The Kiss of Death

CAT PEOPLE (1942)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I imagine the youth of the 2010 era are so jaded and numbed by excessive violence in horror films that they forget the crucial tool that put horror in the map in the first place - imagination. Imagination needs implication, needs shadows and, in some cases, ambiguity to survive. "The Exorcist" is still the top favorite in my supernatural horror diet despite having the occasional gross-out moment - the violence in that picture was essential so we believed that a spirit was really inside a little girl. Among my favorite horror flicks ever pre-1973 are: "The Bride of Frankenstein," "Dracula's Daughter" and the eternally frightening 1922 German Dracula version, "Nosferatu." I love most Universal horror flicks of the 1930's but a true nail-biter in this genre is the vivid, quixotic and touching "Cat People," a 1942 Val Lewton production that is classy, vastly spooky and romantic. It is the kind of picture where mood is everything.

Simone Simon is Irena, a Serbian fashion designer who is drawn to Central Park Zoo. She sketches the panthers in the cages, and nothing else. One gentleman's interest is piqued by this woman and he decides to talk to her. He is Oliver Reed (Kent Smith), a marine engineer who is invited by Irena to her apartment for tea (it is amazing how times have changed since 1942). He is quite intrigued by her and his heart melts at the sight of her, especially when she talks about her homeland of Serbia, devil worship and cats being a symbol of evil. All this emanates from Irena's King John of Serbia statue where the monarch is shown impaling a panther with a sword.

Irena and Oliver get married but their first night together shows them sleeping in different beds. Irena is afraid of intimacy and Oliver tries to get her to see a psychiatrist, Dr. Louis (Tom Conway), to peel away at her fears. Oliver seeks intimacy and advice from his best friend and co-worker, Alice Moore (Jane Randolph) since he doesn't have a clue on how to handle timidness. If all this sounds intriguing enough, consider why Irena is incapable of intimacy - she might turn into one of the "cat people."

Fluidly directed by Jacques Tourneur and brilliantly shot with deep shadows by cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca (the shadows are so stark that you might think you are seeing the color red), "Cat People" is an extraordinary, breathless journey that says so much in just under 75 minutes. Sympathy develops for Simone Simon's Irena, a woman who means no harm and is aware of what she is. Her tragic family stories alone resonate and hang over her like a halo dripped with blood (the actress was far more evil and sinister in 1941's "The Devil and Daniel Webster"). And when Irena turns into a panther (a transformation we never see), we hear the roar, the snarl, without seeing too much of the wild animal. Two scenes stand out and are amazingly effective in this regard: the Central Park sequence (interrupted by a transit bus, known as the "Lewton bus") and the swimming pool scene that left me shivering with fright. I will say no more because they have to be experienced.

Smith's Oliver Reed also cuts a sympathetic figure, a man who wants nothing more than to love the most forlorn woman I can recall of the 1940's cinema (this was the age of Barbara Stanwyck and Bette Davis, two women who could never be called shy). We wonder why Oliver didn't match up his love with Jane Randolph's Alice sooner, but then we wouldn't have a movie. It is clear that Oliver might sense a hellcat of a woman in Irena waiting to pounce (perhaps in the bedroom), or maybe he thinks foreign women are not as guarded as some American women.

"Cat People" is a frightful little masterpiece in every sense of the word and, sadly, a film that probably could never be made today, at least not in the same manner or style. I love some gross-out horror movies too but what "Cat People" accomplishes is finding fear in the everyday. That is part of its charm and part of its everlasting impact. I can't imagine a more thrilling way for a horror fan to spend 73 minutes.

An aerobic, sashaying Gill Man

THE CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON (1954)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Ostensibly a run-of-the-mill creature feature, 1954's "The Creature From the Black Lagoon" is among the best in the genre it inspired. It is loaded with enough thrills, chills and spine-tingling moments to warrant that old phrase - a delightful Saturday afternoon matinee showing. "Black Lagoon" fits the bill and it has an awesome, iconic monster to boot, later known as Gill Man.

An expedition of scientists are given a rare discovery from the Amazon thanks to Dr. Maia (Antonio Moreno) - a prehistoric, fossilized, severed amphibious hand. This naturally leads them to the Amazon, which leads to the ominous Black Lagoon. In this lagoon is an amphibious living creature that kills anyone trying to meddle in its watery paradise, though our crew is unaware what lurks in these waters. Dr. David Reed (Richard Carlson) leads the expedition, determined to study the creature. Kay (Julie Adams) is his fiancee, who comes equipped with a one-piece bathing suit (remember this is a 50's B-movie). Mark Williams (Richard Denning) is the greedy boss who sees dollar signs everywhere - he rather kill the Gill Man with a harpoon.

