Saturday, November 18, 1972 (Midnight)The Thing From Another World (1951) / Bluebeard (1944)

Synopsis: Capt. Pat Hendry (Kenneth Tobey) is the pilot of a C-47 transport plane that makes frequent runs to a scientific research station at the North Pole. He and his flight crew are at the Air Force base in Anchorage, waiting to be deployed again. While playing cards in the officer’s club, Hendry is introduced to newspaperman Ned Scott (Douglas Spencer), who has just arrived at the Anchorage base. Scott is looking for a story, and is intrigued to hear that Hendry’s crew frequently visits the remote station where the famous Dr. Carrington (Robert Cornthwaite) and a gaggle of other scientists are working. Scott asks Hendry to consider bringing him along on their next run.

Scott doesn’t have to wait long; almost immediately Hendry is summoned by his commanding officer, General Fogerty.  Dr. Carrington’s team has reported that a large aircraft has crashed in the vicinity, and Fogerty wants Hendry to investigate. Hendry asks permission to bring Scott.  “I don’t care if you maroon him up there,” Fogerty says tartly, then adds, “Now, don’t get me wrong about who gets marooned.” He refers to an landing ski that was broken on a previous trip to the pole, which delayed Hendry’s return.  Hendry calls the broken ski “an unavoidable accident”, but it’s clear that Fogerty doesn’t believe him.

Within hours Hendry’s crew along with Scott are on their way up to the research station. Almost as soon as the plane has landed Hendry seeks out Nikki (Margaret Sheridan), an assistant to the scientists at the station. We learn that the two have not seen each other since Nikki’s last visit to Anchorage; she had come down at Hendry’s invitation, but the visit didn’t go well.  Hendry behaved like a drunken boor (he doesn’t even remember the times that he spent “making like an octopus”, as Nikki puts it).  He is angry that she not only left without saying goodbye, but put a note on the passed-out Hendry’s chest, listing his unattractive attributes, including his legs.  “Now the whole Air Force is laughing at me,” he complains.

He asks if it’s possible to start over.  She doesn’t say no, but there isn’t time to discuss the matter: it’s time for Hendry to meet with Dr. Carrington, who turns out to be a frosty and condescending sort.  Carrington tells Hendry that he wants to proceed directly to the crash site.

Carrington’s urgency is driven by the fact that whatever crashed is too massive to be an airplane, and it isn’t a meteor either.  Once on the scene the scientists and military make an assessment, deciding that the object that crashed melted the ice surrounding it and sank before it re-froze.

Attempting to determine the shape of the dark object, the group discovers that it’s round – the object is, they deduce, a flying saucer.  Eager to uncover it, and spurred on by a winter storm headed their way, they set thermite charges, but instead of melting the ice as expected, the thermite sets off a chain reaction when it contacts the unknown alloy and  the ship is destroyed.  All that is salvaged is an alien body frozen in ice. They cut a block encasing it and transport it back to the base.

The scientists argue about the best way to thaw the creature so they can examine it, but Hendry tells them that they should do nothing until he gets further orders from Fogerty.  But the winter storm has knocked out communications and they are on their own.

Hendry assigns Corporal Barnes (William Self) to guard the room where the frozen alien is lying.  But Barnes, not wanting to see the alien’s open eyes, carelessly tosses an electric blanket on top of the ice. Within a few hours, the ice has melted and the alien body is gone….

Comments: The Thing From Another World was one of the first films to combine the old genre of horror with the new genre of science fiction, and even today it’s one of the best examples of that hybrid. It is an absolutely riveting film, still as tense and scary as it was upon its release in 1951.

For many years science fiction aficionados looked down their noses at this picture.  Though it was based on the well-regarded short story “Who Goes There?” by John W. Campbell, Jr., the plot was significantly changed for Hollywood.  Instead of a monster that created cunning duplicates of its victims, leading to a situation where everyone in the camp suspected his neighbor of being an imposter, the movie offered a more prosaic monster-running-loose-through-the-research-station scenario.  That — and the fact that a woman was added to the cast to create some romantic interest — led to the charge that The Thing was a profoundly dumbed-down interpretation of Campbell’s story.

