Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein

Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (Charles Barton, 1948) The full title is Bud Abbott and Lou Costello Meet Frankenstein (as they all had the same production studio, Universal Pictures). But even that mouthful of a title leaves out two major characters in the film: Bela Lugosi re-stakes his claim as Count Dracula, the role he originated in the 1931 Universal film, and Lon Chaney, Jr. plays that poor S.O.B., Larry Talbot, aka "The Wolfman,"* who turns lycanthropic whenever the moon is full (sort of an eternal frat-boy)** 

The unholy trio of Universal met long-time companions Bud and Lou for some hi-jinks and low horror. The boys play Chick Young and Wilbur Grey, who are warehouse workers with the bad fortune to be dealing with two crates of European antiquities bound for the local museum--Dracula's coffin (with an "occupado" sign on it) and the inanimate Frankenstein Monster (victim of a dead battery). Talbot's in the neighborhood, as he's tracking the shipments for some convenient reason.

The plot revolves around Dracula's ambition to re-animate the Monster, but replace its criminal brain with a more compliant, simpler brain, and Lou's character, Wilbur Grey, is the perfect candidate. This film was a favorite of the kids in my neighborhood, and when it aired (around Hallowe'en, after "The Brakeman Bill Show"), it was the sole topic of conversation for two weeks, and endlessly recreated on the streets and playgrounds. All the Great monsters--in one movie!! Of course, it'd be great!

And it was: giddy fun with enough strangeness, horrible deeds, and the slapstick and repartee that Bud and Lou were good for. Maybe it's "Mom's Apple Pie Syndrome,"*** where the tastes of childhood circumvent our better instincts later in life, but a re-appraisal of "A + B = F" in adulthood found me admiring its competence, humor and basic story-telling construction (circuitous, though it is). It's good stuff--strictly "B" material, but when did that ever get in the way of Big "E" Entertainment?

And it had Monsters. The Bestest Monsters. The ones that represented our Id's and haunted our dreams. Given the content of my previously sex-obsessed reviews of "Frankenstein" and "Dracula," what, then, can we glean from "A + B = F?" well, despite my "longtime companion" crack, Bud and Lou were room-mates who were 'into" dames. In fact, as if to counteract the threats of homosexuality (Frankenstein) and rapacious heterosexuality (Dracula) the Monsters represent, they are SO hetero, that Lou's Wilbur has two women vying for his attentions, though "bad girl" scientist Dr. Sandra Mornay only wants him for his mind. Bud and Lou are "safe" examples of "normal" sexuality--ya know, dancing and going to parties and dressing up and nothing further than "First Base."

"Who?"

Now, don't get me started....

Wait a minute....Bud Abbott's character's name is "Chick." Hmmm.

* Chaney, son and heir-apparent to the make-up master of the Silent Era, claimed that he also stood in for Glenn Strange as The titular Monster, when the latter actor suffered an ankle injury.

** Vincent Price also makes a cameo non-appearance as "The Invisible Man!"

*** "Mom's Apple Pie" Syndrome usually rears its ugly head when dealing with "fanboy favorites," like the Star Wars films, or the Indiana Jones series, (ie. "You think the serial-mugging/teddy-bear warfare of Return of the Jedi was better than the recent Trilogy?" or "You seriously think the thuggish, racist and puppetoon Temple of Doom and slap-dash Last Crusade were "classics" compared to Kingdom of the Crystal Skull?)

T-Men (1947)

T-Men (Anthony Mann, 1947) "T-Men" stands for "Treasury Men" or agents for the Department of the Treasury. Before 9/11, they were just behind the FBI in terms of domestic crime investigation, dealing with tax fraud, counterfeiting, bootlegging, illegal arms, as well as housing the Secret Service. The ATF and the Service broke off in 2003 to be a part of Homeland Security, but at the time this film was made it was still all under one bureaucratic roof...and probably looking for some publicity.

Now, an FBI movie could get an A-list budget. But, T-Men was strictly a B-picture, consigned to the bottom half of what they used to call in the movies "a double-bill" (look it up, you kids), but it had the great good fortune to be directed by a young up-and-coming director named Anthony Mann, who'd made a name for himself directing low-budget films for RKO and Republic. Mann brought to the mix a brilliant cinematographer John Alton, and together, the two would craft some of the more interesting examples of "film-noir" in cinema.

But, Lordy, it doesn't start out well. After a brief introduction to the work of the Treasury Department by a stern announcer (who will serve as narrator for the film), there is an introduction by former Treasury Law Enforcement Head Elmer Lincoln Irey, who flatly introduces the film as a case-study from the annals of the Department. The only notable thing about the sequence is that it's filmed, not across at the former director, but at desk level looking slightly up, giving him a slightly more authoritative air—especially to audiences naturally looking up at a screen from theater seats. But, from there, the film takes a decidedly dark turn.

In a dark-Los Angeles-alley behind a stadium, there is a rendezvous in progress. A Treasury Agent is going to be meeting a snitch. But before he can reach him a figure comes out of the shadows (literally) and cuts the contact down. End of the road. End of the investigation. The Department needs to take another tack.