Shot in 3-D and released as such, "Creature from the Black Lagoon" scored well at the box-office and saved Universal-International Pictures from bankruptcy. "Lagoon" has all the elements in place for a 50's B-horror movie, but what it contains that few of its ilk contain is lucid, almost poetic lyricism in its underwater scenes. Watching the Gill Man swim underwater as it sashays from one end of the lagoon to the other is truly hypnotic. And though there are the cliches of the Gill Man's webbed hand or face appearing out of water accompanied by striking musical chords, it still brings a chill to the spine. What is fascinating is that the Gill Man subtly moves its mouth and its gills - you are scared by it and hope everyone gets out alive. Its resistance to killing Kay makes the monster sympathetic, though I can't figure out why this creature spares her life and carries her around a damp cave. Watching, however, Julie Adams swimming gracefully and aerobically above the surface, from the Creature's point-of-view, is chilling and evokes the thrills that Spielberg no doubt adopted for his own "Jaws" twenty years later. Maybe that is why the Creature can't kill her - it might think she is an amphibian too.

The characters are stock and one-dimensional at best (a silly fistfight might make some groan), and Julie Adams shows some intelligence but you know her existence in this movie is to make the guys swoon. The Gill Man, though, is the real star and it never seems anything less than a prehistoric creature (the studio didn't give credit to the two actors who played the Gill Man - Ricou Browning in underwater shots and Ben Chapman on land - for fear that the public might think it is an actor in a suit, according to the late Ben Chapman who didn't receive credit till 1992). "Creature from the Black Lagoon" is not great art but it is pulpy, juicy, frightfully good pop art. At the end of the film, I guarantee your spine will tingle a little.

Those damn fire ants...

 THE NAKED JUNGLE (1954)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

For my level of interest in pure adventure tales, Byron Haskin's "The Naked Jungle" fits the bill to a tee. It is a jungle melodrama with all the trappings of a pulpy B-movie, complete with a firm, tough, pistol-packing Charlton Heston, a beautiful flame-haired dame, lots of stock Indian natives, a luxurious house on a South American plantation, the cliched jungle creature sounds, and lots of nasty fire ants (yes, Indiana Jones fans, this is the genesis of the hungry fire ants attacking humans in the last Indy flick).

Heston, never a great actor but a towering, raging, full of gusto and self-important kind of actor, plays Christopher Leiningen, a plantation owner of cocoa fields who gets a mail-ordered bride from New Orleans. The problem is that he might have expected a brainless bimbo and instead he gets a cultured woman named Joanna (Eleanor Parker), who knows several languages and can play the piano. Christopher is an impotent man who spent too many years in the jungle without a woman. Thus, he is immediately scornful of her due to her independence and ability to stand up to him, yet he slowly begins to like her. Of course, this couple is mismatched and so he is ready to send her home until fire ants, known as the Marabunta, are scurrying their way through his plantation and cocoa fields. Chris, the man of action, is ready to destroy these ants with dynamite and this makes him potent and ready to kiss his leading lady without compromise. Nope, she is not headed back to New Orleans.

Crisply directed by Byron Haskins ("War of the Worlds), "Naked Jungle" spends a lot of time on the developing relationship between Chris and Joanna. Precious little time is devoted to Chris's imperialist attitude and his acceptance of these natives, whom he doesn't abuse which is why they work for him in the first place - all they might do is shrink a head or two. It is a typical adventure movie of the 50's where the white man is the savior among a supposedly inferior race. The feminists are likely to fret over Chris's machismo that is rejuvenated by a woman of taste and elegance. At least she is ready to give up her white umbrella to the natives.

Pulp is never meant to be taken seriously, nor is this movie, originally based on a Carl Stephenson short story. A truly terrifying climax and a supple supporting acting turn from a less hefty William Conrad as the Commissioner are major pluses. A highlight is seeing Chris apply ointment to Joanna's skin so as to protect her from the ants, and another highlight is watching Chris violently douse his own plantation-made perfume on her. As I said, if you know what to expect, prepare to be entertained. As a sheerly high-pitched melodrama that they don't make any more, it works. Those seeking political correctness, stay far away (though Joanna is smarter than most of her 50's counterparts). Either way, watch out for those creepy fire ants that will make your skin crawl and itch.

