Australian video label Imprint has released a Blu-ray boxed set dedicated to the films of Sidney Lumet. The movies included are:

• Serpico
• The Group
• The Pawnbroker
• The Deadly Affair
• The Offence
  
• Child's Play
  

By Hank Reineke

As a monster-movie loving kid growing up in the shadow of Manhattan, most of my Saturday night plans in the late 1960s and early 1970s were solidly set. That night was reserved for watching old horror and sci-fi flicks on New York City’s Chiller (WPIX-TV) or Creature Features (WNEW-TV). I don’t recall the latter program surviving past 1980 – and even then there had been an interruption of some six years in the scheduling of Creature Features. Though the program would return to the airwaves in 1979, the 8 PM broadcasts were now a thing of the past. The revived telecasts had moved to midnight and well into the early hours of Sunday morning. It hardly mattered, really. I no longer watched Creature Features with the same fervor of 1969 through 1973. I was age nineteen in 1979 and found other (if not necessarily better) things to do on Saturday nights.

This absence from Creature Features caused me to miss out on a number of obscure, aging films broadcast 1979-1980. Among this mix of occasional cinematic gems with near-misses was a mostly forgotten mystery programmer of 1944 titled The Man in Half Moon Street. I was particularly sorry to have missed this one: if my research is correct, I believe the film was broadcast only once – just shy of 2 A.M. - on March 29, 1980. Though one New York area newspaper listing dismissed the film as little more than a “Moody and marginally interesting tale of eternal youth through murder,” such lukewarm praise actually piqued my interest. This seemed my kind of movie. And for some forty-three years I’ve lamented having missing that broadcast.

It has been a tough film to get ahold of: though I’m guessing gray-market copies could have been found at conventions or through those “specialty” dealers of vintage VHS tapes from the ‘80s onward. But as far as I can tell (and, please, feel free correct me if you know better), The Man in Half Moon Street has never been officially available on any home video format: not Laser Disc, VHS, DVD or Blu Ray. Well, that is until now, as we near the eightieth year of the film’s original cinematic release. We have Australia’s Imprint Films to thank for finally issuing this superlative, region-free coded Blu-ray release.

As in the case of many Hollywood pictures of the day, The Man in Half Moon Street was not an original invention of the filmmakers: the scenario was actually based on the British stage drama of playwright Barré Lyndon. Lyndon’s play, published in 1939 by London’s Hamish Hamilton Publishing House, had first toured Bournemouth, Oxford, Manchester and Brighton on a two-week testing-sortie in February of ’39. The play would formally open at the New Theatre in London’s West End on 22 March 1939.

Lyndon’s main antagonist in the stage drama, chemist John Thackeray (Leslie Banks), is a ninety-year old man. One wouldn’t notice the dotage as Thackeray appears decades younger. This is due to the chemist having discovered that by combining radium and periodically replacing his aging super-renal glands with fresh specimens he can retain both youth and immortality. Of course the collection of fresh glands requires innocent others to lose their lives to Thackeray’s ghoulish harvesting.

Over a fifty-year period eight bank cashiers – those with access to large sums of money - have fallen prey to Thackeray’s criminal doings. Dissolving their bodies in acid baths, the chemist then steals the cash reserves his victims had been minding in their bank-telling guardianship. Thackeray requires the large sums so he can pay a confidant: in this case an ethically-challenged surgeon friend, to perform the necessary life-sustaining gland grafts. But Scotland Yard takes up the case just as the chemist readies to take the life of a targeted ninth victim for his evil ends.

Interestingly, playwright Lyndon would go on to write screenplays for Hollywood studios by the mid-1940s, including such moody mystery-noirs as John Brahm’s The Lodger (1944) and Hangover Square (1945). But in late January of 1940, it was announced that Don Hartman, a dependable scenarist for Paramount, was scheduled to begin work on adapting Lyndon’s stage play to the big screen. Hartman was, at present, in New York, trying to finish up his co-write (with Clifford Goldsmith) of The Further Adventures of Henry Aldrich.

That May of 1940, Paramount optimistically announced there would be no production delays on their twenty-five million dollar film schedule budget for the upcoming year. This declaration was made “despite war conditions in Europe which continue to threaten returns” in both national and international film markets. One of the films on the Paramount schedule was The Man in Half Moon Street. Early reports suggested that Basil Rathbone was to take on the leading role. The actor was available to assume the role of Thackeray as he had only recently completed work on Paramount’s A Date with Destiny (soon retitled The Mad Doctor).

Rathbone had played the villainous role in The Mad Doctor which, despite the intriguing title, was not a horror film, but a mystery crime-drama. The Los Angeles Citizen-News would report in June of 1940 that while Half Moon too was not of “bogeyman classification,” it on the “fantastic side” with its lurid sci-fi angle. In any case, the film project fell temporarily to the wayside, first due to scripting issues and afterward to the cranking out of patriotic films necessitated by America’s entry into WWII following the attack at Pearl Harbor.

But by early winter of 1943, the long dormant Half Moon project was showing signs of revival. On March 2, 1943 it was announced in the Hollywood trades that Lester Fuller, recently arrived in Los Angeles from New York, had been offered the director’s chair for The Man in Half Moon Street. In spring of 1943, Albert Dekker, a Hollywood “heavie” who recently scared audiences as Universal’s Dr. Cyclops (1940), was announced to assume the leading role.

But on June 15, 1943, Variety reported that Fuller was out of the Half Moon project. Ralph Murphy was now chosen to direct. Technically, the pair’s previously assigned directorial spots were merely traded-off. Murphy had initially been chosen to helm Paramount’s production of Marseilles, but former stage director Fuller was now tasked to assume responsibility on that particular film. Murphy was to move over to direct Fuller’s Half Moon project.

Murphy’s first assignment was a formidable one: he was “to order a complete rewrite job on the script.” There was also a report that such rewriting would likely require a recasting of principal characters. Though Swedish film star Nils Asther had been the latest actor announced to assume the film’s leading role, his participation in the project was now suggested as being “off” - for the time being, at least. The film’s producer Walter MacEwan wanted to weigh casting options “until further developments” in the scripting of Half Moon were resolved.

The re-writing of Half Moon would eventually fall to scenarists Charles Kenyon and Garrett Fort. The final screenplay credit would ultimately go to Kenyon alone who, like Fort, was a veteran of old Hollywood: their work in the industry could be traced to silent cinema’s earliest days. Fort’s resume for this sort of film was particularly impressive: he had written or co-written such totemic pre-code Golden Age Horrors for Universal as Dracula (1931), Frankenstein (1931) and Dracula’s Daughter (1936). But Fort’s credit on Half Moon only noted his role in adapting Lyndon’s play for the screen.

The final screenplay drafted would, peculiarly, expunge most of the ghoulish and murderous elements of Lyndon’s stage play – perhaps America’s real-life wartime experiences were horrific enough. There are no murders of bankers. The Thackeray character (renamed Dr. Julian Karell in the film) appears to be already a man of means, an accomplished portrait artist and scientist. He attends black-tie, high society, posh parties and conducts his experiments at an upscale London row house. The film curiously offers no scenes of on (or off) screen physical violence.

There are no gruesome acid baths in which the bodies of victims are disposed. The film’s lone “action” scene captures a moment when Karell “rescues” a despondent medical student (Morton Lowry) from a watery suicide attempt near the Thames Embankment. Most scenes of this dialogue-heavy script are set in parlors and sitting rooms – which, to be honest, really proves a drag on the film’s ninety-two minute running time. One begins to welcome even the briefest scenes when Karell ventures out into the shrouded night and pea-soup fog of the London Streets. Not that much happens during these interludes, but such moments provide a measure of moodiness to this otherwise slowly paced non-mystery.

