The Devil-Doll (1936)

The Devil-Doll (Tod Browning, 1936)

Ah, Tod Browning, king of the cinematic macabre. He after all brought to us the cinematic representation of Count Dracula that will forever haunt our collective consciousness. The year later, he released a film that featured the most grusome, grotesque and visually unappealing freaks. The release of his 1932 Freaks resulted in a turnaround in Browning's illustrious career. That film was shelved, banned, booed, truncated. It toured the United States like the freaks it depicted, merely a sideshow feature disowned by the studio that gave birth to it. Browning directed a few more films before retiring completely. One of his last features is The Devil-Doll, which is more of a sci-fi revenge tale rather than a horror story of the grotesque and the weird.

The Devil-Doll actually features three characters who are all transformed into grotesque creatures by their personal goals and convictions. Marcel (Henry B. Walthall) has escaped from prison with his prison buddy Paul Lavond (Lionel Barrymore). They inch their way to Marcel's house in a remote island where Marcel seeks to continue his life's passion, which is science. In the house, Marcel's wife Malita (Rafaela Ottiano) has nearly perfected their experimentations on a process that will shrink creatures into a sixth of their original size. However, the drawback is that the brains will shrink too, causing these creatures to lose their memories and other mental functions, allowing them to be mere miniature puppets of their masters who can telepathically order them around. After experimenting with the couple's imbecile servant Lachna (Grace Ford), Marcel dies leaving Malita and Paul to continue his work.

Paul has no intention in pursuing Marcel's scientific experimentations, as he thinks shrinking people is morally wrong. However, he uses Malita to take revenge on the three former bank associates who framed him and caused him to rot in jail for seventeen years. Paul and Malita fly to Paris and devise a plan to suit Paul's goals. Paul dresses up as an elderly toymaker who stalks the three bankers with her "dolls" and tries to win back the affection of his estranged daughter Lorraine (Maureen O'Sullivan).

The three freaks of the film are Marcel, Malita and Paul. All three have been grotesquely mutated by their respective passions: Marcel, with his benevolent yet twisted need to shrink all humanity to solve world hunger, Malita, with her undaunted devotion to her husband's passion, and Paul, with his desperate need to clear his name or just merely clear the world of the three men who robbed him of his fortunes, freedom and his family. All three have different levels of moral perception yet all three are undeniably swallowed by their personal motivations. The effect is a less visual representation, although the white highlights in Malita's hair and the twisting of Paul's facial features spell out evil in bold letters, of evil.

I have some problems with the film. The sideplot involving Paul's relationship with his daughter is touching at first, but when the film culminates with a need to wrap-up the emotional estrangement of the daughter to her criminal father, Browning suddenly falters in visualizing the resolution.

The Devil-Doll is very well-made considering that it was not provided a generous budget. Browning tends to drown in his inability to control dialogue but given a tight script (written by Guy Endore, Garrett Fort and the more famous Erich von Stronheim from a novel "Burn Witch Burn" by Abraham Merritt), and a better cast, you almost feel that Browning has grown up from his dialogue-centered deficiency. The biggest surprise here is that Browning's camera finally moves in a more fluid manner. Browning's usual visual technique is to wonder at his gothic sets or his freaky cast by using static and steady camera positions. Here, his camera follows movement which is probably due to the fact that The Devil-Doll is special effects extensive. The camera follows the miniaturized characters who flawlessly mix with the normal sized men and women to do what they're told: a cinematic wonder decades before Peter Jackson used computers, midgets, and camera tricks to do the same in The Lord of the Rings.

In one of the film's most memorable sequences, one of Paul's dolls drop from a Christmas ornament and with the use of his miniature size, dodges and escapes the vision of the Parisian policemen who are guarding the last remaining banker that Paul wants vengeance from. Browning cuts the sequence from the beautifully rendered special effects of the miniature actor running around giant legs and tables, the facial expressions of a frightened banker who is unaware what he is up against, and a beautiful monstrance that tells both the banker and the audience the time and the reckoning of Paul's death threat. The mixture of special effects, of Browning's ability to handle moments of disbelief and terror, of the excellent cast, and the more stable visuals create an atmosphere that takes away the hokum of the science fiction ploy.

