Critico de Cine: Film Critic Slaps Hand on Forehead

MANOS: THE HANDS OF FATE (1966)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

So the Master's' incompetent minion named Torgo (John Markward Reynolds Jr.) has a confrontation with the Master. The Master (Tom Neyman) is some sort of supernatural figure who holds pagan rituals, or maybe just holds a coven of scantily-clad women in white, see-through nightgowns who love to wrestle and slap each other ad nauseam. Torgo's thankless job is to lure passerby in the middle of the desert to a ramshackle rancher that doesn't seem (from the exterior) to contain a spacious room where rituals are held. Anyways, Torgo confronts the Villain With No Name and he wants a wife for himself. The Master knows of Torgo's suspicious activities centering on his wives when they are asleep standing up. Master says he will kill Torgo and basically all he does is stare at him with less than penetrating eyes. Torgo stares back and then slumps on the floor. What a wicked way to die only Torgo is later seen galavanting in the desert behind the Master and a couple of the wives while pursuing the married couple who have stayed at this remote little dwelling. I think the disheveled, hapless fool Torgo, who walks around as if he is trying to shake off the last remaining bits of fecal matter left in his butt, is massaged violently by the nine wives and then loses his hand. Ouch for sure, but not exactly a death.

"Manos: The Hands of Fate" is everything that a movie never is or should be. It is incompetently staged, no scratch that, it is not exactly staged or directed by Harold Warren (his only directorial effort) - the movie just sort of happens due to images recorded with no knowledge of what to do with them. Apparently a Bell and Howell 16mm camera was used that could only record 32 seconds of film footage! Oh, yes, I used such a camera back in the day but I had the advantage of recording almost 2 minutes. The film is beyond shoddy in its washed-out visuals and basic composition - nobody was directed in this movie. The characters look at the camera eye consistently though breaking the fourth wall is not intentional here. Since everything was postdubbed, the syncing of dialogue is occasionally off, though there are times that characters scream yet no screams are heard. A car's ignition is turned on yet the sound is a low hum - the kind of hum you hear when you turn on a 1930's radio. Transitions barely appear - the movie is not cut together, it is merely assembled. The couples' car drives around with no sound of tires heard on the soundtrack, or only when it was conveniently recorded during postproduction. The acting is beyond amateurish - there are actors on screen but little interest in emoting even at the most rudimentary level. John Markward Reynolds, Jr. is fairly decent as Torgo (it is the only actual performance in the movie) - apparently he was high throughout the eight days of production which maybe one needs to be when dealing with a mustachioed guy like the Master who could barely threaten Big Bird. Speaking of the Master, he wears a red-and-black robe with red hands on the front - easily the only imaginative aspect of this unimaginative production.

And yet, even after you know the movie stinks higher than two day old noodles with a touch of ketchup, "Manos: The Hands of Fate" is somewhat memorable though not exactly tolerable. 

Catch Him if You Can

THE INVISIBLE MAN (1933)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

When you hear the cackle, the wicked humor of Claude Rains' Invisible Man (Dr. Griffin), it sends shivers to your spine because this madman couldn't care less about anyone. After about the last twenty minutes of the film, it is clear that the man is a murderer who just wants to settle down with the woman he dearly loves. This is where it becomes almost unsettling to watch "The Invisible Man" because here is one Universal horror film icon who has a murderous lust and gets off on it - he relishes it. Not the Wolf Man nor Frankenstein's Monster nor even Dracula, to a lesser extent, had such homicidal rage. Even the author of which this film is based on, H.G. Wells, found fault with the character depicted as a lunatic. Still, despite the unsuppressed rage of the main character, "Invisible Man" never misses a beat in keeping you glued to the screen. 

Dr. Griffin, in the chilling opening scenes of "The Invisible Man," checks in at the Lion's Head Inn in Sussex, South East England seeking a room. The owners, including the unforgettable Una O'Connor (herself a staple of early Universal Horror), are sure that this head bandaged man must have had a horrible, disfiguring accident and offer him a room. Little do they know that Dr. Griffin is invisible and is not only trying to retain visibility, he is hoping to make a name for himself by adopting invisibility as something that would be useful in a time of war. After making threats and unveiling his invisibility to the Sussex villagers (and to the most famous of screamers of that time, Una O'Connor), Griffin escapes and it is beguiling fun to watch him push villagers out of his path or ride a bike - they are mystified by this mysterious man. But that upbeat fun soon turns serious when Griffin begins killing people, whether it is a police chief or one of Griffin's trusted associates who betrays him. One scene has Griffin derailing a train - a heart-stopping moment among many. It is not until he is back in the arms of his fiancee, Flora (Gloria Stuart), that he is settled, restrained.

