“When a man of genius is denied his
love, he goes mad…”
In 1935, the
horror film continued its tentative cultivation of the literature of Edgar
Allen Poe with Universal’s The Raven.
The association with Poe’s densely atmospheric source material would later
flower into vibrant colour in the 1960s through Roger Corman’s collaborations
with Vincent Price, but in this period the writer’s poems and short stories
would be an inspirational springboard for Hollywood studios with little
attention paid to faithfulness to the source material. That said, in the case
of this film, the central character is a deviant in thrall to his perceived
idea of Poe the artist as a role model. The raven exists as a shorthand symbol
for death with a couple of extended quotes from the titular poem’s haunting
musicality at points to suggest looming mortality.
Directed by
Lew Landers from a script credited to David Boehm but laboured over by eight
writers, The Raven was a re-teaming
of three Universal ‘properties’ in the forms of the writer along with stars
Boris Karloff (given top billing here and by his now-trademark surname only)
and Bela Lugosi after they were combined in The
Black Cat (1934 – see my review dated 16/5). Though billed second and
accepting half the fee given to Karloff, the persistent rumours of jealous
hostility from Lugosi still seem not to be borne out by accounts from both
actors’ families in later interviews. Lugosi was still the subject of some 200
reported fan letters a day from the ladies, the Washington Post claiming he was
the reason also for a deluge of actresses wanting to play the female roles in
the film. He also joined with Karloff in recruiting new members to the
fledgling Screen Actors Guild. Karloff apparently was less than happy with the
script and Universal at this point, but was careful to be a thorough gentleman
with the cast and crew.
The parts
and the script make better use of the chemistry developed between the studio’s
men of horror in a spirited and fun vehicle for their talents, although
somewhat ruinously controversial for its relish of torture which seems to have
played into Britain’s temporary ban on horror films for a while afterwards.
Lugosi
channels his familiar aristocratic grandeur well as Dr Richard Vollin, a
celebrated surgeon tempted by an appeal to his ego to come out of retirement in
order to operate on Jean, the car-crash victim daughter of Judge Thatcher -
(Samuel S Hinds, notable player for Frank Capra as Peter Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life). Vollin is
introduced as a devotee of Poe straight away by virtue of a silhouette of the
symbolic bird, his talisman, as he intones part of the poem. Such is the renown
for Vollin’s Poe collection that a museum representative is prepared to pay
handsomely for it. “Death is my talisman
– the one indestructible force” he muses, an obsession frequently embodied
in the actor’s roles that will pervade the rest of the film.
Lugosi
becomes partner-in-crime with Karloff when his successful operation leads to an
all-consuming desire for Jean (Ex Miss America Irene Ware) thwarted by her
father. Jean is something of a tease, dancing a special Raven-themed
performance in the theatre to show her appreciation, yet seemingly blithe to the
flames of passion lit within Vollin while she has Lester Matthews as her bland
but loyal fiancé Jerry. When the judge visits Vollin to persuade him to stay
away from her, Vollin’s possessive ego seethes: “Send her to me. I warn you…” Karloff as San Quentin escapee Edmond
Bateman comes to Vollin for plastic surgery help with his ‘ugliness’, voicing
the theme of outward unsightly appearance manifesting inner evil much as how
Richard of Gloucester would justify his murderous swathe of ambition in Richard III. Here, Karloff earns our
immediate sympathy in a different way to Shakespeare’s villain with his
characteristic lugubrious sensitivity, an impressive quality even allowing for
Bateman’s criminal past as a bank robber who acetylene-torched a teller’s face -
“Sometimes you just can’t help…things
like that” he remarks furtively.
A great
dynamic is set off between Karloff and Lugosi, sparking off their natural
respective high and lower status against each other. Vollin tricks Bateman into
an operation that, instead of improving his looks, truly disfigures him with
facial scarring and a lop-sided mouth to his face’s screen left side, and what
looks like a left eye unsettlingly painted on to the eyelid by make-up master
Jack Pierce for a glassy, uneasy stare. Bateman is reduced to an impotent,
fist-shaking ’Urgghh’ that recalls his Frankenstein
monster’s heart-rending suffering. The Hungarian’s imperiousness dominates the
Englishman’s tall yet bowed meekness while both boil with suppressed feeling -
Vollin for revenge and entitlement to own Jean as his ‘Lenore’ (Jean as
imprinted version of the narrator’s beloved in the poem) and Karloff tormented
by the conflict between his conscience and fulfilling Vollin’s grisly plot.
Vollin sends
out party invites to Thatcher, Jean, Jerry and others on a pretext to bring
Jean to his home. Clearly, he has murder and Poe-influenced torture on his
mind, showing the appalled Bateman his impressive dungeon of sadistic devices influenced
by the writer including a bench with a swinging axe overhead (later indelibly
portrayed in Corman’s take on The Pit and
the Pendulum). Bateman’s disgust is
such that he traps Vollin on the bench but in vain; Vollin’s blackmail hangs
over him more portentously than the blade.
The scene is
set for what would be an ordinary third act re-run of The Old Dark House plotting were it not for the pace being nicely
ratcheted up by Vollin’s gadgetry extending to Jean’s room being built as a
giant descending elevator to his lair and a room with inward-closing walls.
Lugosi savours the forthcoming murder of them all (Thatcher strapped under the
pendulum axe) with a marvellous Cheshire Cat grin: “I like torture…” The principal cast of innocents are all placed in
Republic serial-style peril intercut with Bateman eventually succumbing to his
good nature to free them, earning a bullet from Vollin for his sabotage yet
with enough mortal energy left to dispatch Lugosi into his own pressing
engagement before they both die.
Whilst The Raven was filmed in only a little
more than two weeks, it holds up surprisingly well, principally due to Karloff
and Lugosi’s byplay. Inevitably, their chemistry as studio horror figureheads
was still to be exploited in future releases.
In 1963 Roger Corman would rework
The Raven idea as an unconnected comedy
casting Karloff again and having him share the film's dark humour with Peter Lorre and Vincent Price.
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