1932
was a banner year for pre-code horror films that distressed the
British film censors, with both Island of Lost Souls
and Tod Browning’s Freaks receiving lengthy
cinema bans. While trying to make sense of British censorship
of this period is a thankless task, it is pretty obvious why both
this film and Freaks would cause such consternation.
Both are hugely transgressive, confrontational and challenging
in a way that the more overtly supernatural horrors could never
be. And both are prime examples of what horror might have become
much sooner if not effectively emasculated by the production code
shortly after they were released.
Based on H.G. Wells’ Island of Dr Moreau
(there seems to be no explanation why the title was changed),
the film opens with shipwrecked Edward Parker (Richard Arlen)
being rescued by a freighter, only to be put ashore on an uncharted
island after a violent disagreement with the drunken captain.
On the island, he becomes the guest of Dr Moreau (Charles Laughton),
who at first is keen to get rid of him, but then has other plans.
Moreau, it turns out, has been creating human-animal hybrids by
genetic manipulation and vivisection (the details are naturally
vague) in his ‘House of Pain’, and introduces Parker
to his most successful experiment, the exotic ‘Panther Woman’
Lota (Kathleen Burke) in order to see if she is attracted to him.
But Lotar shows evidence of regression to her animal state, and
Moreau’s less successful experiments, led by The Sayer of
the Law (Bela Lugosi) and becoming
increasingly restless. Things come to a head when Parker’s
fiancée Ruth (Leila Hyams) arrives at the island with a
sea captain to rescue him, and Moreau orders the captain killed
– a direct violation of his own laws.
If you are more used to the sedate horrors of the 1930's and 1940s
(including director Erle C. Kenton’s own House of
Dracula and House of Frankenstein),
this will be quite a revelation. While suffering from some of
the crudeness of the era, it’s a remarkably fresh and gritty
film that still seems extraordinarily sadistic in parts: certainly,
the vivisection scene is one of the most visceral moments of pre-Sixties
horror.
The
hero and heroine are bland in the way that 1930s horror heroes
always were, of course, but especially so here as they are towered
over by three amazing performances. Laughton is brilliant as Moreau
– oily, creepy and yet oddly ill-at-ease with himself, his
dedication to scientific research is obscured by his prurience
and sadism, something revealed in sly glances and little smiles
rather than any dramatic barnstorming – proof that you can
be a larger-than-life villain without going over the top. Lugosi
is even more impressive, mostly because the excellence of his
performance is less expected. It’s notable that just a year
after Dracula, and his turning down the monster
role in Frankenstein because he thought a part
covered in make-up was beneath him, Lugosi’s career was
already in decline enough for him to appear in a small (though
important) supporting role here, unrecognisable beneath animal
make-up. How impressive then that he gives one of his best performances
– racked with pain and fury, he lets loose emotionally in
a way that is astonishing to see.
And then we have Burke (billed in the opening titles simply as
‘The Panther Woman’ – you could do things like
that back then). It’s easy to see why Parker could forget
his milksop fiancée and be seduced by her, given that she
is a remarkable exotic beauty who manages to seem both vulnerable
and animalistic at the same time. She doesn’t have much
to do, but when she is on screen, you won’t be looking at
anyone else.
Kenton directs with efficiency – it’s not a flashy
film, but there are some great shots courtesy of Karl Struss’
cinematography, and it moves at a fast pace, piling on the horrors
and the crimes against nature. The end result is one of the best
horror films of the decade, and one whose impact would not be
matched for years.
This new Blu-ray is as good as you could hope for a film this
old and this neglected, and includes a couple of documentary extras
with horror critic Jonathan Rigby and Laughton biographer Simon
Callow, plus the expectedly luxurious Masters of Cinema booklet.
1932
was a banner year for pre-code horror films that distressed the
British film censors, with both Island of Lost Souls
and Tod Browning’s Freaks receiving lengthy
cinema bans. While trying to make sense of British censorship
of this period is a thankless task, it is pretty obvious why both
this film and Freaks would cause such consternation.
Both are hugely transgressive, confrontational and challenging
in a way that the more overtly supernatural horrors could never
be. And both are prime examples of what horror might have become
much sooner if not effectively emasculated by the production code
shortly after they were released.
The
hero and heroine are bland in the way that 1930s horror heroes
always were, of course, but especially so here as they are towered
over by three amazing performances. Laughton is brilliant as Moreau
– oily, creepy and yet oddly ill-at-ease with himself, his
dedication to scientific research is obscured by his prurience
and sadism, something revealed in sly glances and little smiles
rather than any dramatic barnstorming – proof that you can
be a larger-than-life villain without going over the top. Lugosi
is even more impressive, mostly because the excellence of his
performance is less expected. It’s notable that just a year
after Dracula, and his turning down the monster
role in Frankenstein because he thought a part
covered in make-up was beneath him, Lugosi’s career was
already in decline enough for him to appear in a small (though
important) supporting role here, unrecognisable beneath animal
make-up. How impressive then that he gives one of his best performances
– racked with pain and fury, he lets loose emotionally in
a way that is astonishing to see.