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Unearthing Universal Horrors
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Lon Chaney's Phantom of the Opera
Their grotesque visages remain as instantly recognizable as any cinematic figure. Matinee frights for successive generations, the movie monsters known collectively as Universal Horrors have subsequently become embedded in the pop culture landscape, graveyard ghouls lurking from cereal box covers. But even so, beneath each creature’s cartoonish façade beats an inherently macabre heart, a fact reinforced by the many times these monsters have been resurrected for new adaptations.
From the early 1920s through the mid 1950s, Universal Pictures unleashed a slate of horror films featuring a monstrous menagerie of vampires, werewolves, and reanimated corpses. Originating as cinematic features, even more exposure would come from late night television where the films were frequently aired by endearingly schlocky hosts. The immense popularity led to an explosion of likeness licensing on such kid-friendly items as model kits, comic books, and Halloween costumes. To this day the defining images of these creatures are, despite numerous alternate versions from other studios, those crafted at Universal.
With so many options in home entertainment, it’s never been easier to invite these original Universal Horrors into your household. Excepting the progressively silly sequels, many of the films still hold up surprisingly well. For starters I would suggest:
Phantom of the Opera (1925) – Of all his legendary work, Phantom of the Opera remains Lon Chaney’s most inspired performance. A far cry from the tragic romantic of later versions, Lon Chaney’s phantom is a crazed subterranean dweller who thinks nothing of murder as a means to promote his hapless ingénue (played by the gorgeous Mary Philbin). No explanation is given for this phantom’s righteous insanity and none is really needed. He is simply the malevolent presence skulking in the shadows of the Paris Opera House. The moment the phantom’s mask is removed remains a model of tension, just as the skeletal face beneath (created by Chaney himself) hasn’t lost its power to shock. Various DVD editions abound, but look for a restoration that includes the unforgettable (and essential) early Technicolor “Bal Masqué” sequence.
Dracula (1931) – Modeled after the popular stage play of the time (which was liberally adapted from Bram Stoker’s novel), Dracula succeeds primarily as a showcase for Bela Lugosi’s iconic performance. His relish of the role is evident from the moment he smilingly intones, in his thick Hungarian accent, “I bid you welcome” to Renfield, his unwitting victim. Just try to imagine another actor owning such lines as “I never drink…wine.” Lugosi might have been a limited performer, but this was one role custom suited to his unique strengths. Whenever Lugosi is not in a scene, in fact, the film comes to a crawl, largely due to Tod Browning’s uncharacteristically plodding direction (his work with Lon Chaney and in the cult classic Freaks is far more complimentary). A Spanish edition of the film, shot concurrently on the same set but with a different cast and crew, is more energetic but cannot overcome the lack of Lugosi.
Frankenstein (1931) – With the success of Dracula, Universal quickly sought out other literary horrors to bring to life, deciding (suitably enough) on Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein. Taking the basic premise and discarding the rest, the script focused on a misunderstood monster, a tragic consequence of one man’s hubris. And make no mistake, the Frankenstein monster is the victim. Although the role was originally considered for Lugosi, it was instead given to the largely unknown Boris Karloff due mostly to his intimidating physical features. Though Lugosi would long lament not accepting (or, depending upon the legend, being offered) the part, it’s hard to imagine anyone other than Karloff in the role. Makeup ace Jack Pierce designed the famous flat-top features of the creature while Karloff infused a remarkably strong sense of humanity. Just watch the scene of the creature, locked in the dungeon, stretching out his arms to feel the sunlight, and try to not feel sympathy for his plight. The monumental decision to make the creature a sympathetic being was utterly at odds with the standard treatment of monsters and established a compelling tone that was further supported by the distinctive visual panache of director James Whale.
