House of Wax

House of Wax (André de Toth, 1953) Oh, the money studio mogul Jack Warner invested in 3-D, only to see it fade away when the craze lost its "zhuzh" and no longer distracted Americans from their newly bought black-and-white broadcast television sets (epic films with wide-screen dynamics was more successful). The 1950's "3-D craze" had a little less dimension to it, fad-wise (and not very many other major studio productions were made in that format) but, that doesn't take away from the fact that Warner's investment in House of Wax created a technological achievement in film, being the first color 3-D movie with stereophonic sound—a feat that made it a surprisingly big hit at the box-office (more so than the monophonic color 3-D film, Bwana Devil) when it was first released (to those theaters that could actually accommodate the new processes), and also, ironically, made the film a staple of those new-fangled television sets (which is where I constantly ran into it in my youth). It also managed to revive the status of Vincent Price, who would spend the rest of his career starring in horror films, sometimes being the most expensive items in their budgets.

Jerrod and his Marie Antoinette—the wax-figure is "portrayed" by lead actress Phyllis Kirk

 

Based on an earlier Warner film, 1933's The Mystery of the Wax Museum—that was directed by Michael Curtiz in two color Technicolor—it tells the story of gifted sculptor Professor Henry Jerrod (Price), who is having a bit of a falling-out with his principal investor Matthew Burke (Roy Roberts)—Burke wants to see Jerrod's wax museum become a bit more sensational to attract business while Jerrod wants to concentrate on more life-like attractions on a par with his sculptures of Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, and his personal favorite, Marie Antoinette. While Burke is upstairs going over the books, Jerrod takes a meeting with art critic Sidney Wallace (Paul Cavanagh) to see if he'd be interested in buying Burke out.

Wallace is funding some archaeological dig of other and will be out of the country for three months, but fully intends to fund Jerrod's expansion of his wax museum when he returns. This is promising news for Jerrod, but not for Burke who won't wait three months and turns on Jerrod, starting a fire in the museum to burn the place to the ground to collect the insurance money. That he has left Jerrod unconscious in the burning building is of no concern to him. And the gas-lights in the structure only ensures the sculptor's doom, creating a spectacular explosion that destroys the man...and his life's work.

The unseemly Mr. Burke cashes his insurance check for 25k—nobody being very good at checking for accelerants in 1902—and doling out just enough of it to attract gold-diggers like Cathy Gray (a blonde, pre-"Addams Family" Carolyn Jones), reassured that the body of Jerrod was never found. He shouldn't be so presumptive, as when he goes to stash the remainder of his money in his safe (fireproof, I hope!), he is attacked in his room and strangled by a mysterious black-cloaked figure, who then takes a rope and hangs the body in the walk-up's elevator shaft to make it appear a suicide.

Cathy is preparing for her upcoming date with a new fella, being helped into her frills by her housemate, Sue Allen (Phyllis Kirk). Sue is having trouble making the rent, but Cathy assures her that she'll lend her some money if Sue's attempt to get a job as a hat-check girl falls through. It does, but after a shakedown by her landlord, Sue goes to her room and checks on Cathy, only to find her dead, and the perpetrator still in the room—a black-cloaked figure with a misshapen, scarred face. She screams and escapes through the window with the figure in hot pursuit.

She manages to lose the strange murderer in the foggy streets and finds shelter at the home of a friend (Angela Clarke) and her son Andrew (Paul Picerni), and the next day, they go to the police (in the form of Frank Lovejoy and Dabbs Greer), who are a bit skeptical of Sue's story. But, then, they're not much help in the case of Cathy's murder—as her body has gone missing from the morgue! It's the latest in a string of disappearing corpses that they can't explain.

 Price, a young Charles Bronson, and Cavanagh

 

But, remember that art critic Sidney Wallace? He comes back into town to meet with Professor Jerrod, who is quite alive, but wheelchair-bound and his hands burned so horribly that he can only supervise the work of his assistants: Carl Hendricks (Nedrick Young) and the deaf/mute Igor (Charles Bronson, but at the time going by Charles Buchinskey). Jerrod has changed his mind about things since the previous museum's fire—now he's going to only focus on exhibits of the macabre, a chamber of horrors, if you will, of the past and present day. Including one exhibit of the suicide of Matthew Burke...with a remarkably life-like wax figure that, in the first real incident of fragrant 3-D usage falls forward into the screen—realistically enough that it must've seemed like it was falling in people's laps. With that little shock comes...

