April 1941
saw the release of Bela Lugosi’s first film in his infamous Monogram Nine, under
the title of Invisible Ghost, the
opening salvo in an extinguished burst of films made with producer Sam Katzmann
who in all fairness was something of a lifeline for Lugosi. The incoming gravy
train of the horror movie revival had engulfed him in smoke as it blew by. He
had assumed that with his competitor Boris Karloff heading to Broadway for the
great stage success of Arsenic and Old
Lace it would clear the way for him to take over, but it was not to be. Instead,
the younger new star Lon Chaney Jr was hoovering up all the great roles the
hungry Hungarian pursued, such as The Wolf
Man, leaving him no better off than before and forced to accept Poverty Row’s
mostly embarrassing offerings.
Invisible Ghost was directed by future film noir
B-movie helmer Joseph h. Lewis and written by husband and wife team Al and
Helen Martin. The result is at least a curio of minor interest in that Lugosi
is allowed to play for our sympathy as much on-screen here as off. He plays
Charles Kessler, a poignant soul still carrying a torch for his unfaithful wife
(Betty Compson) despite her disappearance after a car crash shared with another
lover. He has his butler Evans (Clarence Muse) set out a place for her at meal
times and talks to her portrait as though she will return with her infidelity
forgiven. At least one of the two men has retained all his faculties: Muse was one
of the few black actors allowed to play a horror movie domestic employee with impressive
dignity instead of saucer-eyed, dumb cowardice. His busy career included a ground-breaking
theatre stint with producer Robert Levy of the Lafayette Players who featured
him in a stage version of Dr Jekyll and
Mr Hyde, persuasively justified by him in the social context that “"…it
was every black man's story. Black men too have been split creatures inhabiting
one body."
Kessler exhibits
unwitting signs of split personality himself caused, it appears, by his wife.
He doesn’t know that she is not dead, but hidden away and cared for by his
gardener Jules (Ernie Adams) in case her brain damage is temporary and they can
be reunited. This appears an unlikely possibility as she is a haunted, confused
shell of her former self. Kessler’s undying loyalty would get even less joy from
their reunion if he understood that regular sightings of her wandering in his
garden send him into a supernatural and homicidal trance acted out on unfortunates
within his home.
Someone else who seems to be in an altered state is handsome romantic lead John McGuire who
doubles as Ralph, the fiancĂ© of Kessler’s daughter Virginia (Polly Ann Young),
and his mysterious twin brother – mysterious in that he is tepidly unconvincing
as the former and yet somehow more at ease entering as the grey-templed latter
(after Ralph is executed for one of Kessler’s somnambulistic slayings) – like a
PC that works better after a reboot. He also maintains an enigmatic air by
never saying his name, preferring to tell everyone “I’m Ralph Dickson’s brother”.
At least Lugosi has read the script enough to call him Paul later on for our
benefit.
Lugosi’s performance
largely gets by on a low-wattage, warm geniality through Invisible Ghost. This is often punctuated though by sabotaging scenes
where he is required to undergo his hypnotic murder state upon seeing his wife.
He grimaces mildly and then sleepwalks in a peculiarly stiff manner on the way
to dispatching his victims, one of whom, poor altruistic Jules, is oddly
strangled by a coat thrown over his head. (Asphyxiating someone with a thick
coat tourniquet can’t be an easy business even for a fully conscious killer).
No matter,
because fortunately for Kessler George Pembroke’s police Lieutenant Williams seems
to have been recruited from the Amateur Dramatic Precinct. As if hastily
costumed and shoved on set, (Monogram had reputedly only assembled the supporting
cast the day before filming commenced), he arrives with a playbook performance
almost fully embodied for him by a clichéd trench coat, fedora and a prop cigar
permanently slotted in his mouth - to run an ineffectual Agatha Christie-style drawing-room
interrogation. “There’s nothing less sentimental about a house where anything
could happen and usually does”, he helpfully informs Kessler.
Paul
attempts to show the professionals how to conduct searching interviews when he hilariously
indulges in criminal profiling with the psychiatrist as to who could be the
unknown assailant who keeps slaughtering people with gay abandon in the same (oddly
unconcerned) household:
“Is it possible
Doctor, for man to be normal, say for two or three months at a time, then go completely
insane for an hour or two?”
“Yes, quite
normal”.
Leaving
aside what constitutes normal and insane, amidst the film’s acting
eccentricities, there is also the unintentionally amusing camera placement that
keeps drawing attention to itself rather than blending into the piece. Director
Lewis had already gained the nickname ‘Wagon-wheel Joe’ for his odd choices,
and here he has a field day by repeatedly filming the library scenes with the
camera shooting from behind the fireplace’s flames, which gives us the strange,
unnecessary feeling of being voyeurs spying from a hazardous position. The
smothering of the maid Cecile (Terry Walker) who had been blackmailing Ralph is
filmed from her point-of-view in her bedroom, which affords us more
unflattering sights of Lugosi emoting awkwardly. Speaking of which, the morning
discovery of her body will certainly challenge the intrepid Lieutenant Costume
- Evans finds her dead with the radio on. The room was quiet when Kessler murdered
her, so who switched it on? Did Kessler tune in after Cecile dropped out?
Fans of
movie mistakes should look out for the ‘dead’ body of Detective Roy as he falls
from behind the curtain. Prodigious screen veteran Fred Kelsey even works hard
when he’s a corpse – as he topples over, his eye-line can’t resist switching to
the ground.
The most
uncomfortable reaction shot sadly is by Lugosi, saved for the climax when his
wife finally joins him in the same room. At the sight of his long-lost beloved he
blinks and raises his eyebrows as if shown a groovy card trick. “I’m dead,
Charles. Do you hear me? Dead”, she intones before proving that for good. Everyone
at last witnesses the real killer, Kessler, triggered into homicidal hypnosis.
There then follows a nutty sequence in which the cops track him down the
corridor till he suddenly turns and springs at Williams as though playing
Grandmother’s Footsteps. Once collared, it only remains for Kessler to take
solace from beyond the grave: “I knew you’d come back”, he coos to his wife’s
portrait. “Nothing can part us now, my darling”.
The same glorious
inexorability would await all horror devotees as Bela Lugosi explored the literal
depths of horror over the next few years…
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