The Mummy (1932) – Lifting storyline elements from Dracula and hiring that film’s cinematographer, Karl Freund as the director, Universal tackled the story of an ancient mummy awakened to search for the reincarnation of his ancient lover. Oh, and he’s prone to killing anyone in his path. Boasting another memorable lead from Boris Karloff, The Mummy is immediately differentiated from its many sequels in that the stereotypical “wrapped” mummy only appears in the opening scene. From that time onward, Karloff plays the role as an imposing, but seemingly human menace. Only as the story develops do the heroes learn the extent of the danger. Taken as a whole, The Mummy is one of the more solid of the early Universal Horrors. Freund’s direction moves the action at an engaging clip, the storyline is involving, and the cast (particularly Karloff) are solid in their roles.
The Invisible Man (1933) – In conversations on the Universal Horrors, The Invisible Man often goes (ahem) unseen. It’s a shame considering the outstanding quality of the film. Fresh off the success of Frankenstein, director James Whale created a fast-paced, delightfully wicked film about the nefarious deeds of a brilliant, but unscrupulous man who learns to turn himself invisible. Claude Rains, starring in the title role, gives one of his finest performances as a ruthless scientist becoming utterly deranged by his newfound power. Although we’re told his character was once a nice fellow, all we ever see are evil deeds. In fact, in terms of lives taken, The Invisible Man represents one of the most maniacal figures in the annals of Universal Horrors. And yet, Whale’s direction is absolutely buoyant, injecting moments of tremendous humor, as if reveling in mayhem. With great supporting work by Gloria Stuart (who would, decades later, play the elder Rose in 1997’s Titanic) and timeless special effects that will still have you wondering how they were achieved, The Invisible Man is an underrated classic of Universal Horror.
Bride of Frankenstein (1935) – Unlike most sequels, Bride of Frankenstein follows its predecessor’s storyline, but takes on an entirely new, more subversive tone. Once again in the director’s chair, James Whale used his influence to expound – and indirectly comment – upon the first film. Here the creature learns to speak and articulate emotions, eventually demanding of his creator a companion to make his existence slightly less cursed (a plot point taken from Shelley’s novel). Volumes have been written about the movie’s fascinating subtext (mostly touching upon religion and sexuality), but it’s the aching longing for companionship that gives the movie lasting poignancy. As the creature sagely observes, “Alone, bad. Friend, good.” Uncomfortable with where Whale was taking the series, Universal would soon revert to an increasingly violent depiction of the creature, leaving Bride as a fascinating anomaly.
The Wolf Man (1941) – Poor Lon Chaney Jr. Never more than an adequate actor, his shortcomings were all the more glaring in the unfair but inevitable comparison to his legendary father. Yet in The Wolf Man, Chaney’s everyman persona plays to his advantage, giving his performance an empathetic edge as a nice guy whose attempt to rescue a woman from a “wolf” attack results in a serious case of lycanthropy. One of the more engaging of the Universal Horrors, The Wolf Man even develops some heartfelt pathos as Chaney comes to understand his curse and his only means of being cured. With a prominent role for Claude Rains as the main character’s father and a bit part for Bela Lugosi as the initial werewolf, The Wolf Man has plenty of intriguing details to hold attention between the nocturnal cravings.
Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954) - By the mid 1950s Universal had long since abandoned any semblance of respectability in their horror films. After years of churning out sequels that increasingly removed dimensionality from their monsters, sacrificing storylines for a series of tedious monster battle royals, it looked like the end was near. And, in fact, it was. But not before one last film, 1954’s Creature from the Black Lagoon, restored a bit of luster. While a tired plot involving the vengeance of a reptilian “Gill-man” is typical B-movie fare, Creature transcends those origins with some lively direction from Jack Arnold, beautifully filmed underwater sequences, and a fantastically original creature design by a Disney animator named Milicent Patrick and brought to convincing life by Jack Kevan and Chris Mueller, Jr. Though originally filmed to cash-in on a prevailing 3-D craze, Creature has gone on to become something of a cult classic, and is largely considered the last of the great Universal Horrors.
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