Truth be told, The Man in Half Moon Street is no detective nor mystery film; we know almost from the beginning what’s going on. We learn the handsome and youthful Karell is actually more than one hundred years old in age. But through a century of experimentation – and with the assistance of the aging Dr. Kurt Van Bruecken, the “world’s greatest living surgeon and necrologist” (Reinhold Schünzel), Karell has managed to stay young through his drinking of a luminous serum and periodically undergoing fresh glandular transplants at ten year intervals.

There are problems ahead. Following a stroke, the shaky hands of the elderly Van Bruecken are no longer trustworthy to perform the necessary surgeries. Besides, Van Bruecken has undergone a change of heart: he fears that Karell is no longer working in the interest of science and humanity in staving off the aging process. He fears (rightfully) Karell is now consumed only by his burning desire for the lovely Eve Brandon (Helen Walker) and selfish self-interest in maintaining a “fraudulent youth.”

“No man can break the law of God,” Van Bruecken cautions, but Karell is confident if anyone can do it, he can. Even if that means farming the glands of the suicidal medical student he’s imprisoned upstairs. The other more pressing problem facing Karell is that his mysterious activities have finally brought him to the attention of an ethical surgeon (Paul Cavanagh), a cabal of fine art appraisers and Scotland Yard.

With Paramount now holding what they believed an acceptable – and mostly non-horrific - script in place, the casting of the film proceeded in earnest. In May of 1943 it was suggested that young actress Susan Hayward would play a “featured role” in Half Moon, though the report cautioned Paramount was still “having a time of it procuring someone to play the sinister male lead.” The earlier front-running names of Rathbone and Dekker were both out, and rumors of Alan Ladd’s casting were squelched when the actor chose instead to sign up for military service.

That same month producer MacEwan confirmed Nils Asther would in fact play the role of Dr. Julian Karell as earlier rumored. The trades suggested that it was Asther who, in fact, first suggested that Paramount pick up the rights to Lyndon’s play and cast him in the lead role. There was some mild press controversy regarding Asther’s casting. Some Hollywood gossips dismissed the actor as “Yesterday’s Star” (born in 1897, Asther had appeared in silent films with Greta Garbo). Though his character was scripted as someone thirty-five years of age, Asther was in reality 46 years old at the time of production. Still, there was an acknowledgement that the dashingly tall, slender, handsome (and rumored bi-sexual) actor “still has a big following.”

Though the actor was to star opposite the sultry Hayward, the role of Karell’s paramour Eve Brandon was ultimately given to Helen Walker. There would be some delay before she could join the production: the actress, currently on a wartime U.S.O. tour, was expected to report to the set near September’s end. Truthfully, Walker doesn’t have a lot to do in the film. She certainly photographs well as Karell’s doting and perhaps too protective and morally-blind girlfriend. Even though Karell’s work is secretive – so much so that it causes him to disappear for weeks or months at a time – Eve chooses to accept her lover’s “general mysteriousness” as a byproduct of his genius. I personally found Brandon less likable and sympathetic as the film progresses. When it’s finally revealed to her that Karell’s experimentations have brought harm to innocents, she’s so in love with him she dismisses his guilt, choosing instead to reflexively defend the “grandeur” of his ambitions.

If the main characters in this picture aren’t always likable, there’s still a lot to admire about the film. Miklos Rozsa’s moody musical score is certainly worthy of praise. Henry Sharp’s fog-bound “exterior” photography is similarly moody, but unfortunately not up on the screen much. In the final minutes of the film when Karell dramatically reverts to his actual age, long-time make-up man Wally Westmore – of Hollywood’s make-up family dynasty – does his best on the effects. But the camera cheats the audience of a full on-screen transformation ala Westmore’s make-up on Rouben Mamoulian’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931) – which remains the “gold standard” of Golden Age horror transformations. Ralph Murphy’s direction is competent but workmanlike in execution. He creates very little visual tension until the film’s final scenes and, by then, it’s simply too late. Following the completion of Half Moon, Murphy was planning to move back to New York City to direct the Broadway stage production of Sleep It Off.

Of course World War II was still on-going, interrupting, ruining and/or ending the lives of countless innocents globally. In such an atmosphere Hollywood was not immune to war-time production delays and release date restrictions. Paramount alone had accumulated an unprecedented backlog of thirty-one completed films awaiting release in early summer of 1944. There was some confidence that the tide was turning in favor of the Allies, studios cooperating in the war effort by rolling out whatever patriotic war films they were sitting on. There was a consensus it was time to empty the vault of such films. It was believed that movie audiences would weary of war films following the cessation of fighting overseas.

There was, at long last, a belated screening of The Man in Half Moon Street held at a Hollywood tradeshow on October 16, 1944. Variety thought the script was a “compact and interesting,” the Kenyon/Fort scenario displaying a “few new twists from the formularized style of long-life mystery tales to keep interest at consistent level.” But the reviewer acknowledged, not unreasonably, that the film would best serve as “strong support” to a superior attraction. Other critics likewise suggested Half Moon was too weak to see top-billing on a double-attraction.

Indeed, The Man in Half Moon Street (already in U.S. regional release as early as December 1944 although the film’s copyright is listed as 1945 on the sleeve of the snap case) was featured as the undercard of a double-bill. (On his commentary, Tim Lucas reveals the film actually had its world-wide premiere in Australia in early November of 1944). On its U.S. run, the film was usually topped by director Fritz Lang’s cinematic take of novelist Graham Greene’s Nazi espionage tale Ministry of Fear. This double feature actually did reasonably well, the trades citing solid - if not necessarily boffo - returns as the package was rolled out across U.S. markets and into 1945. Newspaper columnists tended to give the Lang film the lion’s share of its critical attention, though both films were generally branded as little more than decent programmers of primary interest only to devotees of suspense and mystery films.

By Hank Reineke

I wouldn’t have fared well in Puritan America of 1642. A title overlay inscription on the front end of Robert G. Vignola’s The Scarlet Letter (1934) offers, “Though to us, the customs seem grim and the punishments hard, they were necessary in the formation of the U.S. destiny.” With the benefit of hindsight, I might argue this opinion otherwise, but it is what it is… or, rather, was what it was. Puritan America seemed a bit too inhospitable to my taste: everybody at one time or another was being publically humiliated or punished for terribly mild transgressions.

In 1642 you could find yourself in the stock for laughing on the Sabbath, or publically gagged and propped for gossiping, or aggressively poked with a long stick if caught dozing off during a long and ponderous sermon. And that’s not to mention having the Towne Crier ordering you to extinguish your lights for a pre-ordained bedtime set by the whims of a council of elders. Of course all of this, I suppose, is all still far preferable to being trussed to a pole and stoned by your “righteous” and “pious” neighbors for accusations of adultery and other crimes.

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel of 1850, The Scarlet Letter, is widely regarded as a masterwork of early American literature. The novel’s storyline is set in Puritan American of 1642, beleaguered seamstress Hester Prynne forced to wear a scarlet “A” on her clothing, a mark identifying her as an adulteress. With her physician husband missing from the village for two years and presumed lost at sea, Prynne gives out-of-wedlock birth to a daughter, Pearl. Though castigated and ostracized by the community, Prynne refuses to name the father of the child, thereby preserving his unsoiled reputation. Despite the travails, Prynne manages to live her life with a sense of dignity and compassion – and a measure of moral clarity not exemplified by the religious zealots who continue to harass and condemn both mother and child.

There had been several film adaptations of The Scarlet Letter, preceding this 1934 effort directed by Vignola, though all previous were released as silents. The first adaptation was a 1908 adaptation directed by Sydney Olcott, a film short now presumed lost. Interestingly, Olcott was still alive and kicking when the Vignola film went into production. In June of 1934, the Los Angeles Post-Record reported, “One visitor to the set was Sydney Olcott who directed the one-reel 1908 version of The Scarlet Letter in one day. Olcott was still proud of his effort, telling actor Henry B. Walthall, “We didn’t do so bad in 1908, Henry. We didn’t have cranes, microphones and we didn’t use big crowds. We had a solitary cameraman and he helped with the props […] Them was the days.”

