Film Reviews by Steve

Progressive biopic of murderer Robert Stroud who was sent down in 1909 and remained in solitary until 1959, and in prison until his death in 1963. While inside he began to keep and study birds and developed remedies for previously untreatable diseases. Given a simple microscope he studied haematology and histology and wrote academic books. To keep his menagerie, he learned about the law.

When Stroud (Burt Lancaster) is first jailed he is wearing stripes and chains. He feeds his birds with insects freely infesting the jail. Under the control of a reforming public servant (Karl Malden) the cells become cleaner and safer and less physically brutal. But the film is clear that prisons are instruments of revenge, and fail because they do not mend the psychological faults of the convicts.

It is vague on Stroud's mentality. He seems a sociopath, resentful of anyone but his mother. He kills a warden. But his sullen malevolence is ameliorated by nurturing birds. At first this is to break the monotony of solitary, but then he lives vicariously through them. There's a nice, ironic shot of the prisoner viewed though the bars of a birdcage. Eventually his obsession releases his talent, or even genius.

Lancaster does well to maintain interest in this troubled introvert who isn't easy to like. The director overcomes the limitation of shooting within a tiny space by dealing mostly in closeups and expressionistic angles. We don't get a realistic idea of what compelled Stroud to kill and then change so remarkably. The film mostly has a reformist agenda and it makes its case with intelligence.

The wildest, craziest plot ever imagined. It is set in Madrid and claims to be a true story told by carnival people! Lon Chaney plays a serial killer known to the police only for the strange double thumbs on his left hand. So he straps his arms behind his back and joins a travelling circus as a knife act, throwing daggers at a very young Joan Crawford with his feet. Who he loves...

Because of previous abuse, the girl can't stand to be touched. So she is neurotically repulsed by the attentions of the circus strongman (Norman Kerry). As the police close in, to hide his incriminating thumbs and to indulge her fetishistic attraction to him, Chaney has both his arms removed by a surgeon he is blackmailing! 

Unfortunately, when he returns to the circus, the showgirl has got over her fear of being touched and married the muscleman. The now insanely jealous knife thrower devises a hideous revenge! Phew. This is pretty uninhibited stuff. The story was created by Tod Browning who left home as a child to join a circus. Chaney's upbringing was equally unconventional.    

Many silent horrors have the illusory mania of a febrile dream. And that is the great attraction here. And it's a lot of fun watching Chaney acting (brilliantly) with his feet. Browning and Chaney did astonishing work elsewhere, but there was an alchemy when they worked together. It feels like absolutely anything is possible.

After Paul Leni arrived at Universal studios, the expressionism of German horror began to be standard in Hollywood too. His third US film is an adaptation of a novel by Victor Hugo about a boy who is disfigured by the king and grows up with a hideous grin which masks his ceaseless misery.

Conrad Veidt  is heartbreaking as the suffering grotesque who joins the circus. It's the pathos of a man so mutilated he can never reveal how he feels. Mary Philbin supports as a blind woman, fated never to see her own beauty. And because she can touch the lips of the clown, she is fooled that he's always happy.

Leni is brilliant at the visuals, but less gifted at narrative and while it looks like art, the pace is slow. The expressionist sets of 17th century England are excellent. There isn't the social critique of the novel, but it does expose the brutal oppression of the poor by the aristocracy. The wealthy are as physically hideous as the members of the freak show that exploits the young outcast.

There is something primal about the monstrous characters we encounter in silent horrors. They ask ask us to relive one of the terrible fears of childhood, that we ourselves are uniquely unlovable, and the love we need to survive cannot be returned. These figures are eternal, universal nightmares.

Loose remake of the German silent horror The Hands of Orlac (1924) directed by Karl Freund, the star photographer of German expressionism. So it looks wonderful. Famed cinematographer Gregg Toland paints with light most eloquently and there are evocative sets of the back alleys of the Parisian Grand Guignol. 

The plot is among the most brilliantly lurid in all horror. When the hands of a concert pianist (Colin Clive) are crushed, his beautiful wife (Frances Drake), visits the sinister/brilliant surgeon (Peter Lorre) who stalks her, and begs him to save her husband's precious fingers. So the doctor transplants the hands of a recently guillotined, knife-throwing murderer!

