SON OF FRANKENSTEIN

USA, 1939

 

The movie has all the ingredients, a monster, serial killer, spooky house, precocious child, Hollywood blonde, baffled servants, indignant locals, an almost mad scientist, and an assistant whose barber wants him to look like a werewolf. The artificial limb, though, steals the picture.  The prosthetic belongs to Inspector Krogh.   The problem with the artificial limb is that it sometimes rises of its own accord.   The artificial right hand that has to be pressed down by the left is covered by a black leather glove. The more alert will have guessed. Peter Sellers copied the idea for his performance in Dr Strangelove. In that film the artificial limb moved higher and faster than the one owned by Inspector Krogh. Sellers used the trick to identify his character as a closet Nazi. Peter Sellers was no slouch, especially when he is given an artificial limb to move up and down. Nothing in Dr Strangelove, though, equals the moment in Son Of Frankenstein when Inspector Krogh, for once, permits his right arm to rise automatically to its natural height.  With his right arm and hand in a fixed position Krogh uses his left hand to insert his monocle between the fingers on the artificial hand. While the monocle is gripped by the stiff mechanical fingers inside the black glove Krogh takes out a handkerchief with the left hand and cleans the monocle. Not everything in Son Of Frankenstein is successful but its best moments are inspired, and there are more than a few of these.  When the Creature attacks Krogh and pulls the prosthetic arm away from the body, it is icing on what is already a substantial cake.

Son Of Frankenstein was the third in the Universal trilogy. Basil Rathbone replaced Colin Clive as the obsessive scientist. Someone had to because Colin Clive, the actor who had played Frankenstein, had died two years earlier. Clive was thirty-seven years old. He had suffered from ravenous alcoholism and, unlike director James Whale, was not unabashed about his sexuality. After directing the first two Frankenstein movies from Universal, Whale wanted to move on to something other than horror. Rowland V Lee replaced Whale. Lee was a stalwart from the silent era, which meant he had a good visual eye but was less good with how words came out of the mouths of actors.   His discomfort with movies that talked explains some of the unevenness that is a feature of Son Of Frankenstein.   Basil Rathbone had the figure and capability of an athlete. The sword of Errol Flynn is victorious against Rathbone in the fencing tour de force that concludes The Adventures Of Robin Hood but only because Rathbone pretended to be the inferior swordsman. This was one sporting encounter against an Australian that the Englishman should have won. Rather than utilise the athleticism of Rathbone, the director Rowland V Lee preferred to keep the actors static during conversations. When delivered by actors obliged to be physically wooden, the not always smart exposition becomes stodgy. There are odd points where Rathbone is clearly frustrated by having to stay fixed to a spot that suits the cameraman. When Frankenstein loses his temper, Rathbone dashes across the room like someone who tastes freedom.

 

Lionel Atwill is okay as Inspector Krogh but give him a sentence and he cannot resist a pregnant pause. Well before the end of the film the pauses and hesitations become predictable. But his relish of the pause is why he is so effective in the moment with the monocle. Atwill was involved in a Hollywood sex scandal.   There was an investigation into a sex orgy at his home. Lionel Atwill married four times, and there were diversions. Perhaps that explains the weakness in his acting style.  Lionel was always obliged to seduce. Rathbone is different. He likes to look down his long nose and sneer. This is why he was so successful as Sherlock Holmes. The other actors are not memorable but they were well paid, and some of them would have had fun, either in the movie or in the home of Lionel Atwill. If the locals in the court scene do not convince, Rowland V Lee makes the scenes inside a very small courtroom interesting.   As in the silent classic by Carl Dreyer, The Passion Of Joan Of Arc, the close ups of intense faces ravaged by time add something credible.