Olcott’s film may have been the first cinematic adaptation, but certainly not last. Between 1911 and 1926, the film was re-made as at least on five occasions. Some of these versions – varying as one to nine reelers in their release – are also presumed lost or suffer missing reels. The most famous of these silent era cinematic adaptations have survived: Victor Seastrom’s 1926 version for Metro Goldwin Mayer featuring Lillian Gish and Henry B. Walthall.

But producer Larry Darmour, the founder and president of Majestic Pictures, was determined to bring The Scarlet Letter to the big screen for the title’s first sound version. A wartime cameraman and newsreel editor, Darmour was interested in creating Hollywood productions, ultimately scoring his earliest success with a series of Mickey Rooney Mickey McGuire comedy shorts. Then - riding on the coattails of Universal’s successful Dracula and Frankenstein pictures – Darmour served as an uncredited executive producer for Frank R. Strayer’s The Vampire Bat (1933), a fine Golden Age chiller featuring Lionel Atwill and Fay Wray.

It was gossip columnist Louella Parsons who broke the big news in March of 1934: “The Scarlet Letter, the picture that MGM would just as soon forget, is to be brought back to life. But this time it will be made without the airy, fairy Lillian Gish and in a different mood. I don’t know how it can be made different, but Larry Darmour […] says they will bring a little humor into it. Hope Nathaniel Hawthorne won’t turn in his grave if they put too much humor into his famous novel.” Parsons would also report that Leonard Fields and David Silverstein had been hired to script from Hawthorne’s novel.

It is true that Darmour made the odd decision to bring in episodes of light-comedy relief to this otherwise somber and dramatic enterprise. Actors Alan Hale (“Bartholomew Hockings”) and William Kent (“Sampson Goodfellow”) are written into the storyline – neither character appears in the original novel – and the pair’s misadventures as offered are completely irrelevant to the film’s storyline and disturb the scenario’s sense of dramatic tension. Variety certainly noted this scripting failure in their review of September 25, 1934, noting this “venerated classic [goes] wrecked on the rocks of comedy relief. Hawthorne’s tense plot is lightened with a John Alden-Miles Standish development that recurs with mathematical precision about every so often to spoil whatever tension the players have been able to create.”

The role of beleaguered Hester Prynne was given to the acclaimed silent-film actress Colleen Moore, just coming off her early sound role as “Sarah” in J. Walter Ruben’s gun-less and pretty pedestrian crime-drama Success at any Price (1934). In the words of an overly critical journalist from the Evening Vanguard (Venice, CA), Moore’s assumption of the Prynne role might “atone somewhat” for the failures of Success. Moore was already disillusioned with Hollywood’s new way of doing things, this ingénue of the silent screen uncomfortable with both microphones and sound recording. Moore’s appearance in The Scarlet Letter would in fact prove to be her final big screen credit.

The actor Henry B. Walthall more easily made the transition to sound pictures. He had been knocking around movie sets since 1908 and would continue working until his death in 1936. Walthall was cast to reprise his role as Prynne’s surprisingly-retuned-from-sea husband Roger Chillingworth: who now lives only to bitterly exact revenge on the unnamed father of young Pearl and bring public “dishonor” upon Hester as a “faithless woman.” Hardie Albright rounds out the cast’s major players, taking on the role of preacher “Arthur Dimmesdale,” a fallen Man-of-God tortured by a secret that has eaten away at his soul.

In May of 1934, the Los Angeles Times reported this first sound version of The Scarlet Letter was to go before cameras on or about May 23^rd. The film was shot primarily at Culver City’s Pathe Studios and at RKO’s forty-acre desert Pathe Ranch location. The latter area suffered no shortage of rattlesnakes crawling about. Film producer-distributor Sam Sherman suggests on a commentary that a cruel joke played on snake-fearing actress Moore by members of the film crew actually led to the actresses’ hospitalization for a nervous breakdown.

There were some journalist-train spotters who seemed dismissive of the project from its onset, carping on the smallest of details of Majestic’s economically-budgeted feature. Again, from an on-set report in June of 1934 courtesy of the Evening Vanguard: “An anachronistic note occurs in the churchyard. The dates on the tombstones are of the nineteenth century. On a major lot, such a state of affairs would not be tolerated for a moment.” The filmmakers protested such eagle-eyed nonsense, noting – accurately – that such graves would only be seen “from a distance” in the final print.

By 2 July 1934, production was already completed, Variety reporting that Darmour was in process of producing no fewer than thirteen features for Majestic, with The Scarlet Letter and Ralph Cedar’s She Had to Choose (with Buster Crabbe and Isabel Jewell) already in the can. There was a preview screening of The Scarlet Letter held at Pasadena’s Colorado Theatre held in July of 1934. Billboard allowed the film was a “sincere effort, singling out Moore’s performance as “the only redeeming thing about the whole business, [but] the balance of the cast are mere shadows.” The review also thought the film demonstrated a “slow development and uneven tempo.” The critic mused the script might have benefited with modern dialogue, as the cast was (…) “to speak the silly lither of year’s gone past.”

The critic from Variety was in agreement that Moore’s performance was “informed by gentle humility which gives the part dignity and appeal.” And though the scenarists were given credit for a mostly “well done” script, the writers were chided for not digging “below the surface” to reflect the “real soul-tragedy” of this man/woman relationship, choosing instead to only amplify the “community’s cruelty to the transgressor.” Though the Boston Globe thought the film a worthwhile effort, this critic too made plain The Scarlet Letter was not a “first-rank picture.” Post-dated tombstones aside, it was the reviewer’s belief the film offered, “Too much attention to realism of detail, and not enough of virtue of emotion in drama.”

But ultimately the harshest critic of Vignola’s The Scarlet Letter was the powerful Archbishop John T. McNicholas of The Catholic League of Decency who found the age-old subject matter of adultery and babies born out of wedlock to be contemporaneously dangerous and abhorrent. The League put the film on its banned list as a “Class C” film, a rating deeming such films as “indecent and immoral and unfit for public entertainment." This was problematic for the producer Darmour as many Americans accepted the judgement of the clergy as holy writ to be wholeheartedly obeyed.

Hoping to change the mind of the “Decency” League ruling – while arguing for the right of free expression in America – Darmour would telegram McNicholas in September of 1934. The ruling, he protested, was unfair. After all, the producer argued, 95% of U.S. schools offered Hawthorne’s book as “compulsory reading” in their curriculum of American literature studies. Darmour also sent a copy of his telegram to newspapers. It read:

We were moved to produce The Scarlet Letter because of its widespread use in schools, logically feeling that a faithful screen adaptation should be acceptable to educators. We have adhered faithfully to the basic theme related in Hawthorne’s great work.

If the campaign you are waging for decency is carried to its logical end, why, then, are not attempts made to bar the book in schools and public libraries? Since the film version is a faithful adaptation of the book, your ban on the film appears as agitation against one medium and not another. One is forced to admit this is discrimination and wholly undemocratic.”

Sadly, it appears as though this telegram, with minor changes in the particulars, could be sent to administrators of certain U.S. States in 2023. The more things change, the more they stay the same, huh?

Cinema Retro has received the following press release from Shout! Factory.

