Island of Lost Souls (1932)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Island of Lost Souls (1932) – E. C. Kenton

I read H. G. Wells’ The Island of Doctor Moreau (1896) in my teens, although I barely remember it now. The film hones in on the horror in the story rather than on the more philosophical inclinations of the author (dealing with the theory of evolution, animal ethics, etc.) and, for this reason, Wells apparently was not a fan of the adaptation by screenwriters Waldemar Young and Philip Wylie.  Yet the film, as directed by Erle C. Kenton, is truly horrific – with no constraints placed by censors (the film is “pre-code”), a palpably decadent weirdness pervades the proceedings. Of course, there is an assortment of half-beast/half-human oddities (with excellent make-up) on the Island, created via sadistic experimentation by Doctor Moreau (played by Charles Laughton in a gleefully leering and cruel performance), that evokes not only dread and disgust but sympathy for their horrible plight. Shipwrecked Edward Parker (Richard Arlen) gradually discovers the evil goings-on and is shocked when he realises that Moreau has attempted to manipulate him into providing evidence for whether the half-beasts can procreate with humans (as well as speak/learn/and follow the Law). Lota, the Panther Woman (played by Kathleen Burke, who won a contest by Paramount to star in the film), is the target (and in true pre-code fashion, she is scantily clad and the target of the camera’s male gaze) and, despite his fiancée, Parker almost seems to give in. But when said fiancée actually arrives on the island to rescue him, with a sea captain in tow, Moreau tries to turn his beasts against them, causing them to violate his Law (no killing, no walking on all fours, etc.), and therefore also to realise that there is nothing stopping them from killing Moreau himself, which they do. (Spoiler). The film is all humid tropical jungle, shrouded in fog and silence (no musical soundtrack) save for the cry of the beasts in the House of Pain.  A strange artefact from another time and place.

Trouble in Paradise (1932)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Trouble in Paradise (1932) – E. Lubitsch

Sophisticated (but often naughty) comedy from Ernst Lubitsch (yes, with the Lubitsch touch).  Herbert Marshall and Miriam Hopkins are two thieves (con-persons?) who fall in love and team up to swindle perfume magnate Kay Francis.  Of course, there are complications when Francis falls in love with Marshall (and vice versa?).  Lubitsch populates the film with well-known character actors of the period:  Charlie Ruggles and Edward Everett Horton play other suitors for Francis and C. Aubrey Smith is the Chairman of the Board of Directors for Francis’s company.  How everyone’s plans ravel and unravel is simply delicious and I wouldn’t want to spoil it here.  The three leads (and everyone else) generally underplay, letting the script do the work. And, as always, Lubitsch leaves a lot of innuendo hanging in the air to tickle your adult fancy (enough innuendo so that the film was effectively banned when the Hays Code was enforced beginning in 1934).  Of course, we get the ending that we deserve…

Vampyr (1932)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Vampyr (1932) – C. T. Dreyer

Dreyer’s first sound film doesn’t contain jump scares and it isn’t as overtly spooky as Murnau’s earlier Nosferatu (1922) but it is quietly disorienting in its own special way.  For example, Dreyer (and cinematographer Rudolph Maté, later a noir director) don’t follow the usual rules of continuity, thereby making it difficult for viewers to get a proper layout of the houses where the action takes place.  The main protagonist, Allan Gray (played by “Julian West” a.k.a. Baron Nicholas De Gunzberg, the producer of the film), a student of the occult, stumbles throughout the film, turning corners and spying through windows into locations that contain some possibly supernatural things.  For example, the first part of the film shows us many disembodied shadows on the ground or wall, sometimes clearly divorced from their “human” counterparts.  But the real plot begins when an old man stumbles into Gray’s room and thrusts a package into his hands only to be opened upon his death – which of course soon happens.  The package contains a book on vampires, their habits and how to kill them.  But the vampire in question isn’t a suave Lugosi-type but rather a rather tame looking old woman who nevertheless has the local doctor under her control and has been sucking the blood from the daughter of the old man who died.  With the help of an elderly servant and the second daughter, Gray helps to eradicate the threat.  Although the German censors cut some of the most dramatic scenes (pounding the stake through the heart and the doctor’s horror as he is suffocated under pounds and pounds of flour in an old mill), these are available as extras now.  Perhaps not as potent as Dreyer’s other major works (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 1928; Day of Wrath, 1943; Ordet, 1955; and Gertrud, 1964 – all highly recommended), this is still worth a look for its strangeness alone.

Freaks (1932)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Freaks (1932) – T. Browning

Real sideshow circus performers took roles in this fiction film which treads a fine line between exploitation and destigmatization (if you can call it that). Certainly, the freaks are humanized by virtue of our seeing their behind-the-scenes daily existence (fictionalized though it may be). However, their revenge on the evil trapeze artist, warranted sure enough, does cast a pall over the chance to reduce stereotypes. An unbelievable look at an era gone by.

The Old Dark House (1932)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Old Dark House (1932) – J. Whale

Although its plot sounds like a cliche (a group of travelers are stranded at an old dark house due to a fierce storm), the goings on feel more realistic and for that reason can be genuinely scary. There is a messed up family in the house and the ominous sense of dread (and general weirded-outness) is captured well by Whale (1932).

I Was Born, But… (1932)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

I Was Born, But… (1932) – Y. Ozu

A most lyrical silent film from Ozu (but not really in his typical camera-rests-on-the-tatami style). We see things from a child’s eye view, although this is a tale for adults.  Two young brothers cope with the problems of moving to a new suburb in which they are bullied by a few bigger kids, find out that their father acts the fool to get ahead with the boss, go on a (brief) hunger strike, and eventually settle in and accept the way things are.  Ozu manages to evoke a heightened reality – more real than reality (with trains whizzing through the background with startling regularity) -- which is enough to make any silent film a classic.  However, he also takes time to comment on the injustice of social class relations – and the wisdom imparted from the mouths of babes is more telling than any didactic lesson otherwise taught.  A beautiful film from a time long past.  Ozu would steal ideas for his late period film, Ohayo (Good Morning) which is nevertheless really different.

I am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

I am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932) – M. Le Roy

The title says it all:  Paul Muni is wrongly convicted of a crime and sentenced to the chain gang, an incredibly brutal and unfair form of punishment, from which he subsequently escapes. Using skills he learned in the army during WWI, he builds himself a career as a civil engineer and rises to prominence – until he is betrayed (as is, of course, inevitable).  After a creaky start, director Mervyn Le Roy keeps things hopping along, laying out the clichés that would mark all future depictions of the chain gang, including musically.  Warner Brothers subsequently built their image on this kind of social problem picture, crusading against injustice, and was sued by the state of Georgia for the effort. A tough and gritty ‘30s prison flick.  

Horse Feathers (1932)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Horse Feathers (1932) -- N. McLeod

Groucho is the incoming president of Huxley College who is advised by "son" Zeppo that having a winning football team will turn his school's fortunes around.  He attempts to recruit two ringers at the local speakeasy (this is 1932) but instead recruits Chico and Harpo (natch).  Hilarity and musical interludes ensue.  However, to my mind, the chaos seems more controlled here than in, say, Duck Soup, or more accurately McLeod chooses to fade out on the action rather than let it progress to its illogical conclusion.  In fact, the bits are consistently relevant to the plot.  Nevertheless, an hour spent with the Marx Brothers is an hour free from cares.