While
Hollywood was making hybrid genre films during World War Two that mixed horror
with mystery and crime elements, Spain produced one of its own with the strange
and at times whimsical La Torre de los
Siete Jorobados (‘The Tower of the Seven Hunchbacks’ in 1944. The director
was Edgar Neville, a Spaniard but English on his father’s side, who began his
career in the arts in Madrid as part of ‘Generation of ‘27’, a radical loose
collection of Twenties avant-garde poets (including Federico Garcia Lorca) who
wanted to bridge the gap between traditional poetry and New Wave art movements
like Cubism and Surrealism before dissolving post-WWII.
Neville lived
in Hollywood through the 1930s, benefitting from their pursuit of European
audiences in the 1930s, a period where Spanish language versions of home-grown
hits were translated and re-shot by a night shift crew concurrently with the
English sets as they went along (e.g. Universal’s 1931 Dracula). He was MGM’s dialogue writer for their Spanish export
iterations.
After over a
decade of making his own documentary shorts and screenplays back home, Tower was to be Neville’s first feature
film and certainly bears the imprint of an experimental sensibility. It is not
a horror film and yet weaves some dark fantasy imagery into what is essentially
a 19th-century supernatural mystery story based on the 1920 Gothic
period novel by Emilio Carrere.
Antonio
Casal plays Basilio Beltrán, a timid, good-hearted chap whose looks if not his
poverty attract the ladies. One night, he enjoys the nightclub act of his
girlfriend ‘La Bella Medusa’ (Manolita Morán) who teases the punters with her song
about a hyper-superstitious girl. Basilio recklessly decides to gamble his last
chip on a roulette table since he can’t afford to treat his lady friend anyway
nor her greedy mother. Suddenly a spectral figure appears and transforms his luckless
life.
Félix de
Pomés makes a striking entrance as Dr Robinson de Mantua, a character of
macabre intrigue whose appearance could easily have graced an Expressionist
horror film. Dressed as if for the opera in cloak, top hat and cane, he sports
a splendidly menacing black monocle. Basilio is apparently the only one to see
him, which is fortuitous as the enigmatic spirit points his cane at a sequence
of roulette numbers gradually turning the young man’s famine to feast. De Pomés
would go on to transfer his commanding presence to a number of American
historical epics such as The Pride and
the Passion (1957) and King of Kings
in 1961.
Introducing
himself, Dr Mantua belies his initially disturbing arrival, complementing
Basilio on his remarkable psychic imagination, a rare gift that enables him to
see beings from the astral plane that no-one else can. He is no random ghostly
benefactor though; the doctor needs a man of Basilio’s open-minded goodness to
protect his daughter Inés (played by his possible real-life daughter Isabel de
Pomés). It emerges that Mantua was a renowned archaeologist rendered
ectoplasmic due to murder rather than the assumed suicide, and his niece may fall
victim to hovering evil forces involved with a mysterious tablet that refers to
‘the Tower of the Seven Hunchbacks’.
From here,
the story enters fanciful worlds that exists alongside and indeed under our
own. When Dr Mantua visits Basilio during a disturbed night’s sleep, he isn’t
alone as a visitor from the spirit realm. There is a fun surreal cameo from José
Franco who blithely wanders in as the spectre of Napoleon; he is used to regular
night summons especially when groups of five or more get together with an Ouija
board!
Basilio and
policeman Martinez find themselves drawn into a bizarre subterranean city built
by Jewish citizens of centuries past, a community that the sinister balding Dr
Sabatino (Guillermo Marín) and his hunchbacked cronies will do anything to keep
secret, even abducting Inés. Aside from the ornately-furnished moulded cave
walls that comprise the tunnel network, the set design team of Francisco
Escriñá, Pierre Schild and Antonio Simont realise a brilliant spiral staircase seen
twice in impressive master shots.
Basilio
manages to rescue the imprisoned Inés who at one point is hypnotised by
Sabatino into an attempted bedroom stabbing of him for which he is thankfully prepared.
It is the scenes within the secret lair that hold the viewer’s interest more
than the mystery on offer; a strange visionary kingdom of indeterminate scale and
such perverse attraction that Mantua’s dotty former associate Dr Zachariah (Antonio
Riquelme) stumbled upon it and opted never to surface again, esconcing himself
cosily within its library instead.
Once his
daughter is saved from the underground domain, Dr Mantua floats in to give his
blessing to Basilio and Inés, completing the otherworldly feel of the film with
an almost fairy-tale ending, leaving us to wonder if we may have dreamt the
whole thing…
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