Category Archives: 1940s

Henry V (1944)

*. While doing some background reading for these notes I was a bit surprised to hear this movie so often referred to as the first successful film adaptation of Shakespeare (successful meaning both popular and a decent interpretation of the play). Was this true? I thought Max Reinhardt’s 1935 A Midsummer Night’s Dream pretty good. It failed at the box office, but then Henry V didn’t do that well either.
*. Though even without box office it did have value as propaganda at the time, what with England about to invade (German occupied) France again. Shakespeare may be timeless, but this Henry V is also a movie of its moment. As such, it has taken on a kind of iconic value, along with whatever personal place it may have in the memories of fans. David Thomson: “maybe there is no gainsaying the version of Henry V you were born with. I am helplessly loyal to Olivier.”
*. I think this is true, as Kenneth Branagh’s version has the same sort of resonance for me. But there’s no denying Branagh was responding to Olivier, as I think nearly everyone has since.

*. I can’t think of other Shakespeare adaptations that have anything like the same look as this. At the time it must have seemed incredibly daring. The Technicolor was still something new (there was only one Technicolor camera in England), but most of all the production design, going from the costumes, elaborate models, sets, and painted backdrops to the green fields of Ireland, is something I can’t think of anything to compare to. It’s remarkable, and fits perfectly with the whole idea of the playhouse disappearing as we’re drawn into its world.
*. The art direction was by Paul Sheriff and he deserves a lot of credit. So much credit that I had to wonder how much to give to Olivier for directing. I think quite a bit. He hadn’t wanted to direct, but all his first choices (William Wyler, Carol Reed, Terence Young) turned him down and since he’d wanted complete control over the production anyway it only made sense that he’d direct. And would anyone else have been so daring? As Bruce Eder remarks on the Criterion commentary track, “no one else could or would have gotten away with making a movie that looked like this.”

*. The brashness, daring, and originality of a rookie? The obvious comparison is to Welles and Citizen Kane, and while I don’t think Olivier was a filmmaker on the same level as Welles, the fact that this was his first rodeo might have made doing his own thing a little easier. I made a similar remark with regard to Clive Barker and Hellraiser. I think there’s something to be said for the freedom an artist feels when they’re starting out.
*. In terms of the film’s conception, the drawing in and then drawing back out, I think it’s brilliant. That cavalry charge is such a fitting climax in terms of the camera finally cutting loose on its mile-plus racing dolly shot. But the long takes were probably less showing off (as they are with Welles) than the result of just working in a way that the cast was most comfortable with.

*. Something else that few other directors could have gotten away with is the job that’s done on the text. As in all of Olivier’s major Shakespeare productions, this is a heavily edited and re-arranged version of the play. Even the language is changed to make it more accessible (an elder-gun, for example, becomes a pop-gun, which is the same thing). Eder mentions that only half of the lines in the play were kept, and if you know the play well you can really feel the gaps. But it works, because Olivier knew what would work. And as I’ve said before, it’s not like a full-text Shakespeare would have been produced even in Shakespeare’s own day.
*. As an example of how the rearrangement and presentation can result in a wholly new interpretation, take the scene where the French leaders moan about the shame of their defeat and then pledge to go off into battle (“to the throng”) to try and salvage something from their disgrace. In the film this is followed by their immediately attacking the defenceless baggage train, and killing “the poys and the luggage.” The short scene where Henry commands the English to kill their prisoners is cut (as it usually is). Then when the nobles return the Dauphin is seen riding away. Not, I think, in cowardly retreat, but in disgust at what his compatriots have just done. It’s an interesting interpretation (the Dauphin is usually portrayed as a poltroon) and I’m not sure where it comes from, since it would probably be hard to do the scenes the same way on stage.

