In 1973, to cash in on the Blaxploitation horror
success of Blacula, writer/producer
Frank Saletri decided to do the same with the Frankenstein property.
Unfortunately, whereas the former had class, humour, production values, style
and money, this magnificently poor effort manages to get by on…none of them.Blackenstein aka Black Frankenstein) is irredeemably bad, made on an all-too evident
disastrously low budget and fails on almost every level. No wonder the poster
tries desperately to sell it on an incidental shot of an attractive and
cynically exploited victim’s reaction before she thankfully is removed from the
experience!
Dr Winifred Walker (Ivory Stone, a fitting Equity name
for this inflexible actor) is a former student of Dr Stein (John Hart) and goes
to see him to beg him to help her husband with possible pioneering limb
replacement surgery after he is rendered paraplegic in Vietnam. We find all
this out immediately as the abominable script has her pouring out a truck-load
of exposition to him in one unsubtle and direly expressed chunk. Actually, if
you think that’s unsubtle, listen to the resoundingly ominous music cue as she
waits in the hall. It signals all manner of fateful possibilities but is
completely out of any context with her waiting patiently for Stein’s
appearance. The score does this more than once, managing to draw attention to
itself in a gleefully clumsily manner later on for no plot reason.
Hart resembles a cross between Harold Gould’s Barney Miller and Dick Van Dyke in Diagnosis: Tedium but has none of their talent. He
has however developed a technique of saying all his dialogue with a
precisely-measured level of non-interest as though he’s running lines
off-camera. Hart was a former Western actor; his lazy delivery may have been
acceptable on the prairie but coupled with Stone, the oater and the non-emoter
have clearly more in common than medical training. They are a symphony of
somnambulance.
To enhance the shoddiness, director William A Levey
obviously wanted to include as many reference points to the old Universal
FRANKENSTEIN films as possible. The first is the lab assistant Malcolm
(Roosevelt Jackson) whose monotone recalls Igor- unless I’m being too
charitable and he’s simply crap. He conceals a burning desire (if you can tell)
for Dr Winifred under that white-coated exterior, and when rejected by the good
Doctor, hell hath no fury like a lab assistant scorned. Malcolm exits to
secretly transfer what looks like hair dye from one bottle to another – the
brute.
Come the operation, and we witness the entertainment
factor of script, actors and near-zero production budget trying to conceal a
total lack of any medical research. Stein talks about “My special DNA formula” (he supposedly won the Nobel Peace Prize
for Genetic DNA code work). He tells his protégé: “The fusion looks excellent, Winifred” as he rummages, hidden,
under Eddie’s sheet on the table - but they’re not fooling anyone. When they
can’t figure out why initially results aren’t more forthcoming, they confer: “The cell-match tests look alright”.
Stein ruminates on the matter, concurring: “All
the blood tests seems alright”.
Fortunately this blinding medical jargon is helped by
regular wide shots of the lab equipment, an homage credited to the original
Universal effects designer Kenneth Strickfadden. Sadly, the gear in this tawdry
tribute looks like a museum exhibit room with the various static-electricity
gizmos, tubes etc sparsely laid out, less than the sum of its parts. During the
procedure, as crackling bolts of energy fill the screen, we are treated to
numerous pans across the technical banks, in particular ‘Memory Data Register’
which will soon become as fondly familiar as those papier-mache rocks in Star Trek.
Soon Eddie, played by non-actor Joe De Sue, (for those
who might be impressed at how seamlessly he blends in with the rest of the
talent) develops the classic hallmarks of the Frankenstein monster on the
rampage: the flat head, the low groan and that outstretched arm sleepwalk. Why
do human monsters bother doing that by the way?. He also inexplicably had time to put on his own natty ‘70s clothes
before causing havoc – the ensemble includes a suit, roll-neck jumper and shiny
Chelsea boots rather than the asphalt-spreader boots worn by Karloff in the old
movies.
Now that he is suitably attired for a night on the
town, Eddie goes homicidal, starting with the male hospital orderly who abused
him in his recuperation there. In silhouette, he tears the man’s arm off behind
a ward curtain and storms off. In the neighbourhood he runs amok, gouging out a
woman’s entrails in her garden, and in a secluded spot when a young woman
refuses the advances of a creep even more sinister than our revived soldier,
Eddie kills her as well. Here the director attempts a Hitchcockian style
gesture, filming his dragging of her body with her fallen glasses artfully
placed in the foreground.
Meanwhile, back in the lab Dr Walker has tried to
figure out the medical reason for their experimental catastrophe. She’s not
above fiddling with bottles herself, staring meaningfully at one labelled
‘EDDIE – DNA’. Stein is taking this all very seriously (I guess) as he politely
requests: “Winifred, I’d like to see you in the laboratory please”. The music
builds in a sudden misplaced sweep like an epic high-point from Gone With the Wind and…nothing happens.
In a nightclub, a band-leader tells an extended lame gag about a dog, presumably to help flog this poor almost-dead horse to beyond eighty minutes. Outside, a smoking customer gives an eye-popping reaction on seeing Eddie that has to be seen to be disbelieved. This is when the poster-lady is dismissed by having her own entrails torn out and fondled externally. (Is this some kind of fetish with Eddie?).
Two cops appear at Stein’s place on the hunt for
information about three local murders. The white one looks like a dodgy,
pencil-moustached mafioso. The black Lieutenant, Jackson, seems normal until
you hear his bizarre witness interview technique later in the club:
“Settle down and tell me exactly what you saw”.
“I’ve told you once”.
“Well, give me a description of what you saw then”.
Perhaps this is his idea of a Popeye Doyle confusion
technique. Either way, after Eddie lamely attacks Stein back in the lab, and
Stein equally lamely fights him off, Eddie oddly takes a woman hostage instead
of killing her, and then kills her for trying to escape. The cops are in lukewarm pursuit but they
needn’t worry. Our reactivated veteran is savaged to death by two security
Dobermans. He is left with a pile of suspiciously butcher's sausage-like
entrails carefully piled into his chest cavity - an ignominious death to end a
similarly shameful movie.
Blackenstein is stupendously awful, its dial
firmly set to Plan 9 levels of comic
radiation.
I’ll leave it to Karloff’s infinitely superior monster
to sum up this tacky rip-off’s value from the end of Bride of Frankenstein:
“We belong dead”.
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