His patient is still unable to play the piano but can't stop chucking blades... And then things get really crazy! This is a quality mad doctor film and an early example of the dark hospital theme, which finds within its gleaming white sterility, suffering, transgressive behaviour and unbridled egotism. Lorre is memorably repellant.

Censorship was about to send horror into remission. Many classics were shelved for decades This is the last of it's early '30s golden age. The vision of the bald, baby faced, big eyed Lorre in his fetishistic leather neck support and robot hands is one of the great grotesque horror images. 

This is the debut as director of legendary cinematographer Karl Freund, who photographed Metropolis (1927) and Dracula (1931). It isn't as visually striking- there is no expressionism. Most of its impact is from the exotic set decorations; the parchments and symbols which embellish the mystery of a terrible curse unleashed after the opening of an Egyptian burial chamber.  

Boris Karloff is the mummy, who in ancient times was bound in cloth and buried alive. Exhumed thousand of years later, the living corpse goes in search of the reincarnation of his eternal love, played by the mysterious, Zita Johann. Who must have the biggest eyes in horror, as well as a precode dress designer.

This is a slow, lethargic film which creates a sense of unease through arcane curses and hypnotic trances. Of course, it's another defining role for Karloff, transformed by Universal's great effects artist Jack Pierce, both into the mummy, and its wizened alter-ego, Ardeth Bay (anagram of Death by Ra!).

Like other Universal horrors of the early '30s, it suffers from a supporting cast of rather effete and theatrical English expats. But Karloff is great and Zita is enigmatically sexy. The occult is challenged by academic rationality, but in Universal horror, superstition is always real and the scientific voice of reason is wasting his breath, and about to die inexplicably anyway.

This explicit precode adaptation of Richard Connell's short story was shot at night on the sets of King Kong (1933) by the same crew. An all American big game hunter (a slim Joel McCrea) is lured onto the rocks of a remote jungle island by a crazy Russian aristocrat (Leslie Banks in his screen debut). So the hunter becomes the game.

The castaway proves a wily quarry, with his experience of bloodsports. He is accompanied by the original Queen of Scream, Fay Wray. As they make their way though the rugged terrain pursued by the Count and his hunting dogs, their clothes get shredded in a way that would lead to extensive cuts by the Hays Office on further release.

This is a tremendously exciting action film with a rich atmosphere as the fog falls on the island at twilight. There are evocative sets and locations. And there's a brilliant display of theatrical overacting by Leslie Banks, who wears the goatee of evil with conviction. A touch of philosophy in the script adds depth, without slowing the pace.

The film's most grisly moment is when the Count shows his prisoner around the human remains mounted in his trophy room. There was much more of this but audiences complained it was upsetting so RKO cut 20m. It has been remade many times, but even with the cuts imposed, it is the touch of the macabre, the feeling of transgression, that makes this the best version.

After Frankenstein (1931), James Whale returned to Universal for this first sound version of HG Wells' sci-fi classic. Claude Rains makes his starring debut as a scientist who invents a formula for invisibility before he discovers the antidote. Big mistake. Unfortunately, something in the elixir turns the doctor insane as he attempts to use his innovation to gain power and wealth.

This doesn't have the visual panache of Whale's other Universal horrors, I guess because of the already complicated process for designing the effects. A major weakness is the amount of knockabout comedy, which the director apparently loved. This hasn't aged well, and actually diminishes the sense of threat and suspense.

The triumph of the film is the astonishing effects. Not only of Claude Rains removing his bandages to reveal... nothing, but at the climax when a dissolve finally exposes the face of the actor for the first time a few seconds before the credits roll. We might not see much of Rains, but his distinctive voice gives the invisible man a valuable presence..

This is the first Hollywood production that feels more like science fiction, rather than a horror film with some sci-fi jargon added on. It looks at the duality of science for good and bad. It's a genre landmark, but a bit of a shame Whale was seduced by the comic potential of Wells' premise above most of the philosophical themes.