*. Eder points to how it’s a modern production that is both grounded in Shakespeare’s Globe and in medieval art (the sets and backdrop paintings are lifted from the Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry). It’s also, I think, grounded in different styles of filmmaking. At times it plays like the drama of the silents, with oversized gestures and lots of physical business. But then it becomes more subtle, quieter, and more naturalistic, to the point where Henry’s monologue before the battle is done entirely as a voiceover. Though even in the battle scenes there is a strong sense of stylized action, recalling Eisenstein’s Alexander Nevsky, among other sources.
*. I think if you want to know why Olivier is such a great actor you just have to watch his eyes. I’m honestly mystified at how he manages to project so much with them, while not changing his facial expression at all. His face may even be mostly covered up, as when Montjoy the herald arrives for his final parley. Those eyes make it perfectly clear that this is a man not to be pushed any further, and yet his expression is completely blank. How does he do this? Is there an art to it?
*. The supporting cast is great. Henry V has I think Shakespeare’s biggest role for a Chorus, and Leslie Banks (Zaroff in The Most Dangerous Game) handles it well. Robert Newton made a whole new career for himself with the broad comedy of Pistol. Renée Asherson as Princess Katherine is fittingly doll-like (Olivier had wanted his wife Vivien Leigh to play the part, but she was under contract). Photography by Robert Krasker that really paints with colour and light. A classic score by William Walton. It’s hard to think of anywhere they went wrong. They even won the war.

Black Angel (1946)

*. Basically Phantom Lady over again. Both films are based on Cornell Woolrich stories, though he was reportedly unhappy with how this one was adapted. Once again a married man is charged with murder, though this time he is suspected of killing a lover who had been blackmailing him. He is tried, found guilty, and sent to death row, effectively disappearing from the movie. His wife sets out to prove his innocence.
*. It’s not as good a movie as Phantom Lady. Director Roy William Neill was a prolific journeyman, probably best known for directing a pile of the Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes movies and Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, the first of Universal’s horror ensembles. He wasn’t an old man but this was his last movie as he died of a heart attack soon after finishing it. I think he does fine, but he’s no Robert Siodmak in the style department, and indeed doesn’t even try for much in that regard.
*. The cast is second tier. Dan Duryea and June Vincent are the leads and you’ll have to be a real fan of the period to recognize their names. Peter Lorre just shows up and tries to amuse himself by seeing how low he can dangle a cigarette from his lips while delivering his lines. There’s even one scene where he’s on the telephone and he hangs it up as he’s still talking to the guy on the other end. That’s just lazy and careless on everyone’s part.
*. The one thing that does stand out is the twist in the plot that comes at the end. That took me by surprise, even though I was puzzling throughout how they were going to make the romantic angles all square off, as they were getting mighty murky by the standards of Code Hollywood. Well, they don’t manage it very easily, as things take a turn for the wildly improbable in the final act. And I’m left wondering if Carver & Martin wouldn’t have been a better outcome. Wouldn’t they have been good for each other? She’s on her way to becoming a star and he’s kicked his drinking habit. As for hubby, when Vincent points to his photo and asks Duryea if he thinks that looks like a killer, don’t you want to say, “Yes!”
*. There’s a not uncommon flaw in mystery stories where they tease us with red herrings and misdirections that, in the finale, turn out to make more sense than the actual explanation that’s given. Black Angel may fall into this category. The ending we’re left with just doesn’t add up, though it does deserve some points for weirdness and mocking expectations.

Fallen Angel (1945)

*. Near the beginning of his DVD commentary on Fallen Angel, noir historian Eddie Muller talks about how, as Fox’s follow-up to the success of Laura, it is inevitably compared to that movie, usually to Fallen Angel‘s detriment.
*. The reasons for this are pretty obvious, as it literally was the follow-up to Laura, employing a lot of the same talent. Otto Preminger directing. Dana Andrews as the leading man. David Raksin doing the score. There’s even Dorothy Adams reappearing in a similar role.
*. Gene Tierney is missing though, her part split into two. In Laura we’re left unsure for a while as to whether Laura Hunt is on the level: good girl or femme fatale. In Fallen Angel there’s no such confusion. In the one corner we have America’s sweetheart (or at least one of America’s sweethearts) Alice Faye. This was supposed to be a kind of comeback film for her but it turned out to be her last starring role, after she felt that Zanuck was more interested in promoting co-star Linda Darnell and cutting Faye’s scenes. That may have been the case, but for reasons other than a temporary infatuation with Darnell, as the character of Stella, like most bad girls, is just more interesting than goody-two-shoes June, who lives with her sister and plays the church organ.
*. Sultry Darnell plays dark to Faye’s light. David Thomson says of her that “she exists imaginatively as the loose-living sister of Gene Tierney, a girl bruised by experience but still making up her lips till they bulge with prospects.” There are a lot of scenes in Fallen Angel where she’s bulging with prospects. That’s sort of her job, when she isn’t slinging the hash (“good and brown”) at Pop’s. She’s often cast in shadows while Faye is bathed in light, just in case you missed more obvious cues like raven vs. blonde locks.