Directed with heightened, restless tension by James Whale (which matches Dr. Griffin's own mental state), "The Invisible Man" progressively trembles our viewing experience, served with wicked relish by that most famous voice belonging to Claude Rains. The special-effects are still awe-inspiring especially when Griffin unwraps his bandages to the villagers - it is a shock to the system. Rains's tremendous, terrorizing voice, his cackle, his brutal nature and his occasional brand of prankish humor are not easy to forget. An astounding, edge-of-your-seat film, one of the best of its kind. 

Nazi hideout in Connecticut

THE STRANGER (1946)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Orson Welles tried for many years to get Hollywood financing for his films but proved unsuccessful, considering the omen following the disastrous reception for his beloved 1942 film "The Magnificent Ambersons." "The Stranger" was his first and only attempt at making a commercial, conventional film (though 1958's "Touch of Evil" might have had commercial prospects had it not been shown on B-movie double bills) - the film was a box-office success but somehow it still did not engineer a fruitful Hollywood career for Welles as a director. It is a strangely disappointing film that, at its worst, is impersonal and cold-hearted. Even Welles called it "the worst film of my career."

Orson Welles takes the title role as a Harper, Connecticut schoolteacher named Charles Rankin, who is in fact an ex-Nazi war criminal named Franz Kindler. Rankin is hiding out in a town where nobody would expect to find a Nazi, especially during the late 1940's. Another Nazi criminal, Meinike (Konstantin Shayne), is released from prison and comes to visit Kindler. Of course, an inquisitive war criminal investigator (Edward G. Robinson) follows Meinike to Connecticut and what was once a tranquil town becomes fraught with danger.

"The Stranger" is the kind of picture Hitchcock was known for, having all the necessary suspense and thriller elements in place. We know from the start that Rankin is a Nazi and that he is married to an innocent American girl (Loretta Young) and this invariably creates an atmosphere of tension - too bad Welles doesn't follow through with it. The faults lie with the numerous loose ends and all too neat-wrap up trivializing the intriguing premise (the producers had forced Welles to make several cuts). For instance, how could Kindler's American wife be so forgiving when Kindler confesses to being an ex-Nazi? It doesn't help that Loretta Young as the wife overacts and her pitiful crying and pleas render her unsympathetic. Of course, the investigator realizes from the start that Rankin is Kindler, so why doesn't he have him arrested? After all, the police find Meinike's body in the woods (Rankin kills him in a chilling scene), Loretta's dog is killed by Rankin, etc - all this occurs in the first act. Plus, there isn't a single character whom we can identify with (excluding Robinson's) because nothing believable or plausible happens to any single person in this movie.

There are, however, some fine performances in this muddled mess. Welles plays one of his best villainous roles, and he plays it fairly straight with an icy interior and exterior - only a quiver of a smile hints at any semblance of humanity. Edward G. Robinson is wonderfully restrained as the investigator, and there's ample comic relief by Billy House as Potter, a checkers-playing owner of a drugstore. Only Loretta Young is pathetic to watch and she sinks the movie in the last half-hour with her incessant whimpering and melodramatic panting.

"The Stranger" has some tour-de-force tracking shots through the woods of this amicable town, and there is a recurring emblematic use of shadows to build tension. Once Young enters the picture, though, all credibility goes out the window, and the film is so sloppily edited that the plot structure collapses. "The Stranger" is a flawed, suspenseless, campy thriller seemingly atypical of Welles's forte. See the far superior "Saboteur" and "Sabotage."

The Tragedy of Larry Talbot

THE WOLF MAN (1941)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"The way you walked was thorny, through no fault of your own, but as the rain enters the soil, the river enters the sea, so tears run to a predestined end. Now you will have peace for eternity." 

                                                                                             Maleva - "The Wolf Man"

"The Wolf Man" is such a precious, sweetly precious horror film that could've been so much more. It aims to be psychological yet it only hints at the psychology of its main protagonist, Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney, Jr.). It aims to scare the bejesus out of you yet it only hints at the horror, keeping it muted and mostly concerned with developing empathy towards the emotional temper tantrums of Larry Talbot (given slightly more depth in "Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man"). It also aims to be a love story yet it never enters such terrain, keeping the female lead at arm's length as only a very worried friend who shares a quick kiss on the lips with Larry. And with all that, there is no denying that "The Wolf Man" works wonders because it brings its elements together with fantastical convergence.