It's the half-way point of the film, and a reel change was required, but with both projectors each showing one part of the 3-D image, the proceedings had to be interrupted to manage it. I used to run projectors, but nothing as sophisticated as in the theaters, so how they managed to keep everything in sync, I wouldn't know (what happens if the film in one of the reels breaks...do they have to swap out as many frames in the other reel?*). Anyway, that's not the most interesting thing about the 3-D process. The most interesting thing was that director Andre dé Toth was blind in one eye and wore an eye-patch over it, so he couldn't have seen the 3-D images if he tried!

It's in the second part of the film where the 3-D tricks really start coming in fast, threatening to invade the audience's space: there are two more fainting spells toward the camera (as a result of squeamish reactions to Jerrod's house of horrors) as well as a rather gratuitous sequence involving the museum's barker enticing ticket-buyers with a paddle-ball breaking the fourth wall by threatening to knock the audience's popcorn out of their hands) and an equally unnecessary can-can sequence where the dancers threaten to kick out jaws, and one chorine throws her derriére in your face (the 3-D version of putting butts in seats?). But, there are subtler things—flying angel decorations, splintering doors, one prominent fist. And it must have been a shock to suddenly see Charles Bronson's henchman pop up in the frame during a critical juncture. It's not can-can girls, but it probably caused a lurch in the customers.

Still, the strength of the movie is dé Toth's direction, done in long, tracking takes (which would have really showed off the changing perspectives in 3-D), especially the tours of each of the wax museums usually done in one sweeping tour, aided by Jerrod's "waxing" poetic about his creations. And dé Toth had a good eye (but only one) for composition, so that when he did cut away, it was always to something interesting and striking.

And, say what you will about the "Perils of Pauline" style-finish, it is a nerve-jangler with our heroine threatened to be entombed in her own wax coffin for display, and if the elaborate device used to do so isn't exactly practical, it is impressive looking, rivaling the sparking laboratories of previous screen-villains, and there's another sequence involving split-second timing with a guillotine that provides an unexpected jolt (enough that the actor involved did it under protest).

But, dramatically, the movie doesn't fool anyone. One can guess the identity of the black-cloaked figure on a murderous (and covetous) rampage in turn-of-the-century New York nearly as soon as he appears—unless you're six (which is what I was when I first saw it and the revelation was as shocking as finding out who Darth Vader was much later in my film-watching) and have had no previous experience with movie-making sleight-of-hand. You'd have to be conked in the head with a paddle-ball to be surprised by it (hmmm...maybe that's why they did it...!). But, the movie is true to its melodramatic roots (the original play on which it and the earlier version premiered in 1932).

House of Wax was voted into The National Film Registry in 2014 for being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant." Given its breakthroughs in color 3-D and stereophonic sound one should add "technologically" as well.

* Answer: Yeah, they did, or the resulting de-synchronization of images would cause headaches or even nausea faster than you could say "des-synchronization"!

 

"The film's out of SYNC!!"

 

I Was a Communist for the F.B.I.

I Was a Communist for the F.B.I. (Gordon Douglas, 1951) In one of those instances of Oscar head-scratching that involves rules (rather than taste...or lack thereof) this drama based on a Saturday Evening Post series, was nominated for an Academy Award...for Best Documentary Feature. Okay, there's some stock footage used for a couple of minutes, but the rest of it is a noir-shaded (with not a damn hint of red!) B-movie with not a hint of a real person, but only D-list actors that no one would recognize...unless you saw The Sound of Fury.

 

But, then it was the 1950's. Hollywood was doing a lot of back-bending in order to prove to right-wing government-types that they weren't being infiltrated by Communists in the same way that the State Department, the Truman Administration, and the U.S. Army weren't being infiltrated by Communists.

 

Hey, it must have worked! By the mid-50's, there were just 5000 registered communists in the country—1500 of them were F.B.I. informants.

Much like Matt Cvetic (Frank Lovejoy, who—I gotta say—looks a lot like then anti-commie Senator Richard Nixon). For ten years, Pittsburgh steel factory supervisor Cvetic has served two masters—the FBI and the Communist Party. He's worked his way up in the Party ranks to become chief party organizer for Pittsburgh, where he uses his influence to promote party members to higher positions and recruit new Party members. It seems a natural fit as it's no different than being a Union organizer or the even more common Old White Boys Network...or The Elks. The only difference being that after recruiting or promoting, you don't find the nearest pay-phone (it's the 1950's, youngsters!) and alert the FBI.