*. The interesting thing about Fallen Angel is that Eric Stanton (Dana Andrews) is every bit as shadowy a character as Stella, if not darker. They deserve each other. He’s a heel, “a complete washout at 30,” a two-timing grifter and fraud, but not a murderer. He resembles Shelby Carpenter from Laura just a bit, morally compromised enough to be a target of suspicion, but in the end not all bad.
*. But in Laura Shelby gets second prize in the form of Judith Anderson, a woman who knows he’s worthless but who wants him anyway. In Fallen Angel there’s a more conventional romantic resolution, with Eric the bad boy presumably being redeemed by the love of a good woman. But just as it’s hard to imagine Laura Hunt settling down for long with McPherson, isn’t it hard seeing Eric staying with June? The one sign of hopefulness is the way that she’s driving away at the end. Might she not say that she knows Eric is worthless but she wants him anyway?

*. Also as in Laura there is a startling break in the middle of the movie as it swerves in another direction. Up to that point we’ve known Eric is a heel and we’re kind of rooting for the policeman (or ex-policeman) Judd to catch him out. But then we see Judd putting on the gloves to rough up a suspect in Stella’s murder and we wonder what’s going on. Our sympathies are forced back to Eric, as uncomfortable as that feels.
*. This sudden break took me by surprise and it’s one of the things that sets Fallen Angel a notch above the average noir. The other point I’d mention is Preminger’s direction. He’s known for the casual fluidity of his long takes but he really outdoes himself here. There’s one turn (literally) where he spins on a crane away from where June is taken away in a police car to where Eric is watching her across the street that made me sit up in amazement. That’s a terrific shot, and it’s just tossed off.
*. The story has its awkward moments, but some nice touches too, from the opening credits appearing on highway signs to Charles Bickford’s Judd wanting to finish his coffee while holding a gun on Eric. Overall it’s not a movie that makes it into the top rank of noirs, but it’s still worth tracking down even if you’re not a big fan of the period.

The Magnificent Ambersons (1942)

*. A great movie, but hard to talk about for a couple of reasons. In the first place there’s the mountain range of stuff that’s already been said, which is pretty much everything by now as it’s been picked apart frame by frame. And second because of its status as cinema’s great lost masterpiece, unlikely now to ever be reconstituted.
*. What we have is a bowdlerized fragment, slapped together after RKO panicked when it didn’t play well in Pomonoa and Welles was (stuck?) partying down in Brazil. Apparently the working print was 132 minutes, but Welles had already cut 22 minutes from that for the Pomona screening. Still more was then cut and the ending was entirely reshot (along with some other scenes), for a final running time of 88 minutes.
*. So it’s not the movie Welles made. One question then is how good that movie, which we don’t have, originally was. We can only speculate. Welles thought the final edits (directed by Robert Wise) were done with a lawnmower, and that before the cuts and reshoots it was a better film than Citizen Kane. I think that’s unlikely, but not impossible, which is rating what’s left very highly indeed since I was never one to argue with Citizen Kane‘s perch atop the list of greatest movies ever made (and I would certainly argue, strongly, against Vertigo knocking it off).

*. From what we can reconstruct of the (or an) original version I think it would have been terrific. In particular, the problem of the terrible ending of Tarkington’s novel had been mostly solved, taking the story in a “darker, harder dimension” (Welles) not in the novel. But the reshot version not only took away this ending but made its most egregious substitution in the final scene. More than that, however, there is the loss of any sense of rhythm, pace, or shape to the story, especially in the more mangled second half. The tragedy of the Ambersons is a slowly developing photograph, but that’s not how it plays here.
*. That said, it’s worth nothing that Robert Carringer (the authority on this subject) says that according to everyone he talked to who had seen it the film was unplayable in its original form. I’m not sure why. I also don’t understand the frequent line about how it wasn’t a film for the public taste during wartime (Pearl Harbor was attacked just as they were finishing up filming). Why not? This seems reductive reasoning.
*. I say the tragedy of the Ambersons more than just the story of George’s comeuppance. One of the great strengths of the story is how the tragedy is that of several families, all inextricably bound up in each other. George, Isabel, Eugene, Fanny, even the old Major. Aren’t they all tragic figures?
*. And aren’t the greatest tragedies about the destruction of a family, or families, more than that of a single tragic hero? I’d say that’s true from the Oresteia through Hamlet up to such famous American tragedies as Long Day’s Journey Into Night, Death of a Salesman, and The Glass Menagerie. A hero’s downfall may be unfortunate, but a whole family is a tragedy.
*. Saying it’s an ensemble tragedy also gets us away from talking about George. According to the DVD commentators on the Criterion release George is a big problem audiences have always had with the movie, due to his being so unlikeable. If I could, however, I’d like to say a few words in his defence.
*. Yes, Georgie is a snob and a mama’s boy, but that’s the way he was raised. Does he ruin his mother’s chance for a loving relationship with Eugene? Well, isn’t she a bit (or a lot) to blame for that? And why is Eugene so firm that George should have a profession? Why should he have a profession if he doesn’t need one, as he clearly doesn’t seem to. Meanwhile, the adults in his family are all pretty much stupid and useless. Aside from the Major none of them seem to be capable of doing anything, and they are the ones in the positions of most responsibility.

