“You have an authority about you…like
a man who had suddenly found himself”
Four years
after the Halperin brothers made White Zombie,
they made what was conceived as a sequel but no equal in 1936’s Revolt of the Zombies, whose title
promises all the action and ghoulish thrills that the resulting film in no way
lives up to. Virtually free of any horror or interest and a contrived
transplanting of voodoo from the Haitian setting of its forerunner, what’s left
is a turgid vehicle of excruciating doomed romance, dull dialogue and laughably
poor production values, filmed in less than a month.
Like its
predecessor, Revolt was directed by
Victor Halperin and produced by his brother Edward. They collaborated on the workmanlike
script with Rollo Lloyd (unfinished when the shoot was supposed to begin that
January), so at least the blame for the dreadfully clichéd romantic scenes is
shared further. The opening is at least an
appetising premise: an on-screen Foreword conveying that the story is inspired
by the ‘scret archives of the fighting nations’ during World War One. - if the
unfolding film feels like a rushed Republic serial of forced sensationalism,
here is where it begins with an underscore to the text that sounds very
reminiscent of Flash Gordon.
We are
plunged straight into war-time intrigue on the Franco-Austrian border in which the
French colonial forces have caught a priest from whom they harness the occult
forces of zombification to create a ‘robot army’ of the Cambodian undead to
fight on the trenches. They are shown withstanding bullet hits impassively and
marching over their enemies to winning effect. Soon however, the army begins to
fear that such weaponisation of colonised slave labour could be used to
overthrow the superior white race. With the typical military mind-set of ‘If we’re
afraid to kill with it, then we’ll just kill it’, they decide to mount an
expedition to Cambodia’s Angkor to find and destroy the supernatural knowledge to
stop anyone else from using it. Meanwhile, the priest is murdered by the suave goatee-bearded
General Mazovia - musical theatre singer Roy D’Arcy - an expert on dead languages. His character may
be a rare case of a resumé bullet dodged by Bela Lugosi perhaps, although
unbeknownst to Lugosi he does appear in the film (his disembodied hypnotic eyes
from White Zombie are double-exposed
on-screen at key moments, possibly without permission).
From here, the
wheels come right off the transport as the rest of the movie eschews supernatural
combat or indeed a rollicking explorer yarn in favour of the drearily played love
triangle between explorers Armand Louque (Dean Jagger, slumming it before his
later Academy Award winner in 1949 for Twelve
O’Clock High), Robert Noland’s Clifford Grayson and Claire Duval (Dorothy
Stone). Duval is the flirtatious and dangerous nexus between the two men, using
Armand to make Clifford jealous by accepting his proposal of marriage, which
allows Stone to display a steely edge underneath her feminine wiles like that
of Mae Busch. Clifford is a selfish go-getter whose ruthlessness makes Armand
reflect on whether he could ever be so uncaring in pursuit of his aims…
Revolt barely even pretends to be the
exotic locations it represents. The Halperins sent a camera crew to Angkor to
film background shots; the copious use of it in back -projection is not only
evident in the explorers’ expository tent scene with Angkor Wat temple in the
background, but even more risibly in the sequence where Armand and a native wade
through water to the temple. This is laughably ‘achieved’ by pointless close-ups
of both actors statically loping side-to-side in front of a backdrop of receding
jungle river footage (in long-shot they are at least credibly moving along the sound-stage’s
water set).
The cast
plods further through the interminable foliage of thwarted love tripe while we long
for a somnambulistic shuffle or two if not a full-blown zombie attack – instead
of George Romero we get E.M. Forster. Armand gives up Claire on realising she
loved Clifford all along. This scene is directed using all the horrendous clichés
of old acting – the sing-song declamations of love that border more on operetta
than spoken dialogue, the turning away of one’s face from the other because…the
emotions are…unbearable (and they are for this audience member as well)
“I wish you all the happiness you deserve”
Armand mutters darkly as she goes, which to be fair at least stirs up a little affecting
moment from Jagger where in private he laugh-cries at what he is losing in
love, the combination of tears and self-realisation showing a glimmer of the
quality he had as an actor. This then becomes the spur for Armand to develop
that missing backbone and go rogue. He finds the secret rituals to gain power
over humans, beginning with his man-servant. Unfortunately, his employers don’t
take kindly to unauthorised missions and fire him. No matter, for now he’s morphing
from self-assertion to self-realising God complex, well on the way to becoming
exactly the type of megalomaniac people-puppeteer the expedition was designed to
prevent. Armand is forced into an uneasy alliance with General Mazovia, though
it’s unclear why as Armand’s arcane knowledge of voodoo surely trumps Mazovia
threats of personal sabotage.
It isn’t
until the very end of the film that we are finally rewarded with a brief moment
of action, and before that we must endure soap-opera dreariness surrounding
Clifford’s wedding to Claire. Armand heeds the advice of his friend Max
Macdonald (Carl Stockdale) in how he should bear this, whose gravity always
acts as his conscience. In real life, busy film actor Stockdale was involved in
a matter where a crisis of conscience was more rewardingly placed. He testified
in the famously scandalous murder case of film director William Desmond Taylor
in 1922 that he was with Charlotte Shelby the night that she is widely believed
to have killed Taylor. Stockdale was a close friend of her daughter Mary Miles
Minter (Taylor’s lover) and this may have prompted him to present a perjurative
alibi in her favour.
Back to the
plot and the far less intriguing on-screen shenanigans are compounded by more
artery-clogging sugary sentiment as Armand and the frankly fickle Claire
twitter like budgerigars about how he can win her love after all by renouncing
his new-found powers. Leaving aside the matter of whether it’s worth giving up
world dominating super-abilities for a woman who changes her choice of partner
like bed-linen, there is no time for anything except relinquishing his hold on
all the players – cringingly conveyed by a montage of actors blinking in sudden
wakefulness. The natives revolting is more palatable than the revolting
melodrama, and as they rise against the white explorers’ research station in an
all-too-brief siege of excitement, Armand sacrifices himself to their guns,
thus proving that a good actor in a bad movie never goes unpunished.
It only remains
for Stockdale to concuss the movie in attempting to raise the bar by misquoting
Prometheus from Longfellow’s 1875 poem The
Masque of Pandora: “Whom the Gods (would) destroy, they first make mad”.
A group who
were made mad by Revolt of the Zombies
(other than any ticket-buyers) was Amusement Securities Corporation, co-financier
of the earlier White Zombie. Their
amusement was unsecured by the mention of the word ‘zombie’ in the name, which
their contract allegedly gave them sole rights to for film titles. Jamie
Russell’s Book of the Dead refers to
a redistribution contract the company took out which meant that this unlawful
awful offspring arguably represented unfair competition. They filed suit
against the Halperins before its release and eventually won the case, being
awarded $11,500 and the brothers’ enforced removal of pollutant claims that Revolt was a sequel to White Zombie.
No comments:
Post a Comment