Writer
Robert Louis Stephenson (1850 – 1894) had a fascination with the grisly
underbelly of his native Edinburgh that wasn’t just a prurient pleasure enjoyed
by a slumming well-to-do gentleman. It also inspired his darkest fictional
writing about the evils that men may do. The dissembling of a violent beast
behind the demeanour of seeming virtue in Strange
Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886) was influenced by Deacon William Brodie
(1741-1788), a respectable security expert who ran a double life exploiting his
skills to burgle the homes of the city gentry whose reputation he cultivated by
day.
A more
infamous case that was ideal fuel for Stephenson was the sensational true story
of William Burke and William Hare who, along with accomplices Helen M'Dougal
and Margaret Hare, carried out 16 grave-robbings during 1828 and sold them to
eminent surgeon Dr Robert Knox who constantly needed fresh corpses to dissect
with his students. The case exposed much that been hidden from the public including
the ethical problem of how to maintain viable ongoing medical research when the
only cavaders allowed were the limited supply gained legally from suicide,
prison death or orphaned or foundling corpses.
The temptation of a lucrative black market’s supply and demand easily
outweighed morality, especially if one argued the greater gain to society. Hare
cut a deal to inform on his cohorts in lieu of prosecution. Ironically for
Burke his conviction resulted in his own hanging and dissection and whose skeleton
to this day is displayed within Edinburgh Medical School’s Anatomical Museum. Stephenson’s
resulting short story The Body Snatcher
was printed in December 1884.
Unsurprisingly
a version of the Burke and Hare origin story eventually found its way onto the
silver screen; fortunately for horror fans the first notable film to use it was
produced by Val Lewton as part of his 1940s tenure at RKO Studios. As usual,
Lewton involved himself fully in the screenplay co-written with Philip
Macdonald who had experience conveying an unsettling Gothic sensibility for
Alfred Hitchcock’s Rebecca (1940).
Lewton chose Robert Wise to helm a third project for him, following up his
impressive directing debut rescuing the over-running Curse of the Cat People (1944) and the period war drama Mademoiselle Fifi later that year There
was no doubt though whose influence on the film was ultimately felt the most.
Once again The Body Snatcher bore the
stamp of a Val Lewton film that belied its title with much greater thematic
depth and artistry than a standard B-movie.
The talented
producer not only added literary lustre to the project, he also gave it a star in
need of a career polishing – however under somewhat strained circumstances. As
we saw in Arsenic and Old Lace, Boris
Karloff had come back to Hollywood refreshed from the show’s stage success yet
soon found himself set back again by the relative failure of 1944’s The Climax and then the crumbling façade
of Universal’s horror franchises with House
of Frankenstein (both reviewed here) – albeit with the latter providing a
very companionable shoot. It was during the Frankenstein
filming that Karloff was contacted by RKO with a view to working on their
horror films. An exciting prospect indeed but one that Lewton was actually resistant
to, being instead the brainchild of the studio’s new boss, former Universal
executive Jack G Gross.
Stephen
Jacobs’ biography quotes Robert Wise when he along with fellow director Mark
Robson and Lewton reluctantly first met the English actor: “-but when he turned
those eyes on us, and that velvety voice said ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen’, we
were his and never thought about anything else”. Karloff signed with RKO on May
the 18th 1944. It was to be the beginning of a happy partnership between star
and studio.
While Gross
revealed a coarseness of approach in what he wanted to see on screen, Lewton
soon discovered a kindred ally in Karloff, an artist who shared his refined
taste in horror aesthetics. As we’ve seen, Karloff had certainly suffered his
unfair share of movie roles catering to the lowest denominator of audience and
filmmaker. He appreciated that his new producer’s films “were based on the
principle of making the audience do most of the work, using hints and
suggestions which each spectator’s imagination could play round”.
Karloff’s
initial workload did not go according to plan. Isle of the Dead was to be his opening commitment, but agonising
back pain that had begun on The Climax
meant that he could only endure part of the scheduled shoot. Lewton was forced
to shut down production while the star went into hospital for spinal fusion and
a month’s recuperation. Thus The Body
Snatcher now had to precede it.
Despite
Lewton’s sensitivity and restraint with screenplays, the original script of The Body Snatcher was to contain such
graphic scenes of the grave-robbers’ handiwork that the Breen Office insisted
they be removed. (Even upon release, any mere mention of Burke and Hare was
trimmed from the British print and it was not until 1998 that UK video audiences
could finally see an uncut version).
In
constructing the movie and to better position their headlining actor, Lewton
and Macdonald gave greater prominence to Karloff’s role, the evil Cabman John
Gray than he had in Stephenson’s story. There, the essential plot revolved
around a cover-up of Gray’s murder by eminent Dr Macfarlane and his former
medical school colleague Fettes whom he pressurises into support with the
threat of revealing their sordid past paying for stolen corpses. For this
reimagining, The Body Snatcher would
stress Macfarlane more by having Gray as his malevolent supplier (a combined
Burke/Hare to his Dr Knox in effect). This creates a gripping high-stakes
dilemma of forced secrecy upon MacFarlane and a complex deep-seated relationship
between the two men.