Wyllis Cooper wrote the script. Cooper was a no-nonsense professional whose tongue preferred to be in one of his cheeks. Son Of Frankenstein makes references to the earlier films, and there is even indignation by Frankenstein that the name of his father is given to the scandalous Creature. When Frankenstein suggests that Krogh can help the villagers and give them a hand, the remark has to be a cynical in-house joke. Cooper created the horror radio series Lights Out. The popular tales were explicit, and the sound effects gruesome.  The title of the series may have inspired the classic vintage rock and roll record by Jerry Byrne. Wyllis Cooper and his prolonged success with Lights Out qualify as prototypes for Rod Serling and what he achieved later in The Twilight Zone. Wyllis Cooper had a feel for the formal manner that distinguishes the best of horror fiction. He did, though, let himself down. Dialogue phrases like ‘You don’t mean to say’ or ‘I’m curious to know’ sound like something produced by a writer listening to the sound of his typewriter. Cooper was prolific and competent but the cynicism and deadlines tempted him to be sloppy.  The plot of Son Of Frankenstein is missing a couple of scenes that could have helped.

Stumbles apart the plot provides a mystery to complement the usual vintage horror.   The script of Son Of Frankenstein may not be perfect but at least the aristocrats in the picture sound like cultured and educated characters rather than Hollywood actors. The libido of Lionel Atwill is underutilised but, like Rathbone, he was English. The presence of British performers is important to the success of Son Of Frankenstein. Outside the movies Basil Rathbone made distinguished recordings of the works of Edgar Allan Poe. Lugosi and Karloff have underwritten roles. Lugosi spends too much time looking out of windows.  Karloff lumbers around and grunts rather than speaks.

If opportunities are lost, credit has to be given to the change in style that is introduced by Rowland V Lee.   He jettisoned the art deco sets and camp manner that Whale had preferred in the previous movies.  Instead we have the dark shadows of German expressionism and the stylised surrealism seen in The Cabinet Of Dr Caligari. The countryside is observed from a train. ‘What a strange looking country?’ says Frankenstein. ‘Not much like America, is it?’ says his wife Elsa. The modern world and materialism have been abandoned for the gothic imagination. The Frankenstein mansion has both an asymmetrical exterior and bends away from the ground like something in a fairy tale. Inside the castle there are dramatic rooms.  When questioned by Krogh, Frankenstein plays darts. Instead of three he uses four, and the dartboard is attached to a beam that slopes at an angle. The detail is consequential, a reminder of the strange world both inside and outside the castle.

Much is duplicated. The two double beds ensure censorship is observed but the beds point in opposite directions. The maid observes, ‘If the house is filled with dread, place the beds head to head.’ The remark is haunting and suggests nightmare will prevent intimacy. The shadow of the wide staircase fills the adjacent wall so it exists in two places. Two balconies overlook the dining table.  The doubling applies also to the characters in the film. There are two servants, and the Creature and Ygor constitute the really strange couple that live in the laboratory.  Frankenstein doubles almost with everyone, his wife, the deceased father, his child, the superior and educated Inspector Krogh, and even the Creature. At one point Frankenstein and the Creature are obliged to stare at each other in the mirror. The inference is that Frankenstein is not a gifted singular genius and neither was his father. Frankenstein is a member of the human race and he has responsibilities beyond scientific curiosity.

Frankenstein may have meant well but neither the novel nor the movies are sympathetic to his efforts. His weakness is that he overestimates himself and underestimates others. He regards his own enquiries as sanctified but is irritated by the curiosity of the neighbours. His skill with science, which has also been facilitated by privilege, convinces him that his needs should prevail over the wishes of the less gifted and fortunate. Frankenstein is one of those people who have to learn the hard way about elitism. Before the Cambridge Analytica equivalent of Ygor went to the press the Facebook owner Mark Zuckerberg had billions of reasons why he thought he was really clever.  Something has come to life in the digital world and, like the Creature, it is not what Zuckerberg thought he had created. It appears that an impatient ambition capable of creating a fortune worth billions of dollars can also be glib about unforeseen consequences, in this instance the 57 billion friendships that provided raw data for the aspiring Frankensteins and Ygors at Cambridge Analytica.   There are 7.5 billion people living on the planet. Either 57 billion friendships means almost everybody or some people are really popular. Zuckerberg is not a charismatic man. It now appears that he is not even as clever as he thought.

