As part of
Bela Lugosi’s tragic slide downhill in career terms, 1946 only yielded one film
role for him, which was then not even released until a year later. Scared to Death (1947) was a lame and
very low-budget offering by an alliance of producers working under the banner
of Golden Gate Pictures. Its only redeeming value for Lugosi fans is that it
remains the only starring role he had in a colour picture. (According to IMDb,
his only other colour appearances were in a short film promoting war-time blood
donation and as the uncredited and unflatteringly named Hungarian Ambassador
Count Von Ratz in the 1930 operetta Viennese
Nights). The process used is optimistically named ‘Natural Color’ in the
credits – actually the widely used
two-strip Cinecolor format instead of the more costly Technicolor three-strip.
Cinecolor was in its heyday at the time, being used by the bigger studios as
well due to its speedy printing turnaround time and the fact that it could be
shot using existing black and white cameras. So helpful was the inventor
William Crespinel that he was given the lynchpin part of Rene at the movie’s
end.
In Gary D.
Rhodes and Bill Kaffenberger’s exhaustive and invaluable No Traveler Returns, they describe in some detail the inspiration
for the film: a lurid real-life Chicago murder trial in 1933 involving reputable
Dr Alice Wynekoop whose daughter-in-law Rheta was found dead on her home
operating table. Wynekoop claimed that her use of chloroform was
unintentionally fatal; however, to cover herself, she had shot the corpse with
a bullet to fit a botched burglary story. A trial revealed extra-marital
philandering on her son’s part, but the real smoking gun was the discovery that
the doctor had taken out a valuable life insurance policy on the deceased
woman.
The
following year theatre director Frank Orsino wrote a successful stage play
based on the case, Murder on the
Operating Table, which was then turned into the film (under the original
shooting title Accent on Horror)
scripted by Willian Abbott. The director was Christy Cabanne who, like Lugosi,
was on a downward trajectory from B-pictures such as The Mummy’s Hand (reviewed earlier) to even lower depths working
for Poverty Row outfits like PRC and Monogram.
Scared to Death unfolds as a series of flashbacks told
by the corpse of Laura Van Ee (Molly Lamont) as to how she ended up on the
mortuary slab - a novel device later used for the main character of dead writer
Joe Gillis opening the classic Sunset
Boulevard (1950). Here though the execution is laughably and annoyingly sabotaged
by a frequent return to her present day close-up, delivery of one bridging line
of her voice-over, and then the screen shimmering with spooky music to send us
back in time again. (Why not simply stay in the past and just overlap the linking
dialogue into the next scene?). Bad movie buffs will relish the byplay worthy
of Ed Wood between the wooden pathologist and his equally anaesthetised
colleague introducing the device:
“One hates
to perform an autopsy on a beautiful woman”
“You’ve no
other choice, doctor”
For this
movie, the scheming fictional version of Wynekoop is the reliable George Zucco
as Dr Joseph Van Ee, who cannot persuade Laura to divorce her son Ward (a stiff
Roland Varno). Fortunately, proceedings are enlivened by the flamboyant
entrance of Bela Lugosi, vivid enough in full opera-cloaked ham even without
the benefit of colour photography. He plays the famous magician Professor
Leonide accompanied by his little person sidekick Indigo (Angela Rossitto).
Although he stood at only two feet eleven inches, Rossitto’s career stretched
across six decades including 1932’s Freaks
and two previous turns as a Lugosi man-servant in the forgettable Spooks Run Wild (1941) and The Corpse Vanishes (1942) both reviewed
here.
Lugosi seems
to recognise that Scared to Death can’t
be taken seriously and declaims most of his lines with the heavy portentous
squint of a pantomime villain, at one point reciting a rhyming couplet of dark
intentions as if doing an aside to a theatre audience: “Laurette, Laurette I’ll
make a bet/ A man in green will get you yet”.
Virtually assisting him in this department is
Nat Pendleton as former detective nincompoop turned private security nincompoop
Bill Raymond looking for a juicy murder to get him back in with the force.
Pendleton was a wrestler before becoming an actor yet comes across more as an
ex-boxer with his thick-ear, broad comedy physique and vocal style. He’s an
amiable lunk and its easy to see why he was plugged into multiple sequels of
such series as the Dr Gillespie and Dr Kildare films as well as both of
Abbott and Costello’s Buck Privates comedies.
He is kept busy whilst scoping for a case to crack by pursuing Lilibeth (Gladys
Blake) the Van Ee’s streetwise housemaid.
The plot,
which bears little scrutiny, turns on Laura’s real background as Laurette, one
half of the married dance duo Rene and Laurette in occupied wartime Paris, thus
potentially enabling Ward to claim convenient dismissal of his marriage to her as
bigamous. Theirs got off to an ignominious start by him getting hitched to her
one night as a bet. What follows is very much a stage-bound chat-fest without
the benefit of any exteriors to lift the monotony. Sporadically Laura is
haunted by what is meant to be a green mask echoing her old dance partner’s
costume, yet in Cinecolor it looks more like a floating cameo from the Blue Man
Group. When she goes missing, Zucco’s reaction amusingly telegraphs his relief:
“Oh, how dreadful” he deadpans.
The energy
level is lifted somewhat by the involvement of newshound Terry Lee (Douglas
Fowley) and his airhead girlfriend Jane (Joyce Compton). Fowley later gained
recognition as the film director struggling to get a sound performance out of
his silent movie female lead in Singin’
in the Rain (1952). Here, his force of will grills everyone with the
directness of an investigative cop rather than a reporter – “I want the facts
and I want them now!” – begging the question as to why the houseful of suspects
don’t just tell him to buzz of and clean his typewriter since he has no actual
jurisdiction over them.
Eventually
Laura’s murky past catches up with her: she had cruelly shopped Rene to the
Nazis for one million Francs to get away from his overbearing behaviour, not
realising that he would (inexplicably) meet the Professor in a concentration
camp and hatch a plan to be avenged. Lilibeth, who appeared to be killed by the
mystery assailant, is revealed to actually be under a hypnotic spell. No such
happy ending befalls Laura: before Rene is finally unmasked he gets his revenge
by literally scaring her to death. This at least means that the film’s title is
accurate, even though the contents are a wasted opportunity to showcase one of
horror’s most beloved icons in colour.
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