For the honor of the crown and the destiny of a country, four heroes must reassemble for one last epic battle in the cult film classic, THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK. Directed by Randall Wallace (We Were Soldiers, Pearl Harbor), Leonardo DiCaprio (Killers of the Flower Moon) leads a phenomenal cast, including Jeremy Irons (Red Sparrow), John Malkovich (Bullet Head), Gérard Depardieu (To the Ends of the Earth), and Gabriel Byrne (Hereditary) in this thrilling tale of majesty and Musketeers. On December 26, 2023, Shout! Select will release THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK Collector’s Edition in 4K UHD™+ Blu-ray™. This must-have home entertainment release features new 4K transfer from the original negative in Dolby Vision, and special bonus content. Movie collectors and fans can now preorder THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK Collector’s Edition 4K UHD™+ Blu-ray™ at ShoutFactory.com.

Click here to order.

Movie synopsis

Louis XIII, King of France, had a son, Louis, who succeeded his father to the throne. But, known to very few, the heir had a twin brother, Philippe, hidden away after birth and forced to languish in prison, his identity unknown behind an iron mask. His brother, now grown and King Louis XIV, proved to be both corrupt and a tyrant. Louis sends Athos’ son, Raoul off to certain death in war, so that he could have his woman for himself. Athos, together with two of the other Musketeers, Porthos and Aramis, swear revenge. Only D’Artagnan remains loyal to the crown, but will he join his former compatriots to free Philippe from prison, kill the king, and put Philippe on the throne in his place?

UNITED ARTISTS Presents A RANDALL WALLACE Film LEONARDO DiCAPRIO JEREMY IRONS

JOHN MALKOVICH GÉRARD DEPARDIEU GABRIEL BYRNE “THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK”

ANNE PARILLAUD JUDITH GODRÈCHE A UNITED ARTISTS CORPORATION LTD. Production

Music by NICK GLENNIE-SMITH Costume Designer JAMES ACHESON Edited by WILLIAM HOY

Production Designed by ANTHONY PRATT Director of Photography PETER SUSCHITZKY

Based upon the novel by ALEXANDRE DUMAS Co-Producer PAUL HITCHCOCK Executive Producer ALAN LADD, JR.

Produced by RANDALL WALLACE RUSSELL SMITH Written for the Screen and Directed by RANDALL WALLACE

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK Collector’s Edition

Bonus Features for UHD/Blu-ray

DISC ONE (4K UHD):

· NEW 4K Transfer From the Original Camera Negative

· Audio: DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1, 2.0

· In Dolby Vision (HDR-10 Compatible)

· Audio Commentary With Writer/Director Randall Wallace

DISC TWO (BLU-RAY):

· NEW 4K Transfer From The Original Camera Negative

· Audio: DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1, 2.0

· Audio Commentary with Randall Wallace

· Interview With Producer Paul Hitchcock

· Interview With Production Designer Anthony Pratt

· “Myth And The Musketeers” Featurette

· “Director’s Take” Featurette

· “Alternate Mask Prototypes” Featurette

· Original Behind-The-Scenes Featurette

· Theatrical Trailer

By Fred Blosser

Life goes from bad to worse for Confederate soldier John Warner (George Hilton) in the opening half hour of “A Bullet for Sandoval,” a 1970 Spaghetti Western now available on Blu-ray in a Special Edition from VCI Entertainment. On the eve of battle in Texas, Warner learns that his sweetheart Rosa has just given birth to their son in plague-ridden Los Cedros, and now is dying from cholera. Denied authorisation to leave camp, Warner rides off anyway, incurring a death sentence for desertion. Arriving in Los Cedros with hopes of marrying Rosa before she dies, he finds no sympathy there either. Rosa has passed away, and her father Don Pedro Sandoval (Ernest Borgnine), a powerful grandee who loathes “gringos” in general and Warner in particular, is infuriated that the soldier has returned. He disowns the baby and drives Warner and the newborn out of his palatial hacienda.

Fleeing Los Cedros with his son, Warner is rebuffed at one way-station and then a second when he begs for milk for the infant. The people at both places are fearful of being infected when they learn that he has just come from Los Cedros. The weakened, feverish baby dies, and Warner becomes a vengeful outlaw, assembling a gang of henchmen to raid the settlements that drove him away when he needed their aid to keep his child alive. Three of the men—Sam, Lucky, and Priest—are trustworthy. The other three—Morton, One-Eye (“a sex maniac convicted of raping two little girls”), and Guadalupano—not so much. Warner comes to enjoy the riches and women that accrue from his new career as a bandit, but his ultimate target remains Sandoval. In the meantime, Don Pedro and his fellow cattle barons on the Border convince the Confederate army to help them pursue and eradicate Warner and his band.

Like most Spaghetti Westerns, “A Bullet for Sandoval” was an international production with Italian studio backing, a cast of actors from several countries, outdoor locations in the Spanish desert, and in this case, a Spanish director (Julio Buchs), and Spanish writers. In the starring role, George Hilton (born Jorge Hill Acosta y Lara) was an accomplished, darkly handsome Uruguayan actor who had a thriving career in Italian genre movies but was largely unknown to U.S. moviegoers. For marquee value in the States, the producers paired him with Ernest Borgnine as the imperious Don Pedro. Who didn’t know Ernest Borgnine from “The Wild Bunch,” “Ice Station Zebra,” a hundred other movies, and “McHale’s Navy”?

With Borgnine’s name prominently displayed on ads, “A Bullet for Sandoval” was one of several Spaghetti Westerns that opened in the U.S. in 1970, after the surprise success of “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.” Derided by most critics as violent trash, they were usually relegated to drive-ins and second-run movie houses. There, they filled a void on double-bills left by the death of traditional, American-made B-Westerns like those made a decade before with aging stars like Dana Andrews, Glenn Ford, and Robert Taylor. Sometimes, ironically, they were paired with the homegrown Spaghetti imitations that Hollywood studios had begun to produce, like “Two Mules for Sister Sara,” “Barquero,” “Macho Callahan,” and “El Condor.”

The critics may have dismissed the genre, but their opinions were immaterial for the U.S. target audience of young guys in their teens and early twenties, who welcomed pictures like “A Bullet for Sandoval” on all-night movie marathons at local drive-ins. At one o’clock in the morning, in a pleasant stupor of fatigue and beer, few would question the accuracy or plausibility of a Civil War in which Confederate officers pause their military campaign to help ranchers chase outlaws. As far as fans were concerned, such fine points could be argued by history professors, as long as they could rely on filmmakers like Buchs to deliver a gritty succession of gunfights, chases, and gorgeous European starlets—in the case of “A Bullet for Sandoval,” Annabella Incontrera, Mary Paz Pondal, and Paquita Torres—in low-cut peasant blouses.

VCI Entertainment’s new Special Edition of “A Bullet for Sandoval” presents the film in a remastered, 4K version from the original negative, adding the English-dubbed voice track and diligently restoring ten minutes of footage edited out of the U.S. print in 1970 and consequently, out of previous American home video releases. As director and enthusiast Alex Cox suggests in his informative audio commentary for the disc, the movie is better than its synopsis implies. The script and direction give the story an epic scope despite a limited budget, culminating in a briskly staged showdown in a bullfighting arena, and Hilton and Borgnine offer heartfelt performances as the two antagonists. Relatively rare for a Spaghetti Western, both Warner and Don Pedro are emotionally damaged characters instead of the cool-cat bounty hunter and deranged bandido who usually anchor such films.

Cox notes that the grim scenes of Warner and his friends Lucky and Priest trying to keep Warner’s baby alive in the desert owe an obvious debt to “Three Godfathers,” John Ford’s 1948 parable of the Nativity story with horses and six-shooters. Ford was ever the optimist, and the infant in “Three Godfathers” survives, delivered safely to a Western town called Jerusalem by outlaw Bob Hightower, played by the indomitable John Wayne. Warner’s newborn isn’t as fortunate in a world bereft of Christian charity, reflecting the grim philosophy of the Spaghetti genre where the innocent are as likely to suffer as the corrupt and the guilty, and often, more likely.