Howard Jackson has had seven books published by Red Rattle Books including novels, short stories and collections of film criticism.   If you are interested in original horror and crime fiction and want information about the books of Howard Jackson and the other great titles at Red Rattle Books, click here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CŌ HAÛ GAÍ  (THE HOUSEMAID)

VIETNAM, 2016

 

Some clarification is required. This Vietnam movie is neither the South Korean 1960 masterpiece that shares the same English translation nor the 2010 remake of that film.  Cō Haû Gaí  appeared in 2016.  There may be much in it that is cheese and nonsense but the film is significant.  Cō Haû Gaí achieved commercial success beyond the average Vietnamese film.  The presence of Vietnamese-American director Derek Nguyen may have secured financial heft.  So far Cō Haû Gaí has been seen in 18 countries.   At a film festival in Los Angeles, Nhung Kate received a best actress award for her performance as Linh the housemaid.   Like all the other actors in the film, she has a persona that suits her role. Most of the time the actors convince but the acting is variable and when really tested it is lacking. For me the selection of Nhung Kate for an award is baffling. But good luck to the woman, and to be fair she is not always helped by the dialogue in Cō Haû Gaí.  Compromised performances and uneven dialogue can often be redeemed in a foreign movie by the distraction of the English subtitles. Written on a screen and a step removed from the performance because of the language the clinkers are not so obvious. This does not happen in Cō Haû Gaí .

But in an odd way the woodenness of the two lovers helps. Linh and Captain Sebastian Laurent think they are in love but their very different lives and histories prevent any real bonding or kinship. Neither lover convinces the other or us about their emotional dependency. The eroticism in Cō Haû Gaí is restrained and avoids the excess that marred the overpraised The Handmaiden but the sex between the Captain and the peasant girl from a village is important to what happens in the film. The only intimacy between these two people is physical. Their energetic lovemaking, which is seen briefly, provides relief for the couple rather than affection.  It is no coincidence that the intimacy is established by accident and begins with the human body.  After Sebastian is wounded by revolutionaries he has to be treated and bathed by Linh.  These initial scenes that hint at a never to be understood sexual fate make sense and promise something more serious than what follows.

The horror scenes in Cō Haû Gaí are imaginative but not a success. One moment, though, should make most people jump.   Of all the not so horrific moments it is the simplest that succeeds.  It occurs when the mayhem is subdued.  Too many of the horror scenes are infected with the thrill of the fairground ride. The car driven by an unseen ghost will make some people think of Herbie in The Love Bug.  Thankfully the final appearance of the ghost is a calm coda and nothing more than smoke in a bedroom. It is seen from a distance and at the end of the long drive to the haunted mansion. The shot adds lyricism and suggests human impotence.  Such poetry is far removed from the sudden cuts to blood being splashed on walls.   There is no need to witness actual decapitation, the actors have some rights, but it is about time that this visual cliché is dumped. The frequent, extravagant and carefully planted horror scenes may mitigate any suspense but they do have a virtue.   Unlike in many ghost stories we have a sense of how the supernatural is a permanent drain on the surrounding humans.

Not everything that happens within the film is a success but the denouement in Cō Haû Gaí is memorable. It combines rational explanation with ambiguous mystery about not just what has happened but the character of Linh.  The previous events as they are described in the denouement are not feasible but the tale is brought together in a logical way. The final scene between the two domestic servants is as chilling as any of the previous horror or madness. Not only does it confirm our suspicions about supernatural intervention it reveals how an ordinary and not awful human being can through economic and imperial exploitation acquire the indifference of the psychopathic.

