BY HANK REINEKE
Ernest B. Schoedsack’s
Dr. Cyclops (1940) was certainly not the first - nor is it the most famous
- horror/sci-fi film to exploit the cinematic possibilities of shrunken humans
as ghoulish entertainment. Audiences of
the 1930s were first introduced to Ernest Thesiger’s deliciously devilish Dr.
Pretorius as he dabbled with his experimentations-in-miniature in James Whale’s
The Bride of Frankenstein. The miniaturization of human specimens were central
to the plot of Tod Browning’s The Devil
Doll (1936). In that film, an embittered
Lionel Barrymore misuses a scientist-friend’s discovery to convert people to
doll size in order to extract revenge on those who had earlier sent him to
prison. In the Silver Age of Sci-Fi,
this device was most famously captured in Jack Arnold’s The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957) and again, rather exploitatively
a year later, in Bert I. Gordon’s less-celebrated but still amusing knock-off Attack of the Puppet People (1958).
In some manner of speaking, the size-reduced victims terrorized
by Dr. Cyclops is frightening to them only as a matter only of ratio. The combat between the unusually very large
versus the very small was already a well-established trope, straight out of the
playbook of such giant-ape films as King
Kong (1933), Son of Kong (1933),
and Mighty Joe Young (1949). Interestingly, Schoedsack and Dr. Cyclops producer Merian C. Cooper
worked together on all three of these epics, though their involvements were not
always credited on-screen.
Brooklyn’s own Albert Dekker portrays the titular Dr. Cyclops, otherwise known as Dr.
Alexander Thorkel. In his steamy
scientific-research laboratory nestled deep within the green and leafy Amazon
jungles of Peru, the secretive doctor has managed to tap into what’s described
as a “deposit of the richest radium ore known to man.†Though he would have preferred otherwise,
Thorkel’s poor eyesight requires him to request the assistance of a scientific
colleague, Dr. Bulfinch (Charles Halton). Bulfinch travels the thousand or so miles to Thorkel’s remote Amazon
base – if only to look through a few microscopic slides and confirm his colleague’s
findings.
With his task accomplished, Dr. Bulfinch – who has visited
with a small expedition party – is surprised when he’s summarily dismissed:
Thorkel has – somewhat ungraciously - told Bulfinch and Co. to pack up their
things and head home. Though his time at
the jungle laboratory was short, Bulfinch recognizes that Thorkel’s “drawing
the cosmic force from the bosom of the earth†is an inherently dangerous
practice. Especially when one considers
that, by almost all measure and standard, the “abnormally secretive†and
obsessive Dr. Thorkel is clearly a bona fide paranoiac. Bulfinch deems him as a “delusional†who is recklessly
“tampering with powers reserved for God.â€
The “cosmic force†that Bulfinch has referenced is
radium. Dr. Cyclops has been collecting
radium ore through a sophisticated ringed and phallic two-bulb-shaped instrument
of his own invention. Having extracted
the subterranean radium from an open-pit mine, this unrelentingly malevolent madman
then transmits the alkaline and highly radioactive metal through a condenser unit
housed inside his home laboratory. It
there’s that he tricks his overstayed-their-welcome but curious visitors into
taking a closer look at his technical handiwork. Their apparent trusting willingness to do so
will prove to be unfortunate for them as Thorkel reduces them to 12â€-13†in
size. He does this gleefully and without
a hint of remorse, assured that his scientific secrets will remain… well,
secret.
Paramount’s Dr.
Cyclops – one of only a handful of horror films commissioned by the studio
during the genre’s Golden Age – isn’t a masterpiece by any stretch of the
imagination, but it’s never dull. It
must be said that the photographic effects of Dr. Cyclops are very well done for the period. The work of Visual Effects team of Farciot
Edouart and Gordon Jennings’ would earn both a “Special Effects†nomination at
the 1941 Academy Award celebration. Though they would lose out that year to the flying carpets featured in The Thief of Bagdad, both men would go
on two win Oscars for later special projects.
It’s through their special effects work that the
unfortunate travelers to Thorkel’s base are menaced by any number of creatures
and household objects – challenges which ordinarily would not be terribly vexing
were they still of normal size. They’re threatened
by house-cats, insurmountable stairwells, door handles, barnyard animals, and
kitchen utensils – even an unfriendly crocodile. Dr.
Cyclops is not the first film to pit its victims against such travails;
many of these same terrors would be familiar combatants’ in future sci-fi films
of similar device. Certainly, Paramount’s
art department did a good job of bolstering the film’s already impressive optical
effects by dressing Dr. Cyclops’ remote jungle compound with such up-scaled and
nearly insurmountable obstacles as over-size books, scissors, canned goods,
shovels, chairs etc.
Dekker’s Dr. Cyclops is a memorable and imposing villain. He’s a big and burly man, certainly not the
sort usually cast to play a cerebral and wan scientist. With his loose-fitting taupe linen jacket and
pants, his thick Coke-bottle glasses (and matching Welder’s goggles), his completely
round head and bald pate, Dekker’s Dr. Thorkel is as frightening in his appearance
as in his unhinged manner.
Though his career would span more than four decades and
over one hundred films and television appearances, the curmudgeonly Dekker –
for all his character actor talent - would never achieve true stardom. Reflecting in 1940 on life in Hollywood,
Dekker offered sarcastically, “If you work a week, you can live a month.†Other artistic outlets were also deemed less
than satisfying. A former member of
California’s Democratic Assembly, the liberal Dekker was blacklisted in the
1950s. This caused him to seek
employment in the theater, where the practice of red-baiting – while active - was
somewhat less prevalent. Reflecting on a
life on stage circa 1960, Dekker similarly groused that the theater too was
sadly, “a horrible place in which to make a living.â€
While it’s unfair, Dekker is likely best remembered as the
sixty-two year old actor whose career – and life – ended with a genuinely
sordid final bow. His mysterious,
unpleasant death has been recounted time and time again in several Hollywood Babylon style studies; one of many
morbid and titillating exposés exploring and exploiting the tragedies and
seamier side of Tinseltown and its inhabitants. I won’t go into the details of Dekker’s death here,
but if you’re not familiar with the actor’s bizarre final curtain call… well,
it has been exhaustively referenced elsewhere.
This Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu-ray of Dr. Cyclops features an absolutely
pristine 1920 x 1080p 1:37:1 transfer and DTS audio with removable English-subs. The set also features eight chapter
selections, as well as an audio commentary by film historian Richard Harland
Smith. There’s also the additional
feature “Trailers from Hell†with television director Jesus Trevino providing
some additional comments. Also included with the set is the film’s theatrical
trailer, as well as three additional trailers, all available from Kino Lorber:
(Cobra Woman, The Undying Monster and
The Land Unknown).
CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON