Val Lewton Collection: I Walked With a Zombie

The poetic voodoo drama I Walked with a Zombie (1943) was the second of Val Lewton's horror film series, and the second of three that director Jacques Tourneur helmed for the producer. A reworking of Bronte's Jane Eyre, the story involves nurse Betsy Connell (Francis Dee) accepting a job to care for the wife of Paul Holland (Tom Conway, who also appears in two other Lewton films, in which he plays the same character) on a West Indies island. Mrs. Holland (Christine Gordon) is catatonic, apparently as the result of a tropical disease, but the native islanders believe that she is a zombie--hovering between life and death as the undead.

The literate screenplay by Curt Siodmak and Ardel Wray allows the hidden backstory of the Holland family--Paul Holland, Jessica Holland, and half-brother Wesley Rand (James Ellison)--to slowly emerge. Exposition is sometimes done in unique ways, as in the folk song about the Holland family that a musician plays during two scenes. The dialogue is smart and well-written, the characters efficiently sketched, and the shroud of death and inescapable fate haunt the film like it does most of the Lewton horror series. Paul Holland has some particularly memorable dialogue at the start of the film, about grim reality lurking behind beautiful facade. (Sidenote: Oddly enough, according to the IMDB, the screenplay was the source for a recent and failed third Tales from the Crypt movie, Ritual, which seems to have sunk like a lead brick.)

Though there are several suspense set-pieces, the horror elements are relatively minor. In place of the horrific, however, the film boasts Tourneur's typical visual poetry; this is arguably the most beautiful of his films. Particularly striking is a shot with Betsy Connell framed in a doorway gazing up at a darkened stone stairway that winds above her into concealing shadows. The much-discussed and admired night walk through the sugar cane fields, scored to the eerie whistle of the wind, is also beautifully shot and memorable.

The treatment of voodoo in I Walked with a Zombie is strikingly respectful, especially considering other films of the era (e.g., King of the Zombies). It is treated as a valid belief system, and is never mocked or sensationalized.

The DVD of I Walked with a Zombie pairs it with The Body Snatcher. The transfer is a mixed bag, with several instances of noticeable print damage, and frequent speckling. There is an audio commentary by "film historians" Kim Newman and and Steve Jones, which I did not listen to due to a lack of time. (Seriously, does anyone actually have time to listen to these things?)

Val Lewton Collection: The Leopard Man

Adapted from a story by Cornell Woolrich (a suspense master whose work was also the source of Hitchcock's classic Rear Window), The Leopard Man (1943) was director Jacques Tourneur's last film for producer Val Lewton. Dennis O'Keefe stars as entertainment agent Jerry Manning on tour in New Mexico who hires a leopard to accompany dancer Clo-Clo (Margo) in a grand entrance to her act. Things backfire--the leopard is startled and escapes, and later appears to be responsible for a series of deaths. But while the first killing of a girl is undoubtedly the work of the leopard, Manning suspects that the subsequent murders may in fact be committed by a man, using the leopard as an alibi.

While the mystery plot is enjoyable but pretty thin, The Leopard Man holds three trademark Lewtonesque "dark fear" sequences, all involving the stalking and killing of a woman. Two of these stand out as landmarks in horror cinema.

The first is the much-discussed passage involving a girl entering the night, at her mother's insistence, to buy cornmeal. To do so, she has to pass under a bridge, which is thick with shadow and may harbour the black leopard. Masterfully shot and cut, this sequence invokes genuine dread of the dark, and includes what Tourneur describes as a "sharp edit". This sharp edit was known as "the bus" named after the sudden, startling cut to the hiss of a bus's brakes and door opening from Cat People. The bus in this sequence is a sound edit with the sudden shrieking of a vehicle passing over the bridge. This is more than a cheap shock--the slow, skilful build of fear in the sequence earns the effect. The sequence concludes with the film's most famous scene, involving terror behind a locked door and the seeping of blood.

The second landmark sequence is set at night (of course) in a walled graveyard, with a woman locked in, and convinced that something is lurking in the trees. The bending of a tree branch by the weight of something frightening is one of the most effective yet subtle payoffs to any suspense sequence.

The concept of inescapable fate, a key theme in many Lewton films, is also apparent here. There is a short passage of dialogue where one character points to a ball hovering in a fountain, and remarks that people are like that, being buffeted by forces beyond their understanding or ability to control. Inevitability also manifests itself in a scene with a fortune teller and a character who always turns up the death card, no matter how she cuts the cards.