In addition to Alex Cox’s commentary track, the VCI Special Edition includes the title sequence from the original Spanish version, titled “Los Desperados,” and the U.S. theatrical trailer. It is an admirably respectful package for a movie that few would have regarded as anything other than disposable entertainment five decades ago.

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Cinema Retro has received the following press release:

Everybody cut, everybody cut…

Everybody cut FOOTLOOSE!

Celebrating its 40^th anniversary in 2024, the beloved classic FOOTLOOSE arrives for the first time ever on 4K Ultra HD^™ February 13, 2024 from Paramount Home Entertainment.

Originally released on February 17, 1984, FOOTLOOSE thrilled audiences with its spirited dancing, electrifying soundtrack, and inspiring story.  Kevin Bacon gives a star-making performance as a city boy whose rebellious love for music and dancing shakes up a small town. 

Directed by Herbert Ross and written by composer and writer Dean Pitchford, FOOTLOOSE was a massive success, earning $80 million at the domestic box office.  The film features an exceptional supporting cast, including Lori Singer, Dianne Wiest, John Lithgow, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Chris Penn, along with a sensational soundtrack featuring Kenny Loggins, Shalamar, Deniece Williams, Bonnie Tyler, Quiet Riot, John Mellencamp, Foreigner, and more.  Both “Footloose” and “Let’s Hear It for the Boy” were nominated for the Academy Award® for Best Music, Original Song.

Newly remastered, FOOTLOOSE will be available in a two-disc 4K Ultra HD/Blu-ray^™ set or a collectible SteelBook™ with artwork designed to look like an 80s Walkman.  Both sets include access to a digital copy of the film and the Blu-ray includes the legacy bonus content detailed below:

· Commentary by Craig Zadan and Dean Pitchford

· Commentary by Kevin Bacon      

· Let's Dance! Kevin Bacon on Footloose

· From Bomont to the Big Apple: An Interview with Sarah Jessica Parker

· Remembering Willard

· Kevin Bacon's Screen Test

· Kevin Bacon Costume Montage

· Footloose: A Modern Musical - Part 1

· Footloose: A Modern Musical - Part 2

· Footloose: Songs That Tell A Story

· Theatrical Trailer

Synopsis

City-boy Ren McCormick (Kevin Bacon) is new to an uptight small town where dancing has been banned. Ren quickly makes a new best friend in Willard (Chris Penn) and falls fast for the minister's daughter (Lori Singer), but his love for music and dancing gets him into hot water equally as fast.??

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By Doug Oswald

Humphry Bogart and Eleanor Parker feature in the aviation romance drama, “Chain Lightning,” available on Blu-ray via the Warner Archive Collection. Bogart is hot-shot test pilot Matt Brennan flying for an aircraft manufacturer contracted to produce a supersonic jet for the newly formed United States Air Force. The movie soon flashes back to 1943 in WWII England where we see the origins of the relationship between Bogart and Parker. Parker is Joan “Jo” Holloway, an American Red Cross nurse stationed in England where Lieutenant Colonel Matt Brennan is an experienced B-17 pilot. Richard Whorf is Carl Troxell, an engineer working for a B-17 aircraft manufacturer sent to research the reason for aircraft failures. Matt tells Carl exactly the issue which is obvious to those flying the bombing missions, the air war and the lack of long-range air cover support. While on a mission, they encounter a German Messerschmitt Me 163 Komet, a rocket powered interceptor that moves faster than anything in the allied arsenal.

Matt gets word he’s being rotated stateside to sell war bonds after surviving so many bombing missions over Europe. He’s faced with a complicated choice because he has to leave Jo in England. We hope he fulfills his promise to her, but this is Bogart and I think we know what will happen. We meet up with Matt again after the war working as a pilot trainer until he has a chance meeting with Leland Willis, the head of Willis Aviation, that leads to a job as test pilot working on developing jets for the Defense Department. Willis is played by Raymond Massey as the semi-villain of the film. Carl is working for Willis and is also now involved with Jo. The Matt, Jo, Carl love triangle is resolved, but tension arrives in the rivalry between Matt and Carl as they each work on projects to create a safe, fast jet.

Bogart is good playing Bogart and this role is no exception. He does have genuine chemistry with Eleanor Parker playing the girl who never fell out of love with him. While this is by no means a Bogart classic, it is certainly a small gem in his film career. Massey is good as the businessman who is willing to risk lives in order to succeed and Whorf is a bit too predictable as the third part of the love triangle and works hard to be the opposite of Bogart.

The movie is chockfull of WWII aviation footage which is integrated well into the story,including the crash landing in the early part of the movie. There is also pretty good model work later as we see Bogart piloting the jets and he’s seen at the controls in a studio cockpit and models used for the new jet attempting to break a cross- continent flight record.

The film was directed by Stuart Heisler, who had a career working on mostly B-movie dramas and thrillers, though he had a few stand-outs like “The Biscuit Eater” in 1940, “The Glass Key” in 1942, “Storm Warning” in 1950 and “Tokyo Joe” from 1949, the first of two movies with Bogart. Bogart’s filmography is filled with classics, duds and those in between like “Chain Lightning.” Eleanor Parker appeared in many movies, sometimes as the lead, throughout the 50s and early 60s. Raymond Massey was great at playing heavies and semi-villainous roles with occasional heroic figures such as Abraham Lincoln. Richard Whorf is a bit of an enigma for me, featuring in mostly B-movies and never quite reaching leading man status.

Released in 1950 with a flight time of 95 minutes, the movie looks and sounds terrific on this region-free Blu-ray upgrade from the previous DVD release. Extras on the disc include the animated “Bear Feat,” the Joe McDoakes comedy short film “So You Want to Be an Actor” and the trailer for the film. The movie is recommended for Bogart fans and aviation movie enthusiasts.

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Imprint, the Australian video label, has released a region-free Blu-ray set, "Tales of Adventure Collection #2" consisting of four jungle-based action films: "Safari", Elephant Walk", "Fair Wind to Java" and "Angel of the Amazon". This is a limited edition set of 1,500 units.

For full details and to order, click here.

(Prices are in Australian dollars. Use a currency converter to see the prices for non-Australian orders.)

BRING HOME ALL OF YOUR FAVORITE HILARIOUS CHRISTMAS EPISODES

IN ONE BRAND NEW JOLLY COLLECTION

THE OFFICE:

COMPLETE CHRISTMAS COLLECTION

FROM UNIVERSAL PICTURES HOME ENTERTAINMENT

AVAILABLE ON BLU-RAY^TM & DVD

SYNOPSIS: Come join Dunder Mifflin for a holiday celebration like no other with The Office: Complete Christmas Collection! Developed by Primetime Emmy Award winner Greg Daniels, relive all 7 of the wackiest workplace holiday episodes in TV history.  Featuring “Christmas Party”, “A Benihana Christmas”, “Moroccan Christmas”, “Secret Santa”, “Classy Christmas”, “Christmas Wishes” and “Dwight Christmas”, ‘tis the season for non-stop laughs.

SYNOPSIS: Come join Dunder Mifflin for a holiday celebration like no other with The Office: Complete Christmas Collection! Developed by Primetime Emmy Award winner Greg Daniels, relive all 7 of the wackiest workplace holiday episodes in TV history.  Featuring “Christmas Party”, “A Benihana Christmas”, “Moroccan Christmas”, “Secret Santa”, “Classy Christmas”, “Christmas Wishes” and “Dwight Christmas”, ‘tis the season for non-stop laughs.

EPISODES:

Christmas Party – Holiday cheer is in short supply when Michael insists on doing a last-minute swap of Secret Santa gifts, and Jim becomes alarmed that his sweet and sentimental gift for Pam will end up in Dwight’s hands.

A Benihana Christmas – It’s a time for joy and goodwill toward others, but the staff is feeling none of it as Michael deals with a broken heart and Angela and Pam create rival Christmas parties.