But judged on its own merits, this is really one of the best horror films ever made. It gets rolling quickly and never takes its foot off the accelerator. The screenplay by Charles Lederer (said to have been substantially reworked by Ben Hecht) absolutely crackles, without an ounce of fat on it. It smartly moves from one setpiece to another, keeping the viewer off balance. The brisk pace also keeps the viewer from thinking about the plot holes until later (for example, there’s no real reason for everyone to be in such a hurry to dig out the spacecraft; a winter storm might dump a foot or two of snow onto it, but considering it’s already encased in ice, that’s trivial).  The film also benefits from one of the greatest film scores of the decade, a nerve-jangling and theremin-infused work by Dmitri Tiomkin.

A minor though interesting subplot to the movie is the way in which Hendry redeems himself in Nikki’s eyes.  He is a distinctly unimpressive fellow in his early scenes. Even allowing for the boys-will-be-boys attitude of the 1950s, Hendry initially comes across as something of a lout. We learn he’d embarrassed himself by getting drunk and regaling Nikki with his sexual escapades in Hawaii, before “making like an octopus” and then passing out.   He is all but accused by his C.O. of sabotaging his own aircraft in order to get more personal time with a pretty girl.  The pretty girl in question, once she got an opportunity to see him up close and personal, decided there was less to him than meets the eye.

But as the crisis builds, Hendry’s best self emerges: he is sensible, diplomatic, decisive; he is willing to listen to advice from those around him, regardless of their rank or status.  He is scrupulous in following the orders of his superiors until he determines that the situation has changed enough that he can act on his own authority.

Hendry’s leadership style is quite different from that of military men in other science fiction films of the era, which usually assume a good leader is someone who barks out a lot of orders. Nor is there the standard macho posturing and / or fistfight between romantic rivals as was standard in films of this era (e.g., Richard Carlson and Richard Denning in Creature From the Black Lagoon). It’s a relief, frankly, to be spared the dreary, standard-issue romantic triangle.

The character of Nikki herself is surprisingly self-assured for a woman of this era, though as has been pointed out many times elsewhere, Nikki is very much in the mold of brassy Howard Hawks females. She is refreshingly smart and resourceful, and gets her share of one-liners (“If I start to burn up again, who’s going to put out the fire?”). While she is never central to the action, she is far stronger and more sensible than women in films of this era.

One weak point in the film is the depiction of Dr. Carrington, who as the designated champion of science and reason repeatedly butts heads with Capt. Hendry.  Everything about Carrington is designed to telegraph that he’s not a “real” American, or even a real guy — everything from his attire (furry Russian-style hat and expensive-looking but impractical cloth coat) to his effete-looking goatee and supercilious manner. Carrington’s pedigree is further called into question by the fact that he seems not to notice the presence of his strikingly attractive secretary. In fact, he only has eyes for the monster.

Carrington is clearly enamored with the creature and its asexual method of reproduction, believing it to possess a cool, cerebral purity unsullied by base emotions and needs. There isn’t really any reason for Carrington to believe this except that it’s necessary to the plot that he do so; in fact the Thing behaves more like a snarling monster than the “intellectual carrot” that we keep hearing about. Nevertheless if the film can claim to be making any sort of social commentary it appears to be that xenophobia is the correct default response to anything coming from outside, and that intellectuals are dangerously lacking in common sense.  When one of his colleagues refers to the Thing as an enemy, Carrington pushes back. “There are no enemies in science,” he says sharply, “only phenomena to be studied”. This notion would have seemed particularly dangerous at the height of the Cold War, and we are clearly supposed to regard Carrington as deeply misguided at best and a traitor at worst.

We can actually forgive this clumsy characterization for a number of reasons.  First, from a screenwriting standpoint, there must be ongoing points of conflict between the human characters in order to maintain tension, and with the exception of Carrington, there really aren’t any.  Everyone gets along very well — almost too well.  Hendry’s men work together smoothly and efficiently, and the scientists at the base are sober and helpful.  Nikki effortlessly becomes a valued member of the team in spite of her early verbal sparring with Hendry, and despite his cynical wisecracking Scott is as much on board with Hendry’s decisions as everyone else. It’s a bit clumsy for Carrington to keep turning up as the sole enabler of the Thing’s agenda, but somebody has to throw up obstacles for Hendry’s team to overcome, and Carrington is a convenient fall guy.