Or do you?

Anyway, his case-runner at the local Fibby branch is Ken Crowley (Richard Webb) who lets him know that a big Communist mucky-muck Gerhardt Eisler (Konstantin Shayne) is coming to The Burgh and he really should attend. Cvetic says, sure, give him a call when the old boy shows up—he's gotta go see his Mom. 

The reception is chilly. Oh, Mom is happy to see her good boy...but the rest of the family? Well, they know that Matt is a "dirty red" and treat him with contempt...even his son, Dick (Ron Hagerthy) is conflicted—he's getting harassed about it at his private school. Lips are curled when Cvetic is called to the Party meeting, where Eisler is greeted in a grand hotel suite with champagne and caviar. Some are more equal than others, eh comrade? "Better get used to it—it's the way we're all gonna live once we take the country over..." "The workers, too?" "The workers will always be the workers. The trouble with you is you're a fanatic."

At the meeting, the strategies are formed based on the old "Divide and Conquer" rule. Set people against each other by exposing weaknesses in the system, recruit minorities and key positions—like teachers—to the Party line. Then, sit back and do a little fomenting, cackling all the way about the "useful idiots" who advance the cause. Disparaging those very minorities with racial slurs—"You mean "negroes", doncha, Jim?" "Only when I'm trying to sell 'em the party-line"—hoping for tension that they can exploit for fund-raising ("The Pittsburgh branch needs dough. We're always in the red." <chuckle>). Lest, the irony is lost on the audience, Cvetic is always there to clarify the dichotomy ("In other word, Jim, your speech tonight had a double purpose...?"). "Duh!"

But, nobody points out the obvious that we're watching two sides of the same red cent. There are good guys (The F.B.I.) and the bad guys (The Commies), but, curiously they employ the same techniques. Yeah, it's bad the Communist Party is infiltrating Unions and schools, but the F.B.I. is infiltrating the Party—a couple of moments of thought exposes I Was a Communist for the F.B.I. as the same moral quagmire exhibited in The Departed (and its inspiration Infernal Affairs). If the good guys become partners with the bad guys, don't they become bad guys? Yeah, it's bad that the Communists are micro-phoning their meeting places to use as blackmail, but the Feds are tapping those same systems...to use as evidence. 

But, nobody stands up and says "Golly, Lieutenant, aren't we doing the same things the Communists are? I mean, I LOVE my country, but I'd like it a lot less if it was a country of spies and snitches! What sort of freedom are we protecting, anyway?"

No one says it because then the F.B.I. employee would be fired and possibly investigated and there wouldn't be a movie. Actually, there would be...but not one that looks at the country unquestioningly.

The Sound of Fury (1950)

The Sound of Fury (aka Try and Get Me!, Cy Endfield, 1950) I was watching an old repeat of "British Antiques Roadshow," when Cy Endfield's name came up. Brought up for appraisal was an elegantly designed silver and gold portable chess-set to commemorate the Bobby Fisher-Boris Spassky match in 1972. Much ooh-ing and ahh-ing was made over the piece for its design characteristics and it was mentioned that the fellow responsible was Endfield, described as a "polymath," as magician, engineer, writer, director and inventor. His most famous (and successful) film was Zulu (1964), a genuine British classic, but he also made Mysterious Island (along with Ray Harryhausen)—his Hell Drivers has been posted here. Those films were made in Britain, but he started his career in America, working at RKO (where his magic legerdemain brought him into the orbit of Orson Welles), and where he directed B-movies like The Underworld Story, only to be black-listed for his political beliefs during the McCarthy era.

The film we're talking about today (no matter which title you use) was particularly labeled by the House Un-American Activities Committee for being "un-American." Seeing as the film—and you could properly call it among the darkest of the film noir genre—is an indictment of capitalism, yellow journalism and mob violence, particularly lynching, one could see where this might cause a stir in '50's America. But, seeing as how it was based on an actual incident (which also inspired Fritz Lang's first American film, Fury), one might consider the source.

The film begins with a blind street-preacher haranguing passers-by that judgment day is coming and they should prepare to meet their lord (you know you're in for a rough time at the movies when that's the first thing you hear—evidently his appearance wasn't enough to assuage HUAC). The passersby ignore him, as does Howard Tyler (Frank Lovejoy), who's now out of work and prospects are thin. He's getting tired of it, especially when his wife (Kathleen Ryan) reminds him of his responsibilities and that they have a son to take care of...with another on the way.  