Two agents are called to Washington: Dennis O'Brien (Dennis O'Keefe) and Tony Genaro (Alfred Ryder), who are called upon to go undercover and infiltrate the gang of counterfeiters, who have been passing bills with a superior paper very similar in composition to that used in legitimate currency. They travel to Detroit posing as former members of a crime ring that have been subsequently killed, leaving no traces of contacts that might blow their cover. They manage to do enough research of their cover identities as "Vannie Harrigan" and "Tony Galvani" that they work themselves into a counterfeit liquor stamps business, getting a lead on an overseas smuggler of the paper, known as "The Schemer" (Wallace Ford). The two split up with O'Brien going back to Los Angeles tracking down The Schemer, while Genaro stays in Detroit and continues to make in-roads with the counterfeiters.

O'Brien manages to find The Schemer eventually, as he's a frequenter of turkish baths, and after several steams—"I think I lost eight pounds," he tells his superiors—he makes contact with the older hood and gains enough trust that he proposes a joint effort. If "Schemer" can provide the paper, he can provide engraving plates for currency far superior to what's making it into the streets. The Schemer, though, wants to make sure that O'Brien is legit and has two of the gang's enforcers, Moxie (Charles McGraw) and Brownie (Jack Overman) to work over the agent to try to determine why he's so interested in the business. O'Brien's failure to "crack" wins him and Genaro a visit to Schemer's boss "Shiv" Triano (John Wengraf), who is interested in the venture, but wants to run tests—O'Brien only turns over one of the plates and says he'll only deliver the other to Triano's boss, a shadowy figure that is never mentioned by name.

A chance encounter in San Francisco makes Schemer suspicious of Genaro, just as O'Brien gets to meet the next tier of command, Diana Simpson (Jane Randolph), who is suspicious of any betrayal. She orders a hit on both The Schemer and Genaro: The Schemer being roasted alive in a steam bath and Genaro shot in front of his partner, who can only stand and watch helplessly as Genaro implicates himself, taking suspicion off O'Brien, and is executed, gangland-style. 

But Genaro has been clever enough to leave O'Brien clues to where he can find The Schemer's coded notebook, which the agent turns over to his superiors, bringing them closer to cracking the case, even as O'Brien has to overcome greater suspicion, due to his closeness to Genaro.

He has one advantage, however, he still has the other engraving plate that the counterfeiters now want...very much. But, as he's being watched closely—too closely by the assassin, Moxie, he has to find a way to complete the transaction, with the added incentive of bringing the ring to justice and avenging his partner.

T-Men is filmed in that "semi-documentary" style popular in the 1940's whenever a studio wanted to lend an aura of verisimilitude to a story "based on a true story" (as they like to say these days) by using real locations whenever possible. However, no documentary, semi or otherwise, has been as artfully shot and lighted, here by Mann and his cinematographer John Alton, who make the photography as oppressive as it is beautiful, enveloping the government agents in precipitous angles, uncomfortably close close-ups, and an ever-encroaching darkness that seems to swallow them up in the frame. The danger is so visually palpable you can practically smell the sweat, with or without the benefit of steam-baths.

It's a fascinating portrait of professionals, good and bad, just "doing business" with a restraint of attitude in the "Dragnet" manner, but explodes into ferocity when the guns come out. In fact, there's an energy to the finale that almost has a supernatural "horror" quality to it, of implacable hate that pulses through the veins of wounded men, rather than blood. The darkness veils emotion throughout the movie—especially in the scene where O'Brien's hat-brim shadows his eyes after witnessing Genaro's murder—only the spare splashes and flashes of light betraying the character's inner thoughts and rages. Despite good restrained performances, there's almost no acting needed, when Mann and Alton are presenting all the drama in their choices of light and dark. T-Men is one of the greatest of film-noirs, of the forces of light trying to penetrate the darkness. 

The Three Lives of the Cat People

Cat People (Jacques Tourneur, 1942) The year after Citizen Kane, RKO Studios declared war on Orson Welles by pressuring the ouster of President George J. Schaefer (whose motto was "Quality Pictures at a Premium Price") and installing Charles Koerner who trumpeted the studio's new philosophy of "entertainment, not genius." In its zeal to create entertainment without genius, the Studio gave a freer reign to one of their house producers, Val Lewton, who created a series of sophisticated horror films on the cheap, among which was Cat People.

The result was entertainment and genius of another kind. Strictly B-movie material, the film nevertheless struck a nerve and did well at the box-office, despite some lackluster dialogue, sub-par performances (particularly by star Simone Simon, whose tortured English was left without extensive dubbing) and overall cheapness (transformed by brilliant cinematography); entering Irena Dubrovna's brownstone, the grand staircase from Welles' The Magnificent Ambersons is there, recycled somewhat inexplicably for the movie. A grandiose stair-way like that sticks out as not belonging, in the same way that Irena (Simon) is odd—foreign, exotic, petite, and nearly incomprehensible—in the generic studio-city the film takes place in.