Second, the presence of Carrington’s colleagues helps to soften the anti-intellectual message.  With the exception of the snooty Carrington himself, all the scientists are portrayed as friendly, patient, cooperative, and happy to explain difficult concepts to the layman. They quickly grasp the threat the Thing poses.  When Dr. Stern sees the nursery that Dr. Carrington has arranged for the creature’s progeny, he is fascinated, but he also recognizes that breeding them is a bad idea.  “Imagine what a thousand of them could do,” he says. Dr. Voorhees, an early Carrington ally asks, “What if this being came not to visit the Earth, but to conquer it?” These are reasonable people who don’t let their passion for knowledge overwhelm them. The reassuring presence of the avuncular Dr. Stern and the level-headed Dr. Voorhees and Dr. Chapman prevent us from viewing scientists in general with contempt.

By the same token, the military gives Carrington the benefit of the doubt at every turn, always operating from the assumption that while the scientist might be mistaken or even misguided, he is not their enemy.  Hendry in particular is patient with Carrington and goes out of his way to respect his point of view, even when Carrington’s actions are dangerous. They treat him the way Nikki sees him — as “a kid with a new toy” — and chalk up his misdeeds to exhaustion and an excess of enthusiasm. At the end of the film, in Scott’s radio report of the incident to Anchorage, he notes that Carrington is “recovering from injuries sustained in the battle” — a technically true but deeply misleading statement. “Atta boy, Scotty,” one of the men says behind him, and we must assume he speaks for everybody.

A lesser film would have been much less subtle with this relationship; we would no doubt have had had the military men complaining loudly about Carrington, shaking their heads and wondering whose side he was really on. It’s to Lederer and Hecht’s credit that the military men are as low-key as they are depicted here.

This film was enormously influential; a whole slew of filmmakers including Tobe Hooper, Joe Dante and John Carpenter cited The Thing as having a big impact on them as kids. Stephen King wrote extensively about it as well in his book of essays Danse Macabre.  The film was commonly referred to simply as The Thing for decades, but it’s now usually referred to as The Thing From Another World in order to distinguish it from Carpenter’s own The Thing (1982) and Matthijs van Heijningen’s prequel to the Carpenter version, confusingly also called The Thing (2011).

While there’s much to admire about the Carpenter version, I found the characters to be rather sour and unlikable, and I never really cared what happened to any of them. The van Heijningen version offered a more interesting set of characters and some clever variations on how to prove one is a human instead of an imposter.  But because it was a prequel, we knew how it was going to end, deflating a good deal of the suspense.

The original is deft and spectacular in its own way: not as cool or cynical as the later versions, but a  taut and suspenseful picture that still packs a wallop. It’s the kind of movie  creature features were made for.

Bluebeard

vampirashow20

Synopsis: In 19th-century Paris, the body of a young woman is fished out of the river Seine. She has been strangled, another victim of the notorious serial killer Bluebeard.  Women are urged to stay in at night, and not to take unnecessary risks – but it’s difficult to take precautions when no one knows what Bluebeard looks like.
 
One evening young Babette (Patti McCarty) and her two friends Constance (Carrie Devan) and Lucille (Jean Parker), knowing that women aren’t safe on the streets after dark, decide to walk home together.  On the gaslit streets they meet Gaston Morel, whom Babette recognizes — he is “The Puppeteer”, a painter well-known in Paris for the elaborate puppet operas he stages in the park.  Morel seems charmed to meet the young women, but is especially interested in Lucille, who claims to be entirely unafraid of Bluebeard.  He invites them all to see his show the following night, but it is clear that Lucille is the one he hopes will attend.
 
 
bluebeard-1944
 
 
The following evening, Morel scans the crowd as he and his puppeteers perform “Faust”.  He sees Lucille and after the show invites her backstage.  He tells her that he wishes to paint her; will she sit for him?
 
Flattered, she tells him that she will.  Meanwhile, Morel’s assistant Renee angrily watches his flirtation with the new woman.
 