Sleepy Brooklyn Noir

TEENAGE GANG DEBS (1966)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Halfway through the incredibly short running time of 73 minutes, "Teenage Gangs Debs" has one or two endless montages that feature gang members harassing a young woman by literally riding their bikes in circle formation around her. Then we get two eternal dance numbers where young men and women do the jig to some instrumental pop number. I would think that it means we are left with less than an hour devoted to any sort of story.

Somewhere in Brooklyn, a new girl in town from Manhattan named Terry (Diane Conti) is looking to become part of the "Rebels" gang. She enters an exclusive bar where the members hang out and asks for a soda. Why she wants to be a member, I can't say. Johnny (John Batis) is the leader of the pack. If you become Johnny's girl (a "deb"), then he must have his initials carved into your chest. Terry isn't having it and conspires with Nino, Johnny's second man (Joey Naudic), to betray and kill Johnny. It almost seems as if Terry wants control of the gang but then the movie sputters and tanks with excessive padding to make it past the one hour mark.

"Teenage Gang Debs" commits the unfortunate sin of occasional boredom. An exploitation tale like this should have verve and some energy but it operates on sluggishness, with one too many dance numbers and some street violence that seems to have emerged from an unrelated documentary. Terry's demands and her manipulative methods are the best thing about this film - she is aching to get the gang a higher status by getting into rumbles. The nagging question is why does she care and what does she expect to get out of it? It is also nice to see Eileen Dietz (known in the credits as Eileen Scott) in her first major role as a teen girl who wants out - this is long before she got to be known as Pazuzu's Ghost face.

Some have termed this picture "sleaze noir." It is sleepy noir.

Viva the dim Elvis money pit

VIVA LAS VEGAS (1964)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

An Elvis Presley movie has to be approached as entertainment, nothing more. His best films, "King Creole" and "Jailhouse Rock," offered more than simple-minded entertainment - they had meaty stories and well-drawn characters. "Viva Las Vegas" is one of Elvis's most popular movies but, when all is said and done, its mere novelty is that it is nothing more than a picturesque travelogue with Elvis and Ann-Margret chewing up the screen with their songs and dance moves.

Elvis stars as Lucky Jackson, a cocky race car driver with aspirations to race at the Grand Prix in Las Vegas. The trouble is that there is a powerful engine he needs to buy for his precious car. Lucky tries his luck at a Vegas casino and actually wins the money. Unfortunately, the engine is bought by someone else and, through a series of misadventures, namely falling in a pool while making courtly advances to a fellow employee, Rusty Martin (Ann-Margret), Lucky loses his money and finds himself working as a waiter at a hotel.

In the meantime, there are a series of montages involving Lucky and a rival driver, Count Elmo Mancini (played by Cesare Danova), who spend about twenty minutes searching for that pretty redhead Rusty at every single Vegas casino and showplace on the Strip (which only leaves about another one hour of more repetitive montages). There are also the requisite songs sung by Elvis and Ann-Margret - my favorites are the title tune, "The Lady Loves Me," and "Appreciation.

To criticize "Viva Las Vegas" is to ask for trouble. How can you argue against a movie that hardly has a story or credible characters, and is just concerned with being silly and fluffy nonsense? The movie is mostly an advertisement for Las Vegas, offering scenic beauty and plenty of helicopter shots of the horizon in Cinemascope color. And there is Elvis and Ann-Margret, two dazzling, sexy, charismatic stars who unfortunately have little in the way of chemistry. And the final race car competition results in two deaths (though one of them survives relatively unscathed if you check out the final wedding sequence), and apparently starts at midnight though it seems to last through the next day!

There are some electric moments with the dynamic Ann-Margret, a fabulous singer and dancer and an overall better actor than Elvis. Elvis himself has one high comedic point where he splashes champagne all over Cesare, who is trying to woo Ann-Margret. Beyond that, I expect much more than pretty scenery and a few good songs, but why carp? People seem to love this movie, so be it.

Lupino Lane's hair-raising escapades

FOOL'S LUCK (1926)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Fool's Luck" plays like a Buster Keaton short, without Keaton. That is okay because Lupino Lane (Ida Lupino's uncle), the late comedian and acrobat, performs ably, doing some spectacular stunts that are timed with such precision, you'd swear they were filmed accidentally.