*. And is George such a snob, strictly speaking? He doesn’t disapprove of Eugene because of his social rank. After all, he wants to marry his daughter. He seems more upset about his mother loving anyone but himself.
*. I also think George is redeemed quite a bit at the end. He shows character in adversity. He even accepts responsibility for Fanny, which I didn’t see as necessary, and becomes “the most practical young man I ever met” in the eyes of someone who should have been one of those most looking forward to his comeuppance. Though clearly George isn’t that practical in his choice of profession. He’s never learned practicality.
*. On the same subject of how we see poor Georgie, isn’t it unfair that his Oedipal syndrome is played up so much when nothing much is said about Lucy as Electra? Yes, George throws a monkey wrench in his mother’s affair with Eugene, but Eugene has already exercised a veto on Lucy marrying George. So he can keep her all to himself? That’s not very nice.
*. Yes, I admire the facility Welles had with a long take. And it’s a shame that what he considered the best of them, the ball scene, was cut here. But there are other places where I found myself wondering why he wasn’t mixing shots up a bit more. Why bother playing the scene with George eating the shortcake with Fanny as a fixed-camera long take? It seems dull and inexpressive to me.
*. The photography, mostly by Stanley Cortez, is a marvel. I’d forgotten just how dark a movie this is. The number of shots where pools like ink or curtains of black velvet overwhelm the field is really noticeable. A few of the better known examples:

*. Of course this darkness has thematic content as well, representing the growing gloom that is overtaking the Amberson family, swallowing like that closing iris on the motor vehicle. Apparently the film’s final shot was going to be another shot of a vehicle riding off into the darkness as well. Another part of that “darker, harder dimension” Welles wanted to evoke.
*. It’s a critical commonplace that Ambersons was Welles’s own swan song, or Waterloo. I’ve never entirely understood why Hollywood had it in for Welles. Too young to have so much talent? But the movie biz has always loved its wunderkinder. Spielberg and Coppola weren’t hated. But something about Orson set them off. Talent is less tolerable than success.
*. There’s no denying it’s a movie that was wrecked through editing and reshooting. But still there’s something so suggestive in what remains, from the stills of lost footage to the scraps of drawings and script that were never shot. We all carry in our heads versions of movies we never really saw, memory doing its own editing job. The Ambersons Welles made will never be found, but what’s left is a magnificent ghost that’s been haunting me since the first time I saw it. Does the imagination dwell the most on a movie seen or a movie lost? It’s not a movie I go back and rewatch very often, but I think about it a lot.

Criss Cross (1949)