Later, Morel returns home to find Renee waiting for him.  She is angry that he is flirting with another new girl, and hurt that there have been other women who have posed for his pictures, women who have temporarily replaced her.  But, she says, “You always return to me.”
 
Morel is dismissive, telling her to go home, but she presses him further.  What, she asks, has happened to the  women he’s had dalliances with?  Where have they gone?  Angered, Morel removes his cravat and strangles her with it .  Later, he dumps her body in the river.
 
The next day, he goes to the police station, and reports Renee missing.  When her body is pulled out of the river he is asked to identify the body.  He does so, telling the police that Renee left the park before he did, and he is unable to say if she left alone or in someone’s company.
 
But the next time Morel sees Lucille, he tells her that what he really wants is for her to make new costumes for his puppets.  By this time we’ve figured out an important part of Bluebeard’s m.o. — he only strangles women who have posed for the pictures he’s painted.  Does the fact that he no longer wants to paint Lucille mean he is becoming genuinely fond of her?
 
Apparently so —  and Lucille is growing fond of him too.  She mends one of his torn cravats (which will, of course, prove to be an important plot point) and the two are spending more and more time together.
 
Meanwhile, police inspector Lefevre (Nils Asther) discovers that a painting on display in a Paris gallery has as its subject one of Bluebeard’s victims.  He looks for other paintings by the same hand, and sure enough, all of the victims of Bluebeard appear to have sat for paintings.  But the identity of the artist is shrouded in mystery.
 
Lefevre locates the dealer of the paintings, who will not divulge the name of the artist.  Lefevre conducts a sting operation, arranging for a wealthy patron of the arts to offer an outrageous sum to the dealer — if he can get the mysterious painter to take a last-minute job.  Tempted by the money, the dealer talks Morel into doing it.  But what Morel doesn’t know is that his studio is now surrounded by the police — and that the woman he is painting is Lucille’s younger sister Francine….
 
 
 
 
 
 
Comments:  Bluebeard was one of a number of features directed at PRC by Edgar G Ulmer, a remarkable filmmaker who made the sumptuous The Black Cat for Universal in the 1930s, but who became best-known later in his career as a poverty-row auteur who could make a decent-looking movie for next to nothing. He was adept at using all sorts of tricks to hide the paucity of his budgets. In Detour he confined nearly all the action to a hotel suite and a single expensive car — a 1941 Lincoln Continental V-12 convertible that was owned by Ulmer himself. In The Man From Planet X, he evoked the Scottish countryside with a soundstage so tiny that a car that pulled into the frame could only exit it by backing out. In Bluebeard, miles of stock footage were used in order to evoke 19th century Paris. And in all of his films, he made generous use of fog to cover up the poor sets — or sometimes even the lack of them.
 
 Of course, it takes more to direct a movie than covering up a poor budget. Ulmer knew how to pace his scenes, and he knew how to coax good performances out of mediocre actors. In Detour, both Tom Neal and Ann Savage give the best performances of their otherwise-forgettable careers. And in Bluebeard, John Carradine, a dreadful ham for whom I have little regard, turns in a performance that is — dare I say it — intelligent and thoughtful.
Carradine has a haughty, aristocratic air about him that he normally dials up to 11, resulting in an overbearing and campy delivery. This actually worked in Revenge of the Zombies, which was itself campy and melodramatic. But most of the time Carradine comes across as exactly what he is: a ham actor chewing scenery for a paycheck.
In Bluebeard, Carradine doesn’t go over-the-top until it’s appropriate for him to do so. His Morel is aloof and guarded, hiding his insanity under a veneer of 19th-century gentility. His obsession with beautiful women is closely linked to his deep-seated hatred of them.
Carradine actually comes across as charming and likeable in his early scenes, something that isn’t often demanded of him but which is something he actually can convey – as he did as the wiggy scientist in The Invisible Man’s Revenge.

Jean Parker is not an actor I find impressive either, but she carries it off well enough as Lucy, and does well delivering one of the more intriguing lines of the picture. Upon first meeting Morel, Jean is asked why she doesn’t seem to be afraid of the Bluebeard killer. “What would Bluebeard want with me?” she replies, evincing a perfect mix of faux-naivete, courage and flirtatious charm.

 
 
 
 
 
Before I Hang
Advertisements

3 comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s