The Invisible Man’s Revenge (1944) brought back Jon Hall as an
altogether heavier and more morally-challenged member of the Griffin family in a
restoration of the series’ horror plotting and imagery. This time Curt Siodmak’s
influence would no longer be felt on the writing, giving way to a journeyman
script by Bertram Millhauser who wrote for Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes film adventures.
Producer and director this time was Ford Beebe who at least had experience of
keeping a B-movie going at pace from helming serials such as Flash Gordon’s Trip to Mars (1938) and Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe (1939).
As it
unfolds, there are many satisfying callbacks to the first films in this sequel,
beginning with its relocation back to England. Hall’s Bob Griffin has no stated relationship
with his predecessors but has enough troubles in his back story to fit the family
tree. After stowing away aboard a ship docking in London, a tailor he buys new
clothes from finds a newspaper cutting revealing he escaped from a South
African mental hospital, killing three employees. This is only showing us the
tip of the iceberg.
Bob heads to
the lordly manor house of a prosperous couple who were his old business
partners in a diamond mine: Sir Jasper (Lester Matthews) and Lady Irene Herrick,
another memorable part of hidden furtive depths for Gale Sondergaard after The Cat and the Canary (1939). It
emerges that Bob is entitled to a half-share of the fortune they all made from
the mine. He was never able to collect his reward owing to a mysterious blow to
the head in the jungle that caused the next five years to be a blank before he
found himself institutionalised and broke out of the asylum. Hall deftly
switches from sympathetic lead to heavy villainy as he begins to suspect they
have deliberately cheated him:
“You’ll ruin
us!”
“Who cares!”
While Sir Jasper mouths regretful platitudes
about stock losses rendering them cash-poor, Sondergaard assures Bob that “You’ll
get all that’s coming to you”. We can never quite pin down the actress’s
evasive skill in seeming to demonstrate altruism whilst suggesting she’s
thinking something entirely different – a quality of value to her as a horror
genre player. “You see how one drink has affected his warped mind”, she wonders
to her husband as Bob keels over – leading us to ask what assistance Lady Irene
may have given to his symptoms. The news for Bob gets worse as the agreement he
has carried all these years is stolen by the Herricks and his groggy body is
kicked out of the house.
Another
welcome revisiting of the establishing Invisible
Man movies is in the reintroduction here of flavoursome cockney supporting
actor performances led by Leon Errol as Bob’s Good Samaritan in a flat cap Herbert
Higgins. Errol was well known for his comedy shorts at Columbia and RKO and
comedy work opposite Lupe Velez in the latter studio’s Mexican Spitfire film series. He provides light relief and
energetic bluster as an inveterate chiseller always looking for an angle. The legal
brief he comes up with to attempt blackmail of the Herricks falls flat, leaving
his survival instincts to blather his way out of any association as Bob flees.
This
connects us with the other notable character in the piece, that favourite horror
staple – the mad scientist. We are fortunate that it is allows us to see one of
John Carradine’s early outings in the genre (before his Count Dracula in 1944’s
House of Frankenstein and House of Dracula in 1945). Carradine had
begun in the industry working for Cecil B. DeMille as a set designer and then
voice actor across a number of the widescreen maestro’s epic projects before
becoming a mainstay of John Ford’s regular company in films such as The Grapes of Wrath (1940) that suited
his cadaverous gravity. His Dr Drury is part of the alumni of misunderstood
insane geniuses whose inventions would be feared if ever revealed. Upon
registering the shabby, wild Bob at his door he remarks: “You are a fugitive?”
with the starry eyes of enlightened self-interest.
Bob willingly
volunteers to become Drury’s first human test subject after seeing the effects
of his pioneering invisibility serum on the doctor’s menagerie of unseen dogs
and a parrot – imperceptibly wired by returning special effects supremo John P.
Fulton and his team. “I have outstripped the immortals of science. Now I am
immortal!” Drury crows, just in case you doubted his medical madman
credentials. Our anti-hero’s steely edge once more overcomes his decency though
when the operation is a success. Stay around to become a lecture circuit freak
for the doctor’s fame? No sir, he storms out on a re-tooled vengeance mission without
so much as a thank you, blithely disregarding the price he will pay for his new
super-power of never being rendered visible again.
In
threatening the Herricks again now with the benefit of being unseen, Hall echoes
the alternating extremes of vocal teasing and menace that the more refined
voices of Claude Rains and Vincent Price displayed so well. Whilst he doesn’t
have their gifts, he undeniably possesses a more masculine threat level when
roused than his predecessors. You wouldn’t want to mess with him even if you
could see him. Invisible, he’s a waking nightmare of barely-contained wrath for
a pair of nouveau-riche swindlers, albeit with some sketchy ideas on retribution.
No court is going to accept the scared Sir Jasper’s written confession of guilt
at floating knife-point.
Later we are
treated to a whole gallery of spirited, salt of the earth working-class folk in
an amusing pub scene where Bob and Herbert aim to con the locals out of five
quid in a darts match with the aid of a little supernatural arrow assistance.
The dart throws become increasingly outrageous, circling Herbert’s head before
hitting the bull and even appearing to be concertina-propelled to the awestruck
regulars.
The
light-heartedness soon palls when Bob spies Dr Drury restoring the visibility of
one of his dogs via a blood transfusion. He knocks out Drury and fatally uses
him as the means to duplicate the effect. From here, he bullies his way into
the Herrick household, masquerading as Martin Field to escape the authorities so
he can glower at their daughter Julie, once his fiancé and now about to marry
newshound Mark Foster (Alan Curtis). Once again, Hall displays a potent and
ugly command over the family now under his thumb. However, as his ogrish tyranny
strengthens, suddenly his appearance starts to fade, his greying, moustached
face resembling a ghostly Douglas Fairbanks. This is one of two bids by the
writer to give the audience more physical detail of Bob than the mostly
off-screen voicing of the previous actors (the second being the submerging of
his hand and face in a fish-tank to good and novel effect).
If the
director thought this facial recognition would earn Bob more sympathy from the
viewer, he is mistaken. For our protagonist, other people are no more than firewood
for his furnace. He thinks nothing of knocking Mark out to serve as another
transfusion victim before Leyland Hodgson’s Chief Constable Travers can save
him in the nick of time. Bob is killed by Drury’s dog and we are left with some
slightly dubious sermonising that condemns him simply as a crazed criminal
without motive: “Nature has a strange way of paying him back…in his own coin”.
While the plot machinations in The Invisible
Man’s Revenge fail to generate the same compassion for Bob’s situation as Rains
or Price in the central role (their homicidal swathes were underpinned by
vestiges of pain and humanity), the paying back of the Herricks for their
ill-gotten gains escapes any censure at all.
The unjust ‘crime
does pay’ denouement aside, there were two more (dis)appearances by the
character – in Abbott and Costello Meet
Frankenstein (1948) featuring Vincent Price’s distinctive voice reprising
the role, and then in 1951’s Abbott and
Costello Meet the Invisible Man with the part taken by Arthur Franz.
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