*. I was a bit surprised to find several essays by film scholars about Criss Cross when I did my usual dip into background reading for these notes. They pointed, without elaborating much, on its similarities to The Killers (same director, same star, same flashback narrative). They praised its stylishness and plot. They rated it very highly.
*. I say this was surprising because Criss Cross doesn’t strike me as a very enjoyable movie at all. The long flashback in the middle is very dull and doesn’t even do an adequate job of explaining how Scott (Burt Lancaster) wound up in this jam anyway. Was the heist his plan all along, or just something he came up with on the spot to explain a dalliance with his ex-wife Anna (Yvonne De Carlo), who is now married to the hood Slim Dundee (Dan Duryea)? Also: why did Scott and Anna break up in the first place if they’re both still so obsessed with each other? Also: how exactly were the two double-crosses supposed to work? Did Scott always plan to screw Slim over, or did he change his mind when Pop got shot? I couldn’t follow any of this.
*. I haven’t read the source novel but apparently the film was initially just supposed to be a heist picture and then a love triangle got grafted onto the story later (something Lancaster wasn’t happy with). I don’t know all the ins and outs but it does have that feel of something sort of put together on the fly, leading to the kind of unanswered questions I just mentioned.
*. Worse than the script however are the two leads. I like both Lancaster and De Carlo but they come across as robotic here, and don’t share much chemistry at all. Lancaster demonstrates range by stripping down to his wifebeater, again. The ending comes as quite a surprise, but that’s largely because De Carlo didn’t give me any idea of who Anna was. Even at the end I found her a cipher. I guess she was the femme fatale, a woman stronger than the crooks and saps she’s surrounded by. But maybe she really loved Scott. I don’t know.
*. The end is actually pretty good. The heist is explosive and is followed by a hospital scene that is wonderfully suspenseful, if improbable (did hospital rooms have dressers like that in the 1940s? was it so easy to check out?). And then there’s a final showdown that does not play out the way I was expecting at all.
*. So full credit for all that stuff. There are some really good things in Criss Cross, I think mainly courtesy of Robert Siodmak (who only gets carried away in one silly contortionist overhead shot). That said, the script is a mess of stiff dialogue (“verbose, redundant and imitative” in the judgment of a contemporary New York Times review), with voiceover from Lancaster that sounds like someone reading voiceover. As I’ve said, Burt’s really mailing it in here. I’ll do the same.

The Invisible Man’s Revenge (1944)

*. I mentioned in earlier notes how Claude Rains and Vincent Price were both one-and-done in their roles as the Invisible Man in The Invisible Man and The Invisible Man Returns respectively. Virginia Bruce was good in The Invisible Woman, but Universal only saw the distaff version as a novelty act. Which means that Jon Hall, who played the title role in Invisible Agent, is the first actor to return to the part.
*. But not, curiously enough, the same part. Hall is playing a different character here, though just to confuse things even more he has the same surname (Griffin) as the three previous Invisible Men. Actually, there is no plot continuity whatsoever between this movie and any of the previous films. The formula for invisibility has been independently discovered by John Carradine, whose doorstep Griffin just happens to find himself on one night.
*. I guess Jon Hall was a property Universal was trying to build up at the time. He gets his name in a big splash — “Universal Presents JON HALL in” — before the title screen. Vincent Price didn’t even get top billing in his movie.
*. H. G. Wells is also mentioned in the credits, as this story was apparently “suggested by” his novel. I doubt even that much was true.
*. Hall isn’t bad, but he has the blandness of the typical leading men of the time. He’s hard to distinguish from co-star Alan Curtis, with their matching moustaches, and has none of the personality of Rains or Price or even Bruce. There are less effects than before, and they’re less imaginative and ambitious. Contemporary critics complained of the lack of novelty. Note that there are two scenes where Griffin looks in a mirror while invisible (though wearing a shirt) and in both cases we don’t see his partial reflection. Given how complicated a shot this was to achieve in the first movie I’m not really surprised, but it gives you some idea of how they were scaling things back.
*. The main drawback here is the story. It’s far more complicated than it needs to be, to the point where I actually had trouble following it. Griffin has escaped from an asylum in South Africa after murdering some orderlies. He travels to England where he confronts an old friend with having left him for dead while exploring for a diamond mine. To be honest, I couldn’t figure out the levels of culpability here. Anyway, Griffin wants his share of the money from the diamond mine and when his old friend doesn’t want to pay up he gets Carradine to turn him invisible. Then he has a plan to get all the money and the friend’s daughter too.
*. I don’t see where the movie needed so much of this. Griffin’s obsession with the daughter is a particularly big stretch, as it just serves to introduce the traditional love triangle that Universal seems to have thought essential. As a result, the film only sort of wanders around for a bit before coming to an end.
*. A silly eulogy for Griffin. “He’s to be pitied, really. He probed too deeply in forbidden places. What a man earns, he gets. Nature has a strange way of paying him back in its own coin.” Maybe. But I have no sympathy for Carradine’s scientist after what he does to that magnificent Saint Bernard. He should have been left to burn.
*. This is widely, and I think correctly, viewed as the least of the original run of Invisible Man movies. Not completely without interest, but little better than the usual B-movie fare of the period, which wasn’t that good.