Dracula (1931)

Dracula (Tod Browning, 1931)

Despite the many reincarnations of Count Dracula in film, from Francis Ford Coppola's more baroque and literal Dracula to Wes Craven's more liberal approach, it is the official first, not taking the fact that Murnau's Noseferatu (1922) was the first unofficial adaptation of Bram Stoker's vampire novel, that still haunts the collective consciousness of the public. Tod Browning's Dracula was the start of a craze. It was a box office hit and resulted in Universal Studios to commission James Whale into filming Frankenstein (1931), hoping to get the exact, if not better, box office results of their first monster movie. It is a success because it sort of played with the audience's xenophobic tendencies, pushing them away from their comfort zones and replacing these zones with characters with heavily accentuated Eastern European butchering of the English language and locales that imply a sense of mystery coupled with the grave understanding that danger is near.

Browning's film starts in absolute majesty and mystery. A carriage is shown travelling down a mountain pass. Browning then shows a conversation inside the carriage. A man warns his fellow passengers to be wary of the night as it is the night that Nosferatu and her brides are stalking for victims. The resulting scenes create a heavier atmosphere of impending terror. The village where the carriage stops are inhabited by men and women whose faces clearly outline an unspeakable fear. When English real estate agent Renfield (Dwight Frye) insists that he be driven to the mountain pass as another carriage is waiting for him there at midnight, the villagers pleads that he stay the night. Upon speaking that it is Count Dracula's carriage that is awaiting him, the villagers withdraw in obvious fear and just offer him a crucifix to protect him.

The film reaches its peak when Renfield finally arrives in Count Dracula's castle. The castle is magnificent. Despite its appearance of decay, it still shows impressions of a former opulence. Huge pillars adorn the vast hallway and its centerpiece is a wide stairway, although sadly adorned by cobwebs gives off a stature of awe. Dracula (Bela Lugosi) welcomes Renfield. His distinct accent breaks the long minutes of silence. Dracula, using Renfield as his pawn, finally makes his way to London and lures a doctor's beautiful daughter Mina (Helen Chandler), only to be stopped by Professor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan) and Mina's sweetheart John (David Manners).

I mentioned that the film reaches its peak in Count Dracula's castle, which is a scene that is scarcely fifteen minutes from the beginning. When the film reaches the part where Dracula reaches London, the gothic magnificence of the early scenes is transformed into a rather bland affair. Bogged down by a sudden change in atmosphere, the film struggles to imitate the dormant horror depicted in the early scenes. Most of the scenes are executed theatrically. Moreover, the romantic interludes between Mina and John are simply meandering. John comes off as a whiny, bratty, and insignificant sidekick to the curious, more reasonable, and rational Professor Van Helsing. The explanation scenes right in the middle of the film stunts the film's capacity for horror, despite the fact that Dracula does make quick appearances to pump up these scenes of revelation. It is only when another gigantic setpiece is introduced, the abbey where Dracula takes his day breaks, that the film again touches the level of horror it introduced us with. The huge staircase where a murder would take place, the underground graveyard, the wooden doors, are not as memorable as Count Dracula's castle but are enough to give an end to this classic horror feature.

Tod Browning's direction here feels impeded especially when compared to his work in Freaks (1932). The film shines when the scenes are blanketed with silence which allows the audience to marvel at Browning's visual treats. This is after all Browning's first sound film, and it shows him struggling with the new medium. However, there's a certain mastery in the visuals: Count Dracula's castle, the vampires waking up with only their fingers appearing from the open lids of their coffins, the foggy mountain pass, the three brides of the count slowly walking towards an unconscious Renfield, the hypnotizing eyes of the famous count. They are all wonderfully staged and marvelously photographed by cinematographer Karl Freund. The film derives its horror from these nightmarish images rather than from the sloppy storytelling. The dialogues are insignificant save for a few insightful conversations such as the count's brief conversation with Mina's friend Lucy (Frances Dade) about the notion that there are some things much worse than death.