But it's the ideas and execution behind Cat People that twisted nerves. In as obvious a metaphor as you can have, Irena is a creature that, when sexually aroused, turns into a vicious panther that attacks and kills her partner, the result of her village being invaded and damned by devil worshipers in the distant past. The movie's a strange push-pull of ambiguity and obviousness. The delay of the creature's "appearance" makes Irena suspect, as all we have is her belief in a barbaric folk-tale. When it becomes clear that Irena is what she says she is, the image of her transformed is always suggested by shadow and sound, an off-screen presence that is unmistakable, but not to be seen directly.

The entire movie is a clever delaying tactic that entices and teases with our innate desire to "see the monster." Man (the awkward Kent Smith)-meets-feline. Despite Irena's fears and protestations, they marry, but consumed with her past, Irena refuses to consummate the marriage. This leads to turmoil (and concern in the movie's principals that Irena is..."strange," but not in the way they think). The husband seeks counseling for her, but Irena's shrink becomes attracted to her instead. Ultimately, the husband files for divorce (irreconcilable differences?), Irena's fears proving too much for him. It isn't until near the end, when the rakish psychiatrist tries to have his way with her that the claws come out, and the rogue male is dispatched. Mee-ow.

It just sounds awful and, indeed, some of the acting is. But the story is provocative, setting up a situation where **warning, warning** sex is dangerous, even while the turning away from the act is considered unnatural and...well, as strange as thinking you're going to turn into a panther. Director Tourneur's handling of it by suggestion is awesome. One memorable segment has Irena's rival for her husband's affections (Jane Randolph) trapped in a gym-pool while around her, guttural growls echo, and slinking shadows force her to the middle of the pool. And the director's low-budget suggestion of Irena turning into a cat, is also suggestive of her sinking to the floor to satisfy that randy psychiatrist. Many of those ideas would be recycled with the next life of "Cat People," but the sexuality and cat-transformations would be a lot more explicit. Did that make it better?

Wellllllll.....

Cat People (Paul Schrader, 1982) A strict remake, but not an austere one, writer-director Paul Schrader took the original Cat People and updated it for the up-tight STD'd 80's. The performances are better, but the characters all seem a bit under-written and played. If you've seen the first, you'll see the same idea of a stark concrete zoo set. The same basic plot. The trick jump-shock of the bus is recreated in stereophonic sound and color. You'll even see what looks like a shot-for-shot recreation of the pool sequence, but as an indication of the puerile nature of the update, the figure (Annette O'Toole) trapped in the pool by the suggestive growls is topless this time.

Sure we might appreciate it, but it comes off as crass and cheap, compared to the original. In the same way, Schrader adds some mythological hokum as a prelude and deepened the "cat-curse" to include an incestuous way to break it involving cat-brother and cat-sister (Malcolm McDowell, Nastassja Kinski) getting it on—something alluded to, but isn't seen. Like Schrader's other attempts to make this Cat People more kinkified, it ends up feeling clawless. 

What's the point of having the "curse" if you can't use it for the story? And so it's alluded to, but never presented. Schrader also makes more explicit the cat-transformation making it a were-wolfish change that seems somehow less convincing than the suggestive original. And forgive me, but is it an improvement to have Kinski's cat-person spending the rest of her life in a zoo? Are we meant to be cheered by her apparent captivity, or is it merely the excuse to entertain a sequel?

For all its attempts to "sex it up," the film actually comes across as more conventional than the 40's original. Hard to believe, but the more "sophisticated" 80's remake has less going for it as a thriller, horror film, a Gothic love story, a romance, or even a cautionary tale.

The Curse of the Cat People (Gunther von Fritsch/Robert Wise, 1944) An odd sequel that is better than the original, Curse features the cast from the first but turns it on its tail. Oliver (Kent Smith) and Alice (Jane Randolph) are married and their daughter, Amy (the melancholy little Ann Carter) is troubled—attacking other children viciously and living in a fantasy world with an imaginary friend—who just happens to be Irena Dubrovna (Simone Simon)! Is "cat-scratch fever" communicable?

Despite the characters from the first film appearing here, Curse has little to do with Cat People—all the "cat people" are dead and Amy might be haunted by the reminders of her father's first wife (who is never mentioned in the house), so that she imagines Irena. Given the family history, Dad discourages her little flights of fantasy, thinking it could lead to the tragedy of the first film, a tactic that confuses Amy and distrustful of her own family. 

Then, she is glommed onto by a grasping older actress who lives down the street (Julia Dean). You know those older actresses, they can be pretty dramatic and this one favors Amy over her own daughter (Elizabeth Russell). Not a movie about monsters in the shadows, but the ones in our minds. Although one could make a case for it being about possession, it's not a horror film, but instead an atmospheric fantasia about the dark side of childhood imagination and alienation, as potent and strange as The Innocents or Night of the Hunter.

It also marked the directing debut of Robert Wise, who had edited Citizen Kane (and butchered The Magnificent Ambersons) for RKO and would become one of Hollywood's master craftsmen, working in a number of genres and winning Best Picture and Directing Oscars for West Side Story and The Sound of Music.