Invisible Agent (1942)

*. I’ve mentioned before how the figure of the Invisible Man is a blank slate that almost any type of character or genre can be written upon. That’s the case again here in the fourth instalment of the initial run of these movies. It has only a very loose connection to The Invisible Man, with the hero in this film being Griffin’s grandson, and has skipped over the plot of The Invisible Woman entirely. But then that latter movie was an outlier in a lot of ways.
*. We’ve also brought things up to date historically, so that Griffin is fighting Nazis. Everyone was fighting Nazis in 1942. Even England’s greatest detective had enlisted in Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror. So instead of being a villain the Invisible Man is now an action hero, parachuting into Germany to find out about German plans for a sneak attack on the U.S. Instead of the monocaine or duocaine, or whatever the secret formula for invisibility is, driving him insane, it only acts as a narcotic, causing him to fall asleep at various inopportune moments.
*. There are comic bits too, as the Nazis are not unlike the bumbling gangsters in the previous film. But there’s also a distinct strain of cruelty that’s new to the series. Griffin is threatened with having his fingers sliced off with a paper cutter. An old man has his fingers broken during an interrogation. Griffin is caught in a fishnet laced with some nasty-looking hooks. “Naturally,” a doctor says later, as he’s cutting the net from Griffin, “he’s lost a lot of blood.” “Oh, naturally,” Baron Ikito, who will go on to commit seppuku, insouciantly replies.
*. “I can’t tell you Japs apart,” our hero snarls. Not even when Ikito is being played by Peter Lorre? Did the Tojo glasses fool him? Or his proficiency with judo and karate?

*. I jest, because Lorre turning Japanese is even less convincing than Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, or Sean Connery in You Only Live Twice (where Bond was at least only supposed to be disguised as Japanese). That said, Lorre and Cedrick Hardwicke stand out here as the Japanese and German heavies respectively. A contemporary review in the Hollywood Reporter praised the film for presenting villains who were actually pretty smart, and this does add something to what is an otherwise predictable plot.
*. Ilona Massey as the love interest and Jon Hall as the invisible man (he’d be back in the next film in the series too). Effects again by John Fulton, with a few wrinkles thrown in with the usual repertoire of mysterious footprints and floating cigarettes and glasses of brandy. I liked Griffin stripping out of his clothes while in his parachute harness, and the expedient of his covering his face in cold cream was something new. But I also had to wonder why he was bothering doing that. I mean, obviously the cold cream made him easier to film so there were less of the expensive process shots to engineer, but why does Griffin want to make his face and hands visible anyway? He just puts the cream on and then falls asleep.
*. Not a bad little entry in the Universal catalogue. The ending in particular is pretty impressive, with Griffin dropping bombs on a German airfield. And yet it’s not all that memorable. After Rains and Price, Hall is a bit of a zero. As much as I like Fulton’s effects (and he was nominated for an Oscar here), there’s nothing all that special to any of them. But for fans of the films of this period I think it still rates above average.

The Invisible Woman (1940)

*. The opening pratfall, which will be far from the last, with the butler slipping and falling down the stairs, effectively sets the tone for what’s to come. This isn’t a scary or thrilling movie, or even one that wants you to invest much in its drama. It’s a romantic comedy with a lot of slapstick elements. As you might expect in a movie from a director who was one of the original Keystone Kops and starring Shemp Howard as one of a trio of bumbling gangsters.
*. Along with the change in tone comes a complete dismissal of the original plot. The story has nothing at all to do with either The Invisible Man or The Invisible Man Returns. The professor here has no connection to Griffin or his brother, and his method of turning people invisible isn’t some elixir but a combination of an injection and the usual room full of lab equipment that had become standard in such movies ever since Frankenstein.
*. An invisible woman, but is she a feminist? There is a subplot involving sisterhood among the models at the fashion house where Kitty works, and we’re on her side when she turns the table on her mean boss. It’s also neat how Kitty proves that a woman can do a man’s job (as guinea pig), and that she’s adventurous enough to be excited at the thought of turning invisible. Hell, she’s even a free drinker too. She’s also very much the driver of the action, with the professor and the playboy being a scatterbrain and a fop respectively. Even the professor’s assistant (Margaret Hamilton, the Wicked Witch of the West) is far more capable than the fainting butler who is always threatening to quit. In all these ways I think it can be viewed as quite progressive, even as it’s a tease.
*. It’s a slight movie, but hard not to enjoy for its quick 70 minutes. There’s a lot of nodding and winking at Kitty’s invisible state of nudity, and the framing of the shot where Dick (Dick and Kitty, groan) grabs her hand (so she says) is downright bold. But none of it is leering or lewd.
*. Virginia Bruce filling in for a reluctant Margaret Sullavan. John Barrymore, apparently in rough shape, playing a character so distracted it doesn’t matter. Effects by John Fulton that play all the same stunts, with the addition of the aforementioned risqué humour of Kitty’s stripteases down to nothing. But it’s good clean fun.