The
production was on securer ground with its casting. To play the scheming
McFarlane RKO wisely cast Henry Daniell, a renowned go-to figure for a
particular type of British sneaky epicene villainy - so much so that
Christopher Guest’s preparation for his marvellous Count Rugen in The Princess Bride (1987) was to study
Daniell’s Lord Wolfingham from The Sea
Hawk (1940). By contrast, wholesome junior doctor Fettes is Russell Wade, a
Lewton company player whom you may recall was the fleeting near-saviour to the
ladies in The Leopard Man (1943),
then awarded a lead hero role befitting his innate decency persona in The Ghost Ship that year.
Although
Wade is a little stiff and over-earnest at times, he has a natural warmth and
bedside manner with crippled child Georgina Marsh (Sharyn Moffett) that is
crucial in establishing a major theme of the film. The difference between his
humanity and MacFarlane’s frosty professionalism that she is unresponsive to emphasizes
that medical treatment needs to more than just clinical knowledge for the
patient to respond. The doctor must have a feeling for healing as it were.
(Much later Fettes will sum up his mentor’s shortcoming: “But he couldn’t teach
me the poetry of medicine”).
Someone else
equipped with a kindly soul is Mary Gordon’s Mrs McBride, an early mourner
unaware of the post-mortem use made of her son. Gordon was best known as
housekeeper Mrs Hudson in the Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes films. Her buried boy also becomes a neat
opportunity for another ‘true’ Edinburgh character to be woven into the tale.
Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye Terrier who famously (if real) spent the last
fourteen years of his life till 1872 sitting atop the grave of his dead master
John Gray refusing to leave. Since Karloff’s part only shares the same name,
this was perhaps enough to connect the two – other than the scene where Gray
relieves Bobby’s duty with a fatal spade blow but fortunately for dog-lovers
this is off-camera.
It isn’t
only a legendary pooch that’s ignominiously snuffed out in The Body Snatcher. Horror fans seeing the poster expected another
Karloff-Lugosi team-up - it occurs but merely served to highlight the disparity
between the two friends’ respective statuses by then. While Karloff revels in
his lead part, blackmailing Daniell with lascivious glee and wicked grins,
Lugosi is merely spotted a couple of times eavesdropping on the periphery of
events as medical school janitor Joseph. When he and Karloff finally do cross
paths so Joseph can extort cash from him, Karloff gets to hog the scene,
leading Lugosi a merry jig of ghoulish seduction much to Joseph’s under-written
bemusement: “I don’t understand the song…” The only dignity really accorded
Lugosi is that his suffocation by Karloff is held for impact while the
combatants are artfully half-lit by Lewton’s house cinematographer Robert de
Grasse.
De Grasse’s
work on the film is imaginative enough to draw attention to itself in the best
way. Coupled with Terry Kellum and Bailey Fesler’s eerily effective sound
design, the murder of the Street Singer (Donna Lee) scene for example shows
what can be achieved with simplicity rather than banality. We hear the lonely
echo of Gray’s horses’ hooves underscoring her ditty as the camera watches his
carriage following her through the archway. The shot doesn’t take us any
further in, swallowing the arch in shadow. The take continues, leaving us
hanging helplessly – then suddenly her voice is cut off – no scream, just
abrupt silence. How easily a life may be extinguished anonymously in the big
city.
The most
interesting aspect of The Body Snatcher
is the bond that unites MacFarlane with his ever-present nemesis. While the
doctor is sickened by the ongoing need he has for Gray’s nocturnal excavations,
the latter gains a perverse strength from their relationship that he will never
give up. He cannot resist the constant taunting of ‘Toddy’ because without the
blackmail grip he has upon him Gray is just a lowly working cabman, and yet:
“As long as the great Dr MacFarlane jumps to my whistle I am a man”. He is
possessed of more than incriminating history though about the anatomist. That
piercing gaze of Karloff shrewdly penetrate his employer’s soul, echoing Fettes
when he says “There’s a lot of knowledge in those eyes – but no understanding”.
A sense of
inexorable doom shackles these two partners in crime together, a Gothic dread that
will suffocate them as much as their own victims. Rita Corday’s Mrs Marsh see
it with the second sight of the ancient Highlanders; her prophecy to Fettes drips
with nightmarish Gothic imagery: “The pit yawns for them”. Evocative period lines like this balance an
awkward faux-Scottish tendency throughout the script – variations on ‘Aye
lassie’ etc - that clang like shortbread tins out of the mouths of the firmly English
and American-accented cast.
Sure enough,
the foretold retribution comes to pass and with a startling resolution payoff thanks
to powerful direction and de Grasse’s stunning lighting. Cleaving to Stephenson’s
ending, MacFarlane takes over the body-snatching with Fettes as his unwilling
assistant and is horrified to discover that the female body they’ve dug up is
actually Gray. “Never get rid of me” his voice teases from beyond the grave. As
MacFarlane drives the carriage through lashing rain, Gray’s corpse then falls over
him just as a lightning flash hits; his body glows with almost supernatural
phosphorescence in a grotesque parody of a ghost haunting his ex-partner. No
wonder MacFarlane takes the low road – to a fatal crash. A pulse-pounding
conclusion to a well-told tale.
As such
fertile burial ground for horror, the grisly story of Burke and Hare’s
nocturnal enterprises has since been remade by director Freddie Francis as The Doctor and the Devils (1985) and by
John Landis with Burke and Hare (2010)
starring Simon Pegg and Andy Serkis.
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