Cō Haû Gaí may be a shameless celebration of 19^th Century gothic horror but there is, apart from the knowing references to famous Victorian tales, a political message that will be registered by everyone except the insensitive and the bigoted.  Political polemic does not dominate the film.  Most people will remember the visual images and the fairground horror.  The initial tracking shot begins at a beautiful lake, proceeds through splendid and fertile countryside and finishes inside a bedroom. It belongs with the best although nothing is the equal of the famous arrival at the football match in El Secreto De Sus Ojos. Like Deborah Kerr in The Innocents, Linh likes to carry a candle around the dark corridors of the haunted mansion.   And just in case we dismiss the candle as a coincidence the harrowing ghost is dressed in black and has a tendency to emerge from the middle of a lake.  There are other familiar and enjoyable moments.  The white dress that is given to Linh does not relate to the Wilkie Collins tale but its presence is a tribute. During their lovemaking Linh bites the lip of Sebastian and they exchange a drop of blood. For a brief instant the passion of the couple flirts with vampirism.  This is acceptable homage but having ghosts that resemble zombies is not.

The political message, though, is important and the main reason why Cō Haû Gaí benefits from being indulged.  The military colleagues of Sebastian are an unpleasant bunch of men that have an exaggerated sense of entitlement.   They have contempt for the natives and their grievances. The attempted rape of Linh by the officer bully is both believable and disturbing. Madeleine, the upper class fiancée of Sebastian, accuses Linh of being a whore.  A snatch of dialogue between the two women makes clear who is the real whore. Linh hopes for happiness with Sebastian.  Madeleine desires an affluent way of life.

In Cō Haû Gaí there are the victimisers and the victimised but there is no simple distinction between heroes and villains. The victimised also include the cruel.  Linh is a strong and determined woman and has just cause for her resentments but she is more than feminist polemic. Her plans require the help of a man. Both are equal and need the other. The same even-handedness is applied to the considerable villainy.  The two genders have their sadistic examples.  Cō Haû Gaí is an attempt to make an old-fashioned horror movie and recreate gothic thrills. If silliness is not that easy to avoid, it does not mean that the serious element can be ignored. It is not difficult to imagine a Vietnamese audience having fun in the cinema, yelling at the jump scares but later thinking about their history and the imperial interference and exploitation that caused  damage and suffering.

Cō Haû Gaí is way behind The Innocents in terms of quality but it is not alone in that. It also has something that the British masterpiece lacks.  Nhung Kate looks young enough to be a teenager.  In The Innocents, Deborah Kerr is at least mature and she is a governess who has management responsibilities.  The youth of Linh helps us understand the paradox at the heart of Cō Haû Gaí and the original tale by Henry James.  Both films are about a woman who has to complete a rite of passage. The irony is that this rite of passage will condemn both women to permanent adolescence.  This is not the only price of servitude but it exists and it affects more of us than we like to admit.

Of course, some manage to avoid servitude and yet remain in adolescence. In Britain as elsewhere there are such characters.  The tragedy is that many of them design the servitude for others.  It has something to do with expensive elitist schools subsidised by taxpayers.  Boris Johnson is a leading example.  Throughout his political career this gentleman has sneered at those he regards as his inferiors. There was no involvement of the UK Government in the invasion of Vietnam by the United States Military or so we are told.  Our own memories of imperialism are different from those of the Vietnamese.  For many Britons the various imperial adventures inspire shame rather than indignation. Characters like Boris Johnson are different. They thump their chests, ignore the slaughter and relish what they regard as triumphant conquest. This should explain why Johnson thought he could compare the Irish border to Borough boundaries in London and avoid dwelling on a tragic history inflicted by the ancestors of his schoolmates.  Some people are without shame, which is just as well, because by the time he and they are finished with Brexit there will be much for which they should be ashamed.

Howard Jackson has had seven books published by Red Rattle Books including novels, short stories and collections of film criticism.   If you are interested in original horror and crime fiction and want information about the books of Howard Jackson and the other great titles at Red Rattle Books, click here.