The Invisible Man Returns (1940)

*. The Invisible Man Returns was a bit of an exception to the original run of Universal monster features for a couple of reasons. In the first place there was a gap of seven years between the original film and this, the first sequel. Second: the star had left the building. Lugosi, Karloff, and Lon Chaney Jr. would come back many times to play Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Wolf Man. But Claude Rains was one-and-done as the Invisible Man.
*. Without Rains the studio went about looking for another unknown to take the lead. They struck gold, again, with Vincent Price (who would be one-and-done in the role as well, unless you count the cameo voice at the end of Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein). As far as great voices go, they hit two home runs. And with John Fulton still doing the effects work the pieces were in place for a worthy sequel.
*. But there were problems. The script went through many drafts, director Joe May spoke no English, and for some reason a lot of money was sunk into turning the Universal back lot into a mining town, complete with escalator. Cedric Hardwicke, who got star billing, didn’t like working on the film. They were behind schedule and over budget, leading to a lot of long days (and nights).
*. They were probably lucky to end up with a movie as good as they did. There’s a somewhat interesting plot, with Price beginning the movie on death row after being falsely convicted of killing his brother. He enlists the help of the brother of the original Invisible Man to turn him invisible so he can get out of prison and clear his name. Or at least take vengeance on the real killer (Hadrwicke), who has his eye on Price’s mining company. And his woman too, naturally. This all comes with the usual invisible shenanigans, all capably supervised by Fulton.
*. Not a special movie in any way, or particularly memorable aside from being (arguably) Price’s first horror film, but it’s better than average B fare with a decent climax on the escalator they built. At least that part was worth the expense.

Dr. Renault’s Secret (1942)

*. Dr. Renault’s Secret is an archetypal B-movie, not just for being inexpensively made so as to play at the bottom of a double bill but for the way it presents such a stew of familiar genre elements. Watching it one is struck by how many other movies, or types of movies, it seems to be referencing.
*. Many of these genres were already well intermixed, all circling around the idea of man’s animal nature. Dr. Renault (George Zucco) has done some experimenting and turned an ape into a man (J. Carrol Naish). So it’s one of a sub-genre of ape movies that were popular at the time, as well as such stand-bys as the werewolf and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde stories. You can also see something of The Island of Lost Souls in Dr. Renault (who is basically Dr. Moreau without the island) making his own Caliban and then keeping him in line with a whip.
*. The movie Dr. Renault’s Secret was paired with, The Undying Monster (another B-movie), fished in the same waters, with an old family curse being linked to lycanthropy. And in fact the source material here had a history as well. It’s based on a novel by Gaston Leroux named Balaoo that had been filmed in 1913 as Balaoo the Demon Baboon and in 1927 as The Wizard.
*. The familiarity goes even deeper. When Dr. Forbes shows up at the tavern in the opening scene and asks if he can get transportation to the Renault place I expected everyone to go silent or maybe spit up their ale. Renault whipping Noel and locking him up reminded me both of Island of Lost Souls and Frankenstein. What little mystery there is to the proceedings comes about partly because we expect a reclusive scientist like Dr. Renault to have a weird, lurching attendant, only named Igor. That Igor in this case is the experiment counts as a twist.
*. It’s not much of a twist that we sympathize with Noel, or that he’s the Beast who has fallen in love with the Beauty (Renault’s daughter). Nor is the idea that the ex-con Rogell (Mike Mazurski) is more of a monster than Noel that surprising. All of which contributes to making this a classic B-movie. Meaning it’s a reasonably deft rearrangement of genre elements, well-produced and photographed but not adding up to much. It’s quick though, and like the best B-pictures it makes something decent out of a whole lot of what’s ordinary.