It wasn’t
just Universal that unimaginatively mined the last dregs from their
once-lucrative horror tropes in 1945. Poverty Row studios such as Republic did
much the same, with at least an understandable lack of resources applied to
them. The Vampire’s Ghost was a
typical example; a bloodless and noticeably toothless double-bill programmer
whose content matched the lack of care shown in the title: a
(barely-qualifying) vampire with no reference to the spirit world and no need
either since he’s already undead!
The dull
story aims for an exotic setting by taking us to Africa “where the jungle is
dark and full of secrets”. The studio backlot village of Bakunda, with its
constant underscoring of jungle drums, is home to one such secret that is now
out in the open - the realisation of four local murders that panic the
plantation workers owned by Roy (Charles Gordon). All the bodies have dual neck
puncture wounds in common and there are whispers of vampirism in their midst.
Almost immediately we are introduced to the chief suspect, a sinister bar owner
named Fallon - “Gaelic for stranger” we are heavy-handedly informed. In case
this doesn’t raise enough suspicion, we see an unsettling supernatural power
emanate from him after the integrity of his card-gaming is questioned in a
scuffle. The thin, bulging-eyed Fallon disarms a knife-wielding sailor using a
penetrating stare that is more laughable than intimidating.
It’s a less
than creditable vehicle for classical Shakespearean stage actor John Abbott who
played Peter Althius in our previously-reviewed Cry of the Werewolf. In that same year, 1944, he had shown shrewder
judgement as the lead in the original stage version of the hit comedy Harvey (later memorably taken in the
1950 film by James Stewart). Abbott was convinced that the whimsical piece
would work much better if the imagined six-foot tall rabbit was unseen except
in his character’s mind. Playwright Mary Chase later agreed but only after
Abbott was replaced.
He does his
best in The Vampire’s Ghost to infuse
Fallon with some depth, befitting an undead soul caught between relishing his
power to convert the living and needing eternal release after 400 years of
restless virtual immortality. Sadly, in his white imperialist gentleman’s suit
he is more a bored ice-cream vendor than the Prince of Darkness, required to do
nothing more horrific than a couple of glowerings and twice be on the receiving
end of “a spear dipped in molten silver” which turns out not to be the best way
to finish him off anyway.
As Roy,
Gordon manfully struggles in vain to shake off Fallon’s occult influence over
him. The latter confides in him his deep desire to ultimately be freed, going
so far as to spill the spiritual beans by revealing that his body must be
consumed in fire and the resulting ashes scattered. Not that the enslaved Roy
can do anything about it. Nor can Grant Withers as the solid Father Gilchrist
who predictably argues Roy’s candidacy for religious salvation: “The place for
that help is the House of God”. Nor can club dancer Lisa (B-picture siren Adele
Mara) who teams up with grizzled sailor Barrett (Poverty Row western stalwart
Roy Barcroft) to get even with the cheating Fallon over the card table.
Director Lesley Selander, who would later helm four years of the TV series Lassie (1955-59), ensures a fatal
hounding of Barrett in retaliation, Fallon stalking him through the streets in
a cursory foot-chase seemingly inspired by the walking close-up shots of Lewton
and Tourneur’s films such as Cat People
(1942). The only moments of style in the film are Fallon’s looming shadow
falling upon Barrett pre-murder and a similar use of shadow-play in the climax.
For good
measure, Fallon possesses a slightly wooden Peggy Stewart as Roy’s lover Julie,
aiming for a partner to make his everlasting torment bearable. As of writing
this, Ms Stewart’s longevity is doing very nicely without paranormal assistance
in a screen career that recently entered her ninth decade. Fallon is finally
relieved of his ethereal burden just before putting the bite on Julie - the one
scene that at least has a vampire connection – by Roy confronting him with a
crucifix. The cinematography attributed to Robert Pittack and Bud Thackery
frames this nicely by casting the cross shadow upon his forehead, a vivid image
that rounds off a thoroughly average B-movie.