Lane is the Dude, who lives in an expansive apartment. He also has his own nervous valet (George Davis) and a maid, and lives the high life thanks to his uncle (the Dude even has a rising bed that tilts in such a way that he doesn't have to literally get up). The Dude is a lazy, rich bum who is suddenly cut off from his finances and is evicted the same day, thanks to a telegram. The problem is that his fiancee and her father are going to have dinner at his apartment!

A simple plot is delivered with some hair-raisingly funny gags. The funniest and most hair-raising involves a dangling piano that is hanging from the roof of a building that will have you on the edge of your seat. To give you an idea of how nailbiting it is, Lane walks on top of the dangling piano! If this is camera trickery, I couldn't spot it.

As a comic short, "Fool's Luck" is a breeze to watch and a welcome respite from even some of the early comic talkies. Lane is a riot to see in his body language, whether he is sitting on a truck with no one at the wheel or hiding underwater in his luxurious bathtub while smoking and trying to play solitaire. And George Davis has his nervous tic of lightly touching his fingertips that will leave you quite amused.

As directed by Fatty Arbuckle (using the alias William Goodrich), I wouldn't call it as good as anything by Harold Lloyd, Chaplin or Buster Keaton (and we have seen these visual gag stunts before but, hey, they are always impressive), but it is great fun to watch.

Stealing scenes with devilish bitchiness

A STOLEN LIFE (1946)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Bette Davis has always been the reigning queen bitch of the cinema, judging from roles in "All About Eve" (her definitive, bitchiest role), "Mr. Skeffington," and "Jezebel," among others. "A Stolen Life," a soapy, highly melodramatic drama, places Davis in dual roles for the first time in her career, playing both a flirtatious bitch and an innocent, lovey-dovey woman. The results are remarkable to say the least.

Kate Bosworth (Bette Davis) is the artistically inclined woman who misses her boat to New England. She is set to see her sister and her uncle. Kate persuades a lighthouse engineer, Bill (Glenn Ford), to take her home in his boat since his Martha Vineyard's lighthouse is on the way. Kate is instantly smitten with Bill, and decides to see him again at his precious, foggy lighthouse. They fall in love momentarily. That is until Pat (also played by Davis) decides to be smitten with Bill and whisk him away from Kate. A lunch date with Kate turns into a lunch date with Pat thanks to Pat's intervention. Later there is a dance followed by a wedding, leaving Kate fuming with nary the partner in her life. Kate is unable and unwilling to express her feelings to Pat. What is a virginal artist to do? Well, she gets caught up in her work and has a gallery showing where a Jackson Pollock-type named Karnock (Dane Clark) tells her that the work is mediocre and impersonal. He shows her his work and she is suddenly challenged, knowing her repression has taken a toll on her. Kate lets Karnock teach her the personal side of expressing oneself. Meanwhile, Pat and Bill are about to have a divorce with Bill leaving for Chile, which allows Kate wants to spend time with Pat. A tragedy ensues where a doppelganger motif takes shape.

"A Stolen Life" could have been highly sentimental glop but director Curtis Bernhardt and cinematographers Ernest Haller and Sol Polito inject a layer of noirish atmosphere with stark shadows and foggy landscapes that recall the look of the Universal horror films. In fact, the scenes where we see Karnock's sullied, dank apartment could be a scene straight out of "Dracula's Daughter." This works because the story involves doubles and mirror reflections of self-identity and often such stories involve self-doubt. Self-doubt or hazy notions of oneself come through in the scenes of fog, particularly the lighthouse sequences and scenes showing the exterior of Kate's house. The mirror reflections and the fact that Kate and Pat are twin sisters, not to mention there are two different men of repressed and animalistic sexuality, brings an unsettling sense of disturbance to the proceedings. It is hard to pin down but director Bernhardt has practically made a repressed horror movie without the horror, leaving only the elements of duality and doppelganger-isms and the atmosphere to prevail.

Bette Davis is the star of the show, showcasing her talents and fusing them to create three distinctive characters. The innocence of Kate, the bitchiness and flirtatious of Pat, and Kate feigning Pat in order to win Bill. It may be hokey and highly theatrical but it is never less than compelling. "A Stolen Life" is a true movie-buff's delight.