Tyler moves the family to Santa Sierra, California to get a job in the mines, but is unsuccessful. To get away from his wife's nagging, he goes to the local bowling alley where he meets a sharp named Jerry Slocum (Lloyd Bridges, pushing his acting boundaries considerably). Jerry's a vain-glorious dandy who talks big but is a bit schizy and convinces Tyler that working in the mines is a sucker's game, one that'll kill him without much to show for it. Slocum knows of a guy who needs a good driver for some jobs that need a certain level of confidentiality and Tyler agrees.

Those jobs turn out to be knocking over gas stations, and, as much as he doesn't like his part in it, he is at least able to take care of his family...if only his wife didn't ask so many questions about what he does at night. Meanwhile, the robberies are starting to get the attention of a local reporter (Richard Carlson), who gets the assignment to pump up the story as an incipient crime wave to sell papers. Things are starting to get hot and the added attention makes Jerry want out, but that inspires Slocum to pull one last crime—a big score—kidnapping the son of one of the town's rich folk and holding him for ransom.

But, Jerry's not the best at the "long game," being so fidgety and all. When the kid tries to make a run for it, Slocum picks up a boulder and smashes his head in, then dumps him in the river—but not before taking a distinctive tie-pin for evidence. He's still trying to get the ransom for a dead man. The two head out of town, the better to mail a ransom note, and Slocum decides to make things a night on the town with women, so that there's no show of two strangers showing up in town. But, Tyler's in bad shape and starts to drink...and well...you know. Plus, with the added attention of a blood-thirsty press, the temperatures in Santa Sierra start to soar above the boiling point.

Between Bridges' histrionics and Endfield's off-kilter camera-view, The Sound of Fury has more than its share of amped-up energy that starts to explode near the film's end in a sequence of mob violence that still stiffens the hairs on the back of the neck to this day. It's a bit mitigated to off-screen action, but, really, is that something you want to see? Endfield's suggestiveness is enough to give nightmares and paint a grim picture of majority rule when it becomes a mob.

It's been tough to see The Sound of Fury, as it wasn't a hit, and there weren't many prints. One, however, was owned by Martin Scorsese (for whom it's a favorite film) and, with his permission and efforts, the film is back to its pristine, if begrimed, glory.

In a Lonely Place

In a Lonely Place (Nicholas Ray, 1950) Risky Hollywood-noir/murder mystery/psychological drama produced by Humphrey Bogart's Santana Production Company and directed with a sure grip by the great Nicholas Ray. Bogart plays Dixon Steele, a hot-headed screenwriter on a cold streak. His temper has gotten him into a lot of violent scrapes that the studios have managed to sweep under the rug. Now, a hat-check girl that was in his apartment the night before has turned up strangled and the police are certain he was the culprit.

His one alibi is his neighbor, Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame), part-time actress, who has a fairly air-tight alibi for Steele, and the two of them subsequently begin an affair that keeps Steele on the straight-and-narrow and the police suspicious. They'd be less tenacious if he didn't have that long rap sheet, the sick sense of humor and the unhealthy glint in his eyes when the subject of murder comes up. Steele is an odd bird who can't control his temper and pretty soon the police's suspicions make Laurel have her doubts which Dix only amplifies by his actions.

Can love survive? Can Laurel?

This is a great mystery in which the central murder ultimately doesn't matter; the players and their ability to destroy each other in a cynical battle of survival when they're at their most vulnerable does. Gloria Grahame, who would endure a career of also-ran women's roles, displays the gifts of a great character actress in the lead. And Bogart exploits his dual persona playing a bad-good man (or is that the other way around?) who has no control and betrays a self-loathing that's painful to watch. 

He and Grahame are great together—she's one of the few women who doesn't kiss Bogart awkwardly, and their relationship feels real and not phony—and the screenplay crackles with the good dialogue that makes great Bogart movies. That the movie is taking shots at Hollywood and the loungy L.A. lifestyle is merely a refreshing bonus (What was it about 1950 that turned out all these anti-Hollywood movies?). Bogart is at his best when he's taking chances with his material, and In a Lonely Place provides a wealth of opportunities: a creative murder mystery with a great romance and the possibility of mutual self-destruction. It's a stunning noir that's a highlight of the careers of all parties.