Moroccan Christmas – It’s time for the annual Christmas party and a drunken Meredith gets into the holiday spirit by setting her hair on fire.

Secret Santa – Michael is outraged when Jim allows Phyllis to be Santa at the Christmas party, where holiday spirits are dampened by the company’s troubles. Meanwhile, Andy’s Secret Santa gifts to Erin backfire and Oscar has a secret crush.

Classy Christmas – Toby takes a leave of absence and corporate sends Holly to cover for him; Michael forces Pam to hold a second Christmas party on the day Holly arrives; Dwight challenges Jim to a snowball fight.

Christmas Wishes – Andy tries to make this year’s Christmas the best ever by granting each person’s holiday wishes; Robert California tries to drown his sorrows at the office party.

Dwight Christmas – When the party planning committee drops the ball on the annual Christmas party, Dwight gets everyone to celebrate with a traditional Schrute German Christmas.

BONUS FEATURES:

Audio Commentaries

“Christmas Party” Commentary with Jenna Fischer, B.J. Novak, Kate Flannery, David Denman, Editor Dave Rogers, Writer Mike Schur and Executive Producer Greg Daniels

“Moroccan Christmas” Commentary with Kate Flannery, Angela Kinsey, and Brian Baumgartner

“Secret Santa” Commentary with Mindy Kaling, Ellie Kemper, and Claire Scanlon

Deleted Scenes

“Secret Santa” Producer’s Extended Cut

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Kino Lorber has released a Blu-ray collection: ""Columbo: The 1970s, Seasons 1-7"

Here are the details:

"Columbo" is the landmark series that set the standard for the murder mystery genre. Remastered in 4K by Universal, "Columbo: The 1970s" includes the first seven seasons of this enduring classic on Blu-ray! Starring Peter Falk in his four-time Emmy-winning role as the cigar-chomping, trenchcoat-wearing police lieutenant.

Special Features:
• Restored in 4K by Universal Pictures
• Includes the 1968 Movie-of-the-Week "Prescription: Murder" and the 1971 Pilot "Ransom for a Dead Man"
• Shorter 71-Minute Cut of "ÉTUDE IN BLACK"
• Optional Music and Effects Tracks for All Episodes
• Episode Guide Booklet
• Newly Commissioned Slipcase Cover Illustration by Tony Stella
• Optional English Subtitles

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This Season 6 episode of Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In features guest  star John Wayne, who at one point is dressed as the Easter Bunny. There's also an abundance of politically incorrect humor that would never be broadcast today. Click here to view.

Here's your chance to enjoy season one of the classic TV series "The Saint" starring Roger Moore. Shout! TV is making all of the episodes available for free streaming. Click here to view. 

“TO BE OR NOT TO BE… A FASCIST”

By Raymond Benson

The film classic that put director Bernardo Bertolucci on the map outside of Italy was 1970’s The Conformist, hailed by the arthouse cinema circuit as one of the masterpieces of international filmmaking in that decade.

An Italian-French-West German co-production, The Conformist was filmed in Italy and France and stars celebrated French actor Jean-Louis Trintignant, who made several pictures in Italy along with the many in his native country. Although Trintignant could speak Italian, he was almost always dubbed by an Italian actor in these pictures; in fact, all Italian movies of the era were usually dubbed in post-production. Luckily, the dubbing here is quite good because at least Trintignant is mouthing the correct Italian language dialogue.

This is a gorgeous-looking movie, often cited as a groundbreaker in cinematography. Vittorio Storaro made his name with the picture, just as Bertolucci did. Francis Ford Coppola allegedly used The Conformist as the “look” he was going for when he made The Godfather. Storaro is one of only three people who have won the Best Cinematography Oscar three times (he won for Apocalypse Now, Reds, and The Last Emperor, another Bertolucci title).

This is reason alone to view the film today. The content is perhaps a little too attached to the time period in which it was made, in that the editing and narrative flow of the movie is somewhat experimental with its use of flashbacks and time-jumping that filmmakers liked to play with in those days. As a result, the first half of The Conformist takes some getting used to (and is, at first, difficult to follow), but the second half is riveting. The subject matter is also extremely political in that it is a psychological character study of a man torn between the desire to fit in and to do what is right within the context of the socio-political climate of his time.

It’s 1930s Italy, during Mussolini’s reign. Trintignant is Marcello, a wannabe social climber… but to do so, he must during those years be a member of Mussolini’s party and, well, a fascist. Most of his friends are members of the party, as is his closest pal, a blind man named Italo (José Quaglio). In 1938, Marcello accepts the assignment to assassinate his former college professor, Luca Quadri (Enzo Tarascio), a staunch anti-fascist living in Paris with his wife, Anna (Dominique Sanda). Marcello marries Giulia (Stefania Sandrelli), a pretty girl who is naïve and rather common, in an attempt to be “more like ‘normal’ people.” Marcello disguises his true purpose on the trip to Paris by bringing along Giulia, and he is shadowed by his handler, Agent Manganiello (Gastone Moschin, recognizable to Western audiences as Don Fanucci from The Godfather Part II). Once in Paris, Marcello and Giulia enjoy social gatherings with the Quadris, and there is some eyebrow-raising hanky-panky that occurs between Anna and not only Marcello, but also Giulia! (The seductive dance between Anna and Giulia at a party is a highlight of the movie, and stills from the sequence dominated its marketing.) In the meantime, Marcello is struggling with his assignment. Thrown into his head torment is the trauma he suffered back in 1917, when as a boy he was molested by a young man.

There is a lot going on within the characters’ psyches in The Conformist. It is a rich, deeply layered motion picture that asks many questions and provides few answers. Some sequences were shocking in 1970 and are still disturbing today. This is potent cinema, providing the early evidence that Bertolucci was a formidable artist who would push the envelope.

The RARO Cinema Art Blu-ray edition (from RAROvideousa.com, distributed by Kino Lorber) is a 2-disk set. The first disk contains a new stunning 4K restoration from the original camera negative. This is accompanied by an audio commentary by film critic Bilge Ebiri. The second disk is the 2011 HD restoration that both Bertolucci and Storaro worked on. The inclusion of the second disk feature is curious since the new restoration is far, far superior and should be the go-to viewing. It appears that the second, older version is simply there for comparison.

Supplements spread over the two disks include an interview with Valentina Ricciardelli, the president of the Bernardo Bertolucci Foundation; an hour-long documentary, “In the Shade of The Conformist”; and trailers of the film from 1970, 2014, and 2023.

The Conformist is for fans of Bernardo Bertolucci, Vittorio Storaro, Jean-Louis Trintignant, international cinema, and political films.

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Cinema Retro has received the following press release:

On November 28th, Arrow Video brings director Roger Vadim’s Barbarella to 4K UHD and Blu-ray with a brand new, eye-popping 4K restoration from the original negative. The film is based on the scandalous international comic book and stars Jane Fonda as a beautiful and intrepid cosmic adventurer. The story follows space vixen, Barbarella, as she engages in sexy, interplanetary romps while trying to stop the evil Durand Durand (Milo O'Shea) from using the ultimate weapon of mass destruction he’s created. Featuring actors John Phillip Law, Marcel Marceau, David Hemmings, Claude Dauphin, and Anita Pallenberg, and an out-of-this-world ‘60s pop visual style, Barbarella is a feast for the eyes in 4K UHD.

The two-disc 4K UHD Blu-ray and Blu-ray limited edition bonus content includes a reversible sleeve and a fold-out poster featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Tula Lotay; six double-sided collector’s postcards; an illustrated collector’s booklet featuring new writing on the film by Anne Billson, Paul Gravett, Véronique Bergen and Elizabeth Castaldo Lundén, and select archival material.

Both discs are loaded with bonus content, including audio commentaries, featurettes, interviews, trailers, image galleries and more. 