Most Hollywood horror films of the early silents were melodramas which included some element of the physically or mentally grotesque. This is unambiguously a horror film. It has the look, with the expressionist shadows and freakish props and sets. And it retains the body-horror motif of the twenties,-perhaps the definitive example- with the grinning death's head of the monster.

The Phantom is a multifaceted figure. He is the satanic Svengali with whom an operatic ingénue makes a Faustian pact. He is also the distressing victim of nature, condemned to be persecuted by the normal world. He is the hideous true face behind the mask that we all hide. It's is a hard act to pull off, but Lon Chaney is sensational. We forget all about the actor under the spell of his creation.

Mary Philbin is attractive and sympathetic in a difficult role as the opera singer. But Chaney is the star. He is mainly supported by the astonishing sets and costumes, with the startling technicolor scene of the masked ball. The recreation of the Paris Opera House is legendary. The impressionistic cellars and the underground river are immensely haunting.

 This original version of Gaston Leroux's classic novel (the author actually worked on the film) has a perverse authenticity shared by none of the remakes. This is partly through its antiquity which gives the film a psychedelic logic where we can accept these sort of events might happen. But it triumphs because of Chaney's extraordinary gift. He creates one of the enduring images of terror.

This lavish adaptation of Victor Hugo's historical melodrama was Universal studio's most lucrative hit of the '20s. It is set in 1482 and focuses on the romance of the gypsy Esmerelda with a nobleman in a socially polarised Paris; of the arrogant, brutal aristocracy and the persecuted peasants.

Patsy Ruth Miller overacts and lacks appeal as the untamed dancing girl. What everyone remembers this for is Lon Chaney's extreme portrayal of the title character, Quasimodo, the ringer of the bells. It's Chaney who makes this a horror film at all, not just for his legendary make-up effects, the deformity and gymnastics, but for the strange, primal enigma of his character.

This is early cinema and it doesn't have the visual expressionism of some of the later silent horrors. But what it does abundantly present is spectacle with its huge cast of extras in period costume and the magnificent sets, particularly of the medieval cathedral.

This is the film where the Lon Chaney became a big star around the world. His Quasimodo remains definitive. This is a silent blockbuster. Chaney's demonic aura and the convincing recreation of fifteenth century Paris makes the original Hunchback the earliest classic of Universal horror.

Occult face off in rural Austro-Hungary between an architect/satanist (Boris Karloff), and a vengeful psychiatrist (Bela Lugosi) who has just been released from 15 years in a Siberian prison after his betrayal by Karloff in WWI, who then married Lugosi's wife and later his daughter... It is the first pairing of the two great horror stars of the '30s.

It's a startlingly transgressive story. As well as the satanism, there is a suggestion of necrophilia. Karloff, inhabits a modernist mansion built on the site of the historic castle where he oversaw genocide. The contemporary style is most unusual for '30s horror. But in the old cellars he keeps the bodies of women he has loved, preserved in their youth, including Bela's family.

The slow pace is its main weakness. Plus the vacuous newlyweds (David Manners and Jacqueline Wells) who stumble upon this house of insanity. She reminds the two rivals of the woman who married them both, and they play chess for her. Karloff intends to sacrifice his prize in a black mass and add her to his gallery of beautiful corpses!

So who wins the battle of the stars? Both overact splendidly.  Lugosi is a limited actor but there is a wonderful moment when he delivers some lengthy dialogue in his own language and he suddenly sounds natural. But Karloff with his lisp and his deco-effect makeup is more memorable. I'll give it to the Englishman.

Charming screwball fantasy about a Puritan in Salem in the 1600s who condemns a young woman to burn for witchcraft. She curses his descendants to suffer from miserable marriages for evermore... In 1942, the spirit of the witch (Veronica Lake) is loosed to spread havoc with the latest heir of her spell (Fredric March) as he plans to marry a spectacularly ill tempered tyrant (Susan Hayward).

Of course, the wedding is called off and the star crossed adversaries fall in love and marry instead. The husband has his eyes on the Governorship of the state and his new wife will use all the guiles of her witchcraft to help him. Yes, it was the inspiration for '60s sitcom, Bewitched.

