Monday, November 2, 2015

100 Scariest Movie Moments: #68 The Black Cat

Reviewing The Black Cat makes me think of Michael Bay. Not in terms of how similar they are, but in terms of how different. The Black Cat was made in 1934, a time when film was still relatively new. I doubt there was a single person responsible for the production of this film who grew up saying they wanted to make movies for a living. And as a result, the tools of the trade had not been fully developed. That’s not to say that the filmmakers did a bad job, and there are some good shots. However, much of the movie feels like a stage play that was filmed. Although the only thing I find to be outright bad is the editing, which is often quite sloppy by even the standards of Dracula; a film that preceded this movie by three years.

Compare that with Bay, who grew up not only with film, but grew up with movies made by people who grew up with film. After three or four generations, directors like Bay now know exactly how to film and edit every shot to get a reaction from the audience, even in the complete absence of story and character.

So, in watching The Black Cat, I’m uncertain of precisely how to grade it. Even if I go purely by the acting, I know that I’m watching performers who’d not yet fully realized that they didn’t need to emote more for the people in the back row. This is particularly true when watching Bois Karloff, who has an incredibly strong screen presence.

The movie’s awkwardness with the conventions of film does work to its advantage for its introduction. Rather than framing the entire set-up within the expectations of the horror genre, the introduction could have led to almost any story. It’s simply a casual meeting on a train, and the horror comes from the events that follow that meeting.

Beyond that point, the movie is a story of ideas rather than blood splatter. Horror legends Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff are brought together by this film, probably the best remembered of the handful of movies they did together. Lugosi plays a Doctor by the name of Vitus Werdegast, and Karloff a Satanist named Hjalmar Poelzig. Fifteen years earlier during the First World War, Poelzig arranged to have Werdegast sent to a concentration camp, from which he had finally been released. But while Werdegast was out of the way, Poelzig had married his wife, raised his daughter, (presumably) killed his wife, and then married his now grown daughter (both wife and daughter are played by Lucille Lund).

Obviously, under normal circumstances, this film would be all of five minutes long as the two men attempt to kill each other, so the story throws in a complication. Two honeymooners, Peter and Joan (David Manners and Julie Bishop), are on the train with Werdegast, and Joan is injured. Werdegas takes them both to Poelzig’s house, and they pose as friends. Werdegast wants to keep them out of the crossfire, and Poelzig wants to sacrifice Joan to Satan, so he must avoid scaring her off. Meaning that for the moment, they must both be civil. On top of which, Poelzig also lies, saying that Werdegast’s daughter is dead before he arrives. Werdegast later finds out that Poelzig killed Karen after he arrived, hammering in his sense of failure at protecting her.

The plot is fairly complex for a one hour running time, but the scene that is most remembered, and rightfully so, is the scene in which Lugosi skins Karloff alive. I’m not going to deny that this scene is impressive. However, I find what came before it far more impressive. Both Lugosi and Karloff do an excellent job of portraying two men with the barest concealment of their rage. The most intense scene between the two to be the chess scene earlier in the film, when they play for the safety of the honeymooners.

Overall, if you like old films, then this is a classic that should be watched more than it is. So, I strongly recommend it.

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