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RETRO-ACTIVE: MEMORABLE ARTICLES FROM THE CINEMA RETRO ARCHIVES

By Hank Reineke

In September of 2021 I attended Manhattan’s Quad Cinema screening of Thomas Hamilton’s affectionate documentary Boris Karloff: the Man Behind the Monster. As a life-long fan of the actor - and the owner of dozens of books examining the actor’s career in film, stage and radio - this was the sort of career-spanning appraisal I was hoping to someday see. Then, only a few weeks following that theatrical screening, Cinema Retro was provided a stream of the doc for critical review. This enabled me to watch the film a second time, revisiting bits of commentary I had missed or recalled only hazily. At the time the stream was provided to Cinema Retro, it was still uncertain if Boris Karloff: The Man Behind the Monster would be offered on physical media. That question was answered in October 2022 when the film became available as a two-disc combo Blu ray/DVD set from Voltage Films/Abramorama.

In the sixteen-page booklet that’s included in the set, director Hamilton advises both he and scripter Ronald MacCloskey originally envisioned their Karloff doc as a bold “4-hour, 2-part film or a 6 part miniseries.” They certainly had enough material to do so, with a reported 60+ hours of interviews involving no fewer than fifty-five subjects. And, that sixty hours of recorded interviews, of course, didn’t include the footage gleaned from Karloff’s fabled filmography.

While you’re not going to find some sixty-odd hours of extras on this release, the set does suggest that it offers an expanded director’s cut (titled on packaging - but not on the film itself - as Boris Karloff: The Rest of the Story). This is a bit curious. The version screened theatrically at the Quad ran 103 minutes – at least as per its billing at the cinema. The Rest of the Story disc runs one hour and forty-three minutes. Which, if my math skills haven’t failed, equals the same 103 minutes of running time.

Of course the new set does feature two additional bonus selections. The first, Meeting Boris Karloff, is, truthfully, not a terribly essential addition, but not uninteresting. It’s an offering of fourteen minutes of interview/commentary by three figures a bit tangential to Karloff’s legend. Of the trio, author and film historian Kevin Brownlow shares his reminisce of his November 1964 interview with Karloff. He recalls Karloff as an interesting interviewee – one who wasn’t remiss to take issue or correct erroneous information found in the press clippings Brownlow had collected. But he noted Karloff always challenged misinformation in a gentlemanly manner.

Andrew Pratt, described as a “great nephew” of the actor, then shyly recounts his one and only meeting with his great uncle. He credits that meeting as inspiration to pursue a career in film art direction – a career that would earn him a number of nominations and awards from the Academy, BAFTA, and the Art Directors Guild. The last subject interviewed was Anthony Bilbow, a television host of BBC-2’s Late Night Line-Up. His only real connection to Karloff was when the actor was a guest on the program, September of 1968. He recalls Karloff as a gentleman kind and warm, modest and self-effacing – but not in a “counterfeit” sort of way.

The final bonus feature of the set is a three-minute interview with the co-scriptwriter of Boris Karloff: the Man Behind the Monster, Ron MacCloskey. This New Jersey-based writer and comedian fell under Karloff’s spell at age seven, having caught Frankenstein on a late night TV telecast. A collector of Frankenstein memorabilia, MacCloskey’s interest in Karloff’s work proved lifelong and ultimately led to his teaming with director Thomas Hamilton to start shooting this documentary in 2018.

If the doc itself is truly an expanded version of the original, it doesn’t really change or radically alter anything presented in the theatrical cut. I’m more than willing to stand corrected if indeed, the doc is offered here in an expanded form. My frame-by-frame memories of those 2021 screenings are all a bit hazy now, so I can’t say with any certainty if extra footage/commentary was included. But, if you missed it the first time, I’ll tack on my original “streaming” review of October of 2021. I very much enjoyed the doc on its original run and my opinion of its merit has not changed at all. Read on, should you wish:

There’s a telling moment at the dénouement of Thomas Hamilton’s and Ron MacCloskey’s affectionate documentary Boris Karloff: The Man behind the Monster. Sara Karloff, the now eighty-two year old daughter of the beloved actor, opines that her father’s lasting cinematic legacy is due, in part, to the tenaciousness of his devoted fan base. It’s a demographic that we soon discover consists of a number of amazingly creative people: folks whose loyalty to and enthusiasm for Karloff’s work has not wavered over the decades. Sara’s contention is inarguably true. As this ninety-nine minute Voltage Films/Abramorama documentary unspools – crisply narrated by Paul Ryan and featuring commentary by preeminent Karloff scholar and “Biographical Consultant” Stephen Jacobs - we discover the actor’s admirer’s bridge several generations of fans and filmmakers.

The first generation to discover Karloff in the decades following his big splash as the Frankenstein monster in 1931, include directors Roger Corman and Peter Bogdanovich. Both men would have the opportunity and honor to work with the actor in his twilight years. The second generation of admirers were those introduced to Karloff via neighborhood cinema screenings or through television broadcasts of Shock Theater in the late 1950s/early 1960s.

These filmmakers, profoundly influenced by Karloff’s art, would go on to create a few cinematic gems of their own: John Landis, Joe Dante, and Guillermo Del Toro, to name a few. The latter gentleman is particularly effusive in his praise, describing Karloff’s performance as the vampiric Wurdalak in Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath as a “tremendous” example of the great actor’s “physical presence, his majesty, his demonic power.”

If the documentary is chock-full of talented filmmakers offering tributes, the film is also supported by the erudite commentaries of film scholars David J. Skal (The Monster Show: a Cultural History of Horror), Gregory W. Mank (Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff: the Expanded Story of a Haunting Collaboration), Donald F. Glut (The Frankenstein Legend: a tribute to Mary Shelley and Boris Karloff), Sir Christopher Frayling (Frankenstein: the first Two Hundred Years), and critic Leonard Maltin.

There are also short tributes and reminisces by several actors – three now gone - who had worked with Karloff at some point in their career: Dick Miller (The Terror), Christopher Plummer (The Lark, Even the Weariest River), Ian Ogilvy (The Sorcerers), and Orson Bean (Arsenic and Old Lace). Karloff’s tells part of his own story through audio recordings made available to the filmmakers courtesy of the British cinema historian/author Kevin Brownlow (The Parades Gone By…) and the Pacifica Radio Archive.

It has long annoyed me that when one searches out the term “Boris Karloff” in the ever-expanding IMDB, the resulting prompt identifies the actor’s signature film as The Grinch that Stole Christmas (1966). My daughters would remind me that my personal agitation of this result is, by definition, a “first world” problem, one hardly worthy of condemnation. But as cinema’s preeminent boogeyman for four decades, seeing Karloff’s storied career reduced to a role featuring only his disembodied voice as the Grinch… Well, let’s just say that I still find it somewhat misleading and inappropriate.

Be that as it may, Hamilton’s film reminds Karloff himself might disagree with my wariness of the Grinch being bandied as the cinematic crown jewel of the actor’s legacy. Sara Karloff recalls receiving a phone call from her father immediately following his recording of the narration for that beloved Dr. Seuss vehicle. The actor we learn was profoundly happy with his work on the now-famous animated holiday classic, telling his daughter proudly, “I’ve done something which I think is pretty good.”

Karloff would pass away a couple of years following the first broadcast of The Grinch that Stole Christmas, but he worked to the very end of his days, appearing in a number of memorable – and a few less-than-memorable – films, several of which would see release in years following his passing. His last films were little more than cameo-length appearances shot on a Hollywood sound stage. It was director Jack Hill’s idea to take the Karloff footage from these shoots and blend the results into a series of Mexican horror films.

