BY HANK REINEKE
OK, let’s start this review by stating an obvious and
oft-repeated criticism. The actress
Maria Montez was a skillful, if somewhat shameless, self-promoter; her primary asset
wasn’t talent but beauty. In her desperate
search for stardom, Montez arrived in New York City from the Dominican
Republic, leaving behind an otherwise uncelebrated life as wife of a bank
manager. Montez did a bit of modeling at
first - even appearing in such widely-distributed magazines as LIFE - but a Hollywood
career remained her primary target. She managed
to secure a screen-test for RKO pictures, but was quickly scooped up by
Universal in 1940 who thought her “exotic†features might prove useful to them.
She mostly appeared as a supporting
player in the years 1940-1941, but emerged in 1942 as a full-fledged star. She became, for a time, the “Queen of
Technicolor,†an honor bestowed on her due to her appearances in a string of sumptuously
photographed, escapist B-movie adventure entertainments.
Her first big taste of success followed her appearance in
Arabian Nights (1942), but while she achieved
top-bill status on the marquee, her on-screen time was unusually brief for a featured
player. There was a reason for this, of
course. The memories of many of the
actors and filmmakers who worked with her would share similar reminiscences. Though they all agreed she photographed
wonderfully, most conceded Montez simply couldn’t act or sing or dance. Her male admirers sitting in darkened
theaters often felt cheated by the brevity of her screen time. But the softball roles assigned to her, to
say it most politely, were purposefully undemanding
as a matter of practicality. What Montez
did possess, aside from her God-given beauty, was a combination of ego-centrism
and moxey that was uncommon… even when measured against the copious self-regard
exemplified by most of Hollywood’s most famous Divas.
With the provocative title of Cobra Woman, aficionados of Golden Age Horror might be seduced into
thinking the flick is a borderline genre film. It most certainly is not,
the film having more in common with the chapter-serials of the 1940s than with
the barrage of 65-minute second-feature chillers and mysteries that Universal would
churn out with regularity. The presence of Lon Chaney Jr. in the cast,
not top-billed but still featured prominently in all of the film’s advertising,
might also lead one into thinking this is a minor – if mostly forgotten -
horror classic. As the mysterious servant Hava, Chaney actually enjoys very
little screen time and is given almost nothing to do aside from appearing menacing
whenever on screen.
Though Chaney flits in and out of the film, it is likely not
a part he was particularly enamored of having been gifted; his character is little
more than a hulking mute here, described as a “giant†by Sabu (Sabu Dastagir). Since he’s mute throughout Chaney is tasked
to gesticulate to convey emotion and intention: it’s fair to say the actor is
unable to convincingly pantomime in the style of his silent film star father,
Lon Sr. This is not Lon Jr.’s fault, really, as his character is strictly
one-dimensional. The actor may have been wasted in this role, but Chaney could
hardly complain. He would appear in no fewer than eight films release by
Universal in 1944… with this one, arguably, being the least.
Though the dashing and handsome Jon Hall is at best dimly
remembered by few others than fans of cult films of the 1940s and 1950s, his
most famous roles were the ones in which he was paired (or, perhaps, saddled)
with co-star Montez. A former free-agent actor contracted by Universal,
Hall was groomed to play the heroic leading man in such films as Invisible Agent (1942) and The Invisible Man’s Revenge (1944).
But his most memorable roles were played out here in the studio’s splashy
Technicolor - but budget-strapped - adventure films. He would eventually
be paired with Montez in no fewer than six films.