There is not much I can say about "The Wolf Man" that has not been said about a classic 70-plus year old horror flick, one of the more fascinating entries in the Universal Monsters series. Originally meant to be an ambiguous psychological horror film about Larry's neurosis concerning whether he is a werewolf and not, "The Wolf Man" has its interests set on Larry Talbot's physical and mentally unsound condition. At first, he seems a happy-go-lucky guy who can fix his dad's giant telescope and is rooting for a romantic entanglement with the blonde antique shop owner, Gwen (Evelyn Ankers, the Queen of the Screamers). Gwen already has a boyfriend but why should that stop Larry, who first notices her through his dad's rather powerful telescope that can give sharp street corner views of antique shop windows! After Larry stops the violent attack of Gwen's friend by a wolf (shown with four legs despite Larry changing into a werewolf later on), Larry is bitten and his wounds heal rather fast. When he seeks advice from the Gypsy Woman named Maleva (Maria Ouspenskaya), Larry is told that his fate is doomed - he must be killed by either a silver bullet or a silver cane (the latter of which he owns) and then he will rest in peace for eternity. The sequels that followed proved just the opposite.

"The Wolf Man" is a curious werewolf picture - all that talk about moon and wolfsbane and we never see a moon or any wolfsbane. One must wonder about the European setting - is it Romania or Transylvania as some horror film experts had thought? No idea, a common question with regards to most of the Universal Horror pictures. Ultimately what is important is that it works thanks to Lon Chaney Jr.'s iconic performance, showing much empathy and he even cries at the tomb of his Gypsy werewolf attacker (well played in a cameo by Bela Lugosi). Maria Ouspenskaya adds urgency and wisdom and her final scene with the dead Talbot will make many misty-eyed. Adding to the film is of course the always fantastic Claude Rains as Larry's father who hopes for the best for his son, and Evelyn Ankers as Gwen who clearly cares for Larry. "The Wolf Man" might be too short for its own good and it had far more potential but it is easy to see why Lon Chaney Jr.'s Larry Talbot remains the most sympathetic, tragic character of all the Universal Monsters.

Tranquil Existence of an Oyster

GOD'S GIFT TO WOMEN (1931)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Sassy, sexy women lining up to be bedmates for a wealthy bachelor may strike some as raunchy by 1930's standards but do remember that films like Michael Curtiz's "God's Gift to Women" existed in the Pre-Code era when you could almost get away with anything. A playful diversion like "God's Gift to Women" will certainly not play to a 2010 audience today but nobody should pass it up - it is a souffle of laughs that kept me smiling. Even a line like, "If you want to live, you must follow the tranquil existence of an oyster" which sums up the lead character's current status, made me do more than chuckle. It is a mild sex farce but with its heart in its sleeve.

Frank Fay is the dapper, charming bachelor Toto Duryea who always has a bevy of women in tow at the local Parisian club. It is there that he sets his eyes on one startling catch - a vivacious blonde named Diane (Laura La Plante). She is tricked into dancing with him, though she will have none of him thanks to the advice of her millionaire father who sees the gent as an amoral lover. You can't keep a wealthy ladies' man down for long as Toto pursues Diane in various disguises, one as a mustachioed janitor of all things and also as a butler. The ruse never lets up and he never backs down. After all, what can one say about a man whose lineage links to the famous Don Juan, keeping a painting of the famous lover in his mansion? When Diane's stern father visits him, an ultimatum is enforced - Toto must consult with the millionaire's doctor and not see any women for six months (that includes the iconic flapper Louise Brooks in one of her first roles post-silent film era). This is no easy task, especially when the doctor tells Toto he has an enlarged aorta and can't get too excited.

Between the running gag of Toto getting tsk-tsked by various characters or the complication of keeping a party of fellow friends in one room or the task of separating three "visiting nurses" who change into lingerie before accompanying the "sick" Toto in bed, "God's Gift to Women" is a fancy treat of a movie with several winsome characters and delectably humorous situations. My major quibble is that Laura La Plante's Diane is practically written out of the movie (originally there were some musical numbers so who knows if she sang a song or two) and she can't quite compete with the casting of the alluring women of Toto's life (who can compete with Louise Brooks?)

Seeing this movie in the same couple of months as "Nothing Sacred" (which Fay also appeared in) and "Dinner at Eight" paints a picture of wealth in the 1930's in varying degrees during the Great Depression (which hit France the same year this film was released). With "God's Gift to Women," Toto lives a carefree existence that has meaning when stricken with the love bug - money is not something he worries about. As the good doctor tells him, he is living life like an oyster.