Though the ending seems a bit rushed, The Leopard Man is required viewing for all horror/suspense film fans, especially for those interested in how editing, lighting, and sound can be used to economically build suspense. As Tourneur himself noted in an interview, Lewton's films were cheaply made, but never cheap.

The DVD pairs The Leopard Man with The Ghost Ship. The picture on The Leopard Man is not great. There are many speckles apparent throughout, but overall it is a notable improvement on the old VHS version. A restoration of the film would be nice.

Val Lewton Collection: The 7th Victim

A real gem, The 7th Victim (1943) is a visual poem of a film noir/horror hybrid. This was the first Lewton film to be directed by Mark Robson, who worked as an assistant to Robert Wise on the editing of Citizen Kane (Wise, of course, would also go on to direct several films for Lewton). Moody and boldy depressing for its time, the film's story concerns Mary Gibson's (Kim Hunter) search for her missing sister Jacqueline (Jean Brooks) in the dark streets of Manhattan. The search reveals Jaqueline's secret husband and her connection to a hidden society of devil-worshippers.

Boldly, almost expressionistically shot, the film is packed with memorable scenes. Jacqueline's apartment is found to contain only a chair sitting ominously beneath a rope noose, a grim symbol of the shadow of death that hangs over the lives of several characters. Mary is menaced while in the shower by a satanic cult member, only her shadow visible through the translucent curtain, in a scene thought by many to be a precursor to the famous murder sequence in Hitchcock's Psycho. Jacqueline is stalked through the shadowed streets of late-night Manhattan by an anonymous hitman. Robson photographs the night scenes with a visual poetry that captures the claustrophobic, inescapable nature of fate.

The inevitability of death draws over The 7th Victim like a shroud. The film begins and ends with a quote from John Donne: "I runne to death, and death meets me as fast, and all my pleasures are like yesterday." The double suicide that concludes the film is one of the most striking, depressing endings to any film, and will likely haunt your thoughts long after the shadows of The 7th Victim have faded.

The DVD of The 7th Victim beautifully captures the crisp black and white photography, and is certainly the best this film will look until someone does a full restoration. The disc pairs the film with a documentary on Lewton, Shadows in the Dark, the viewing of which I'm saving as a treat for when I've finished viewing the entire Lewton horror oeuvre on disc.

Val Lewton Collection: Bedlam

From the first Val Lewton-produced horror film (Cat People, see previous post), now onto the very last: Bedlam (1946). Directed by Mark Robson, who helmed three other Lewton films, Bedlam is less a horror film, and more a historical drama with horrific overtones, much like the previous year's The Body Snatcher. The film is one of three Lewton movies to star the legendary Boris Karloff, who was famous for his roles in the Universal horror cycle.

Karloff plays George Sims, the cowardly, simpering, and quite loathsome head of the Bedlam asylum in 17th century London. Sims curries favour with Lord Mortimer and convinces him to institutionalize his former companion, Nell Bowen (Anna Lee), in the dank and oppressive confines of Bedlam.

Though boasting some grim sequences, Bedlam ultimately turns out to be a humanistic message picture about the dehumanizing treatment of "lunatics". Once locked up in Bedlam, Nell works to better the lives of the inmates and wins their sympathies. Karloff's Sims never receives sympathy, however. His character is despicable and morally contemptible. Karloff's performance here is astonishing--notice the way Sims walks with bent knees, reflecting the twisted insides of the character; he seems to scuttle around like a deranged insect. Nell's internment in Bedlam is at first foreboding and grim, but we soon come to realize that the real monster does not lurk among the inmates--it is Sims.

In retrospect it is easy to see why Bedlam was a failure upon its initial release. Marketed as a straight horror picture, with Karloff's face and name front and centre in the posters, it does not deliver the same Lewtonesque chills as the producer's other genre films. However, it succeeds as a grim, humanistic drama. Often visually striking, Bedlam is well worth watching for classic horror fans.

The DVD of Bedlam boasts a clear picture for the most part, but there is some obvious print damage in a couple of scenes. The DVD also includes Isle of the Dead, which was also directed by Mark Robson and starred Boris Karloff. That film is singularly chilling in a couple of scenes, but I'm getting ahead of myself.