wives who wouldn’t give my Lucy a kind word. Hah! And I ‘ave smashed them…at
least most of ‘em”.
After Penderel and Gladys become unconvincingly fast lovers,
Laughton surprises again by not converting his commanding energy into slighted
rage. Instead, he moves us by giving them a gentle, resigned blessing borne of a
mature understanding that he and the ex-chorus girl were only temporary
companions.
The guests’ soulful unburdenings are contrasted with Karloff’s
Morgan carrying out his warned-of alcoholic rampaging. He is genuinely
unnerving. As with Frankenstein’s monster, Morgan is more enigmatic and
frightening without dialogue. He is an unstable threat, coming after Margaret
and Philip all the more relentlessly for not being talked away. No exposition
or pre-amble, just the desire to kill them. Penderel is lucky to fend him off
on the stairs.
If you thought the two Femm hosts on display are kooky, wait
till you see the others hidden up that staircase. There is the 102 year-old father,
Sir Roderick, an appropriately-wizened old Catweazle, cleverly cast with actress
Elspeth Dudgeon who was billed as John Dudgeon. Whale was apparently unable to
find an old enough male for the part. (Happily, having a female play him has
the bonus of creating a convincing ‘childish treble’ in such an aged man’s
voice).
Possibly the most lethal ‘Femm fatale’ of all is held back
for the climax. Brember Wills is Saul, a bearded dissembling wack-job whose fondness
for pyromania is so dangerous that he is usually locked away, tended to by a strange
bond with Morgan. We are teased with a close-up of his hand before he appears.
He tries to engage Penderel in his hobby: “I
know things about flames that nobody else in the world knows!” After recounting
the biblical story of his name-sake’s attempted spearing of the young David, he
fails equally to pin Penderel with a flying knife and almost burns the house
down before he is neutralised, causing Karloff to break down in affecting tears
over his wounded body.
Whale directs the cast well, allowing each actor their
moments in the sun (or shadows) to create a memorable ensemble and a spirited
addition to the familiar tropes of horror film lore. As we have explored,
Whale, Karloff, Massey and Laughton would all continue to forge memorable work
in the genre…
No comments:
Post a Comment