Karloff, rightly and proudly, would choose to refer to his spell-binding turn as the semi-autobiographical aging horror film actor Byron Orlok in Bogdanovich’s Targets (1968) as his feature film swan song. Technically, it wasn’t. But the brief appearances in that post- Target series of Hollywood-Mexico co-production mash-ups were mostly an excuse for an old pro to continue to ply his trade and keep busy. But working oxygen-tank dependent and wheelchair bound on the Jack Hill-directed sequences, Karloff was prevented from doing much of anything with the already somewhat cut-and-paste material given to him.

Karloff, of course, was not the only “horror film” star of the genre’s celebrated Golden Age of the 1930s and 40s. Karloff, we learn, was actually not happy with the designation “horror movie”, much preferring his films to be termed as “thrillers” or “shock” pictures. His contemporary competitor as grand ghoul of the horror film - one whose own legacy would burn bright into the next century - was Bela Lugosi. Although Lugosi had too often played second-fiddle to Karloff in matters of employment and billing, the Hungarian’s post-mortem fame may have eclipsed his friend’s star over the last few decades.

For starters, Lugosi’s sad and lurid dependency on morphine and alcohol in his final years made him the subject of tabloid fodder, and gossip then – and now – still rules. Lugosi’s slow demise coupled with his appearances in several of Edward J. Wood’s revered cult films brought him a big degree of post-mortem fame. A brand new generation would discover the actor through Martin Landau’s Oscar-winning turn as Lugosi in Tim Burton’s semi-biographical drama Ed Wood.

To be fair, Lugosi’s string of mad performances in Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957), Bride of the Monster (1955), and Glen or Glenda (1953) are, in many ways, were no less better or worse or more undistinguished than Karloff’s walk-ons in the creaky Jack Hill/Mexi-horror films of spring 1968. Though both sets of films are passably entertaining in their own uneven, cult-ish ways, both actor’s cinematic exits were ignoble ends to these two great men who famously made audiences shiver in 1931.

James Whale’s Frankenstein would ultimately transform Karloff into a full-fledged movie star, but it had been a long road to achieving such fame. The actor had been working on various Hollywood backlots since the silent era. In the course of his earliest silent film efforts – beginning with such titles as The Lightning Raider (1919) and His Majesty, the American (1919) – he worked as little more than an extra. His subsequent fame would cause a score of budding film historians to carefully survey battered old prints of Karloff’s earliest filmography in the often futile hope of catching a glimpse as he passed by the camera.

In truth, his decade-long career as a silent film actor was mostly non consequential. He would appear in approximately sixty or so silent films between 1919 and 1929. He would, on occasion, be gifted a role of some heft, most notably as that of “The Mesmerist” in The Bells (1926) opposite Lionel Barrymore, but he was most often cast in adventure-orientated serials as a heavy, or as a Hindu, Mexican or an Arab, a mystic or a general ne’er-do-well.

It was his casting as the sadistic “Galloway” in Howard Hawk’s sound prison drama The Criminal Code (1930) that brought him to the attention of Universal executives looking to cast a suitably cadaverous-appearing actor as the Frankenstein monster. Following Lugosi’s rejection of the part due to the absence of dialogue afforded, Bela’s pass on the role was fortuitous for Karloff. He was still hungry and looking for that big break. Although the role of the monster would forever typecast him, the actor remained forever grateful for having taking the role in Frankenstein, once describing the career door-opening creature as “the best friend I ever had.”

It’s not hard to see why Karloff’s portrayal of the monster remains the preeminent of the Universal series. He was, after all, the only actor to have been given the opportunity to actually act and emote, to bring a sense of pathos to the role. He was abetted, of course, by Jack Pierce’s iconic make-up which, rather than masking, cannily sculpted and made highlight of Karloff’s facial features and sunken cheeks. This gave the monster, according to one of the participants in the documentary, a “full expression range.” The trio of actors who would subsequently portray the monster in the Universal series simply weren’t given the opportunity to apply any emotive effect of their own. Even by Son of Frankenstein (1939), the third film in the series, the screenwriters had already reduced the monster into little more than a hulking, lumbering menace and henchman.

It is discouraging to learn that when Frankenstein had its gala premiere in the autumn of 1931, Karloff was not even invited to attend. He was already forty-four years of age when he assumed the role, a no-name celebrity and hardly a handsome matinee idol of any recognition. The unexpected phenomenal success of Frankenstein would change all that, and Universal was quick to capitalize on the actor’s sudden notoriety as Hollywood’s most beloved boogeyman. Karloff’s natural proclivity for taking on roles of menacing villainous characters with icy stares would allow his casting into a string of Golden Age horror classics – not only for Universal but for other studios as well, including memorable turn in MGM’s The Mask of Fu Manchu. The latter remains a great, entertaining film… if undeniably one of the most politically-incorrect lavish big studio productions of the 1930s.

When the market for horror films softened in the mid-1940s – thanks, in part, due to the horror genre’s continuing perceived transgressions of the Hays Code - Karloff easily transitioned to character roles, where, according to his daughter, her father’s natural “dark coloring,” permitted him to slip easily into “ethnic roles.” As one of the founders of the Screen Actors Guild, he was able to exercise his freelance status by working for, amongst others, RKO, Columbia, Monogram, and Warner Bros.

Another avenue of opportunity had presented itself around this same time. In 1941 Karloff was lured, against his better judgement according to this film, to take on the Broadway role of the villainous Jonathan Brewster in Joseph L. Kesselring’s stage play Arsenic and Old Lace. It was to his life-long disappointment that a clause in his theatrical stage contract prevented his returning to Hollywood – as did several fellow members of the original Broadway cast – to reprise the role for the much beloved Frank Capra film adaptation of 1944.

Though initially frightened to work in theatre before a live audience, the success of Arsenic emboldened Karloff to accept several other roles in such Broadway productions as The Lark (with Julie Harris), The Linden Tree, The Shop at Sly Corner, and even in a memorable turn as Captain Hook in a 1950 production of Peter Pan. Fortunately, we of a certain age who missed out still can get a small taste of what we missed since kinescopes survive from early Hallmark Hall of Fame broadcasts of the original production of The Lark and a 1961 re-staging of Arsenic and Old Lace.

Though Karloff’s work in radio is mostly ignored in this documentary, the film does take pains to point out that he was among the first movie stars of his generation to fully embrace television. Though he would often appear in serious televisions drams for such programs as Texaco Star Theater or Playhouse 90, he was not above spoofing his own curious fame as Hollywood’s grandest ghoul on any number of variety programs hosted by the likes of Red Skelton or Dinah Shore.

(Stefanie Powers and Robert Vaughn with Karloff in "The Mother Muffin Affair" on "The Girl from U.N.C.L.E." (Photo: Cinema Retro Archives)

In the 1960s, he would famously host (and occasionally act) in episodes of the television program Thriller, or appear in drag as “Mother Muffin” in an episode of The Girl from U.N.C.L.E – or with former U.N.C.L.E. agent Robert Vaughn in the spy-film The Venetian Affair (1966). Joe Dante also references the series of wonderful long-playing albums Karloff would record over the years, his unmistakable, lisping voice introducing children to a wonderful selection of folk tales, ghost stories, Washington Irving classics, and time-worn fables.

Boris Karloff: the Man behind the Monster reminds us that the actor (1887-1969) accomplished a lot in his eighty-one-years, a large percentage of which would encompass appearances on screen, on stage, on air, on record, and on television. To their credit, the filmmakers share what they can in the constraint of the film’ ninety-nine minute running time, and the film certainly succeeds as an excellent primer. Karloff wonks like myself might hold out hope that a multi-part, Ken Burns-style series might someday be put into the works, but I imagine that’s unlikely. One hundred and thirty four years have passed since Karloff’s birth. The fact that contemporary audiences remain completely entranced by his filmography in 2021 is testament enough to the worthiness of this loving tribute painting him as one of Hollywood’s greatest.

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