THE FROZEN GHOST (1945)
1945 was The middle
of 1945 was a disappointing time for ghost-hunters. After Republic’s May release
of The Vampire’s Ghost alluded to non-existent
phantoms, the fourth film in Universal’s Inner
Sanctum series two weeks later, The
Frozen Ghost, also contained zero spectral activity, being instead a
reference to the suspended animation undergone by victims on-screen and possibly
in the audience.
The Frozen Ghost was another chance for Universal to
channel the luckless and tortured persona of Lon Chaney Jr into a scenario
still capitalising on his doomed breakout role of 1941’s The Wolf Man.
As with the previous entry, Dead Man’s Eyes, he is an innocent man convinced he is the unwitting
architect of murder around him. Alex Gregor is a celebrated stage hypnotist who
one night has to handle a belligerent drunk invited up during a live radio show
broadcast. “It’s all done with mirrors” the lush insists. Wishing the rude man
dead, Gregor finds that his power inadvertently just does that during the
trance state. Although his loyal manager George Keene (Milburn Stone) emphasises
the man was a terminal alcoholic, Gregor torments himself with guilt, the
default setting for a Chaney protagonist. Stone went onto appear as Doc Adams
across the entire twenty year run of TV’s Western show Gunsmoke and here gives a focused, slightly gangster-esque turn, a
manner borne out by later plot developments.
Evelyn
Ankers also works out her studio contract by being plugged in gamely as Gregor’s
stage assistant and fiancé Maura. She becomes part of a virtual love quartet encircling
Gregor when he’s supposed to be gaining recuperative relief as a lecturing
guest lodger at the wax museum run by Madame Monet (Tala Birell - Maxine in
1944’s The Monster Maker reviewed
earlier). Gregor doesn’t know that Monet is painting him into a corner with her
secret amorous self-interest. Meanwhile her niece Nina (Elena Verdugo) has a
harmless crush on this showbiz superstar, recalling the more damaging obsession
she had with Chaney’s Larry Talbot that caused destructive jealousy in House of Frankenstein (1944).
What meagre entertainment
there is belongs to Douglass Dumbrille and Martin Kosleck on opposite sides of
the law. Dumbrille’s distinguished demeanour graced a number of classic movies:
Marx Brothers fans will know him from his beleaguered suave villainy in A Day at the Races (1937) and The Big Store (1941). Here, director
Harold (The Mummy’s Tomb) Young
allows him to adjust his trademark cool smugness to fighting crime as intrepid
Inspector Brant, despite some ill-fitting slang accorded him by Bernard
Schubert and Luci Ward’s dialogue. He gives a nicely underplayed nuance to
lines like “You’re wrong Maura. I’m a very understanding man”.
As Hollywood’s
resident purveyor of Nazi evil, Kosleck cleaves closer to type as a memorable
ex-plastic surgeon turned sinister waxwork designer Rudi Polden. His
identification with Teutonic terror was such that Kosleck played Hitler’s Reich
Minister of Propaganda Joseph Goebbels in no less than five separate screen
incarnations during a movie career spanning over fifty years. No prizes for
guessing that his imperious, high-cheekboned presence and penchant for knife-throwing
mark him out as a co-conspirator of harm. Less obvious though hinted at in
performance is that Keene is his racketeering partner; together they schemed to
unbalance Gregor into madness and sanitarium committal by drugging Gregor’s ‘victims’
into the aforementioned suspended state – though it’s uncertain how they could
benefit from his presumed wealth.
Another
logic gap appears courtesy of Gregor when he gains enough clarity through his
self-flagellation to turn his very real hypnotic talent into making Maura vividly
recall Keene and Rudi’s implication in Madame Monet’s bungled death. How could
she remotely observe acts she wasn’t an actual witness to? Never mind; let us
assume Gregor isn’t the only half of this couple with a genuine paranormal ability,
and discard that howler as casually as Rudi’s accidental fall backwards into
the furnace he intended to burn Nina in. With a rare levity, Chaney gets to end
the film blithely telling Brant now that “It’s all done with mirrors”, although
The Frozen Ghost is a pretty poor
reflection of the actors available.
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