Tragedy and wealth in Great Depression days

DINNER AT EIGHT (1933)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

An elegant, finely tuned 1933 comic melodrama about wealthy people may not pass muster in 2018 but who cares if they are wealthy? Made in Pre-Code days, "Dinner at Eight" is a hoot and a half, a terrific movie full of delicious zingers and dramatic moments that will give one pause. Director George Cukor plays the audience like a piano and does it about well as any director could, except maybe for Howard Hawks.

An elegant dinner is planned at the Jordans' extravagant looking home with a motley crew of guests. Billie Burke is Mrs. Oliver Jordan, the socialite married to shipping magnate Oliver Jordan (Lionel Barrymore); her main concern is not having a full serving and cooking staff or all the food she needs (a small band is all set up, however, to play a few tunes). Marie Dressler plays one of the guests, Carlotta Vance, the former glorious theatre star who once had a romantic fling with Mr. Jordan with the promise of marriage. Jordan himself has issues, he is sick and is slowly losing business from prospective clients (remember this is the Great Depression era and Carlotta herself is in near financial ruin) due to people buying his stocks. Other guests include Wallace Beery as an aggressively obnoxious businessman who brags about meeting the President for a proposed cabinet position and resolutely hates his young wife, Kitty (a radiant Jean Harlow); Legendary John Barrymore as a former movie star named Renault who squanders any possibility of returning even to Broadway, and the suave Dr. Talbot (Edmund Lowe) who has an agreement with his wife that he may have affairs as long as he comes home to her every night. You know the movie is Pre-Code when a seemingly open marriage is deemed okay by its participants.

"Dinner At Eight" is chock full of surprises and sophisticated humor despite some tragedies that befall a couple of characters. The drama that hovers around Jordan's terminal sickness (unbeknownst to him) or Renault's heavy alcoholism that ruins him is never overplayed and is never treated less than seriously. The comedy always stings with truth, especially between Harlow and Beery (both of whom hated each other off-camera). Truth be told, Cukor was a hell of a director with actors but not so hellbent on striking visuals. "Dinner at Eight" has luxurious bedrooms and magnificently spacious dining rooms that can only remind one of its stage origins - the film is static in that sense but never less than invigorating due to the high energy of the actors. The movie assumes men are somewhat weak, and the women are strong and just as ambitious to climb the social ladder (in addition, Kitty manages to teach her husband proper manners). Naturally, such rebelliously feminist attitudes did not last after the Hays Code was implemented. A classic ending and a boisterous cast, there are few films from the 1930's era that are as unique as "Dinner at Eight." 

Not all elementary, my dear Watson

THE WOMAN IN GREEN (1945)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I can't imagine a more engaging way to spend 67 minutes than watching Basil Rathbone as the pipe-smoking detective Sherlock Holmes and Nigel Bruce as the retired Dr. Watson, the latter who is always mystified at Holmes's powers of deduction. "The Woman in Green" is a pleasurable noir thriller (emphasis on noir with its deep shadows and canted angles) and I am pretty sure it will please anyone who loves anything associated with one of the greatest sleuths of all time.

Several women in London are found dead with their forefingers missing. This is one case that leaves Scotland Yard baffled, not to mention Sherlock himself who cannot fathom the identity of the culprit. The assumption by the police detectives is that it is a psychotic, Jack the Ripper-type killer but Holmes senses something more sinister - hypnotism is a central factor. When a certain wealthy widower Sir George Fenwick (Paul Cavanagh) is found to be a probable culprit by Holmes' archenemy Professor Moriarty (Henry Daniell), Holmes and Watson are called into action especially after Fenwick's daughter finds a forefinger in their yard! Evidence eventually points elsewhere after Fenwick is found murdered...of course, I will not reveal more details than that.

Based on two stories from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle ("The Final Problem" and "The Empty House"), "The Woman in Green" is sheer escapist fun. Rathbone, one of the more distinguished actors of his time, relishes the Holmes role as if he was born to play him (initially, he was not pleased with the egotism of the character and became typecast). Every instance that Rathbone appears on screen, you can't wait to see what he says or does next. Bruce's Watson is played as a man vulnerable to being trapped into situations, such as getting a fake call where his duties are needed or falling for a hypnotist's trance. Dr. Watson is not dumb, just easily preyed upon unless Holmes can save him in the nick of time.

Between a Julius Caesar bust, an ex-soldier sniper, a shadowy phallic symbol that got past the censors, Holmes walking along the rooftops in a supposed trance, Hilary Brooke as Lydia Marlowe who knows how to trick men into her bidding with the use of "cannabis," and the references to Montevideo, Uruguay (which is where I was born), "The Woman in Green" packs in plenty of thrills and is always one step ahead of the audience. Like all great Holmes thrillers, this one will keep you on the edge of your seat wondering how it all comes together. It is not all elementary.