Some of the fun to be had may depend on a tolerance of Veronica Lake, and I have little. It seems neither did Fredric March... But there is much else to enjoy. Hayward is marvellous and the support is well cast. The script is witty and genuinely funny. The many effects are well done.  

René Clair's touch is light and enchanting, like a Parisian Ernst Lubitsch. He draws a congenial performance March, who is usually known as an intense dramatic actor, and confects a most delightful comedy. Clair had a gift for making decorative frou-frou, and this is a sweet, sugary treat.

Erle Kenton mainly directed Universal monster sequels, but has his name on one masterpiece. Richard Arlen plays a two fisted man of action, shipwrecked on the remote jungle island of the sinister Dr. Moreau, who aims to evolve animals into humans through genetic experimentation. Maybe the castaway can be persuaded to mate with his panther-woman (Kathleen Burke)?

This precode version of the HG Wells story is artfully photographed, and its world of shadows and fog gives it an expressionistic look. The white tropical suits contrast pleasurably with the deep pools of darkness. There's a flavourful picture of the south seas, full of loners in transit, drunk sea captains, discredited medics, way off the map of normal human behaviour.

At the centre of all this atmosphere is Charles Laughton's superbly offbeat portrayal of the mad scientist, his untethered and megalomaniacal moral sickness, naturally, hidden behind a cherubic mask of utter reasonableness. He wears the goatee of evil with distinction and cracks his whip with conviction.

We see the mutations and failed experiments either exhibited or doing the most laborious tasks. The half-human beasts are brilliantly realised by makeup and costuming. It would be amazing to see more of them. But we do witness their famous ceremony of laws: 'Are we not men?'.  This is a horror classic whose transgressive themes never impede the fabulous spectacle.

Faithful adaptation of Oscar Wilde's famous novel with major studio production values. Hurd Hatfield- in the title role- is gifted his most solemn desire, that he may stay young and beautiful while he enjoys a hedonistic lifestyle, and the inevitable signs of debauchery are displayed on the enchanted painting hidden in his attic.  

Hatfield is impassive- little more than mask- which is appropriate for a story about appearances. The epigrams are delivered by George Sanders who does pretty well with dialogue that is easier to read than speak. Angela Lansbury as a Cockney music hall entertainer, and Donna Reed, as an aristocratic beauty, are both archetypes, but ideal for gothic melodrama.  

There is an evocative recreation of Victorian London, particularly the expressionistic dens of vice where Dorian goes slumming. There's a scene in an opium dive/brothel towards the end of the film which is so engorged with louche decadence that it steals the film.

 It is in black and white, but there's a striking use of colour when we first see the portrait and later, when it has absorbed all of Dorian's wickedness. This is the best of Oscar Wilde on screen. While it is heavy with period atmosphere, Albert Lewin doesn't let it slow down his narrative. Despite the typically provocative Wildean irony, it is an enduring and compelling moral tale.

Influential expressionist horror about a serial killer who strangles women with physical infirmities. The murderer ritualistically pulling on his leather gloves before asphyxiating his victims is a  motif often repeated in the Italian giallos of the '70s. And Alfred Hitchcock must have been impressed by the voyeuristic theme suggested by the extreme closeups of the killer's eye observing his victims.

It is set in New England in the 1910s. The story begins in a cinema with a silent melodrama showing a heroine in peril, which anticipates the terror of a mute servant (Dorothy McGuire) in a gothic house of shadows. When she closes the heavy door of the old, dark mansion it is evident that rather than barring the killer's entry, she has locked him inside.

The maniac's obsession is that he must rid the world of people with disabilities. There is a brilliant point of view shot through his eyes of his potential victim without a mouth which exposes his insanity in an instant. Surely the intension was to critique the cult of eugenics, fashionable in the Edwardian era, which nourished Nazi ideology.

This is horror noir, rich in gothic atmosphere and suspense climaxing in a showstopping electrical storm! McGuire is the opposite of the old horror scream-queen. She tries to shout for help, but... isn't heard. It's easy to guess the murderer, and Ethel Barrymore is annoying as the irascible matriarch, but Elsa Lanchester provides comic relief as reliably as ever. And McGuire suffers in silence magnificently.