The film then truly belongs to Bela Lugosi, who donned the vampire's affluent clothes and gave this version of Dracula near-immortal status. Lugosi's stylish depictions of the famous vampire are clear and effective, delivering a sense of dread to his openly foreign character. Even Lugosi's faults, his linguistic deficiency, has added to the charm that will forever inhabit the character. Lugosi's acting style is a mixture of both the overemphasized body movements of the silent era and the more audible, more repressed facial expressions of the sound era. Despite the several attempts to poke humor into Lugosi's portrayal in several future films, upon viewing of Browning's film, Lugosi still terrifies, signifying that despite the film having aged, it is still pertinent.

Freaks (1932)

Freaks (Tod Browning, 1932)

It's an inevitable psychological response, humans tend to repel, disassociate, or react violently when shown something that is foreign like an unnatural misrepresentation of the human form. These unnatural misrepresentations however are not mere fantasies found in story books, they are real and more often than not, are hidden from the public eye, creating an unconscious stigma. It's an inevitable reaction, as let's say in the opening sequence of Tod Browning's infamous film Freaks where a man barters off his wares, a spectacle of sideshow freaks, that the men would get wide-eyed in suspicion and disgust, and women would shriek in horror. The man then explains to his customers how the freak came to be, and Browning invites us to partake of a story of carnival freaks intermingling with the rest of the human world.

The story of Freaks concerns itself with Cleo (Olga Baclanova), a trapeze whose grace and beauty have wooed Hans (Harry Earles), a wealthy midget, into showering her with praises and expensive gifts. Cleo, along with her lover, a strongman named Hercules (Henry Victor), comes up with a plan to steal Han's vast inheritance, by Cleo marrying the lovestruck midget and eventually poisoning him and thus inheriting the midget's vast fortune. Cleo and Hercules' plan does not end as intended, as the other sideshow freaks guard their brood with fraternal zeal. The duo get what they deserve, as plan for vengeance is brainstormed by the malformed and their sympathizers.

Freaks has been misunderstood over time. It is only now that the film is getting the recognition it deserves. Quickly disowned by MGM after being hugely criticized by the public for its seemingly exploitative use of real freaks, the film was later on exhibited in freak shows, and was added an introductory statement that whitewashes its supposed exploitative intent. The film was also shortened by thirty minutes, and a happy ending was eventually introduced in exchange for a much more bothersome one: which reportedly involves Hercules would be singing soprano, after being castrated by the vengeful band of freaks. The original ending would be lost forever. The present form of Browning's film is far from his vision. Entire sideplots have been erased, and characterization has been sidetracked in favor of quick and easy spectacle.

Interestingly though, the present form of Freaks still showcases Browning as a talented filmmaker. Browning was able to envision and realize visuals and scenes that elicit nightmarish horror while maintaining a natural and bothersome ease. Browning shocks, but is not intent on merely shocking for he eases his film with the utilizition of the freaks' unnatural bodily form as centerpoints for his intentions of both horror and sympathy. In one scene, Browning shows a group of pinheads, limbless individuals, and dwarves playing in a forest clearing. What is evoked is not only a discomforting spectacle of horror but a sense of innocence and childlike naivety these freaks also exude. They are in fact the ones fearing those who would oppress them. That fear enables them to band together, creating a code that would guide and protect them from the whims of the non-freaks. The code is highest in their hierarchy of beliefs, making them overcome both inherent fear and innocence with the motivation of protecting their own. That becomes the centerpiece of Browning's horror, that psychological transformation of these seemingly safe and friendly beings from playful children to murderous and vindictive monsters.

The pinnacle of such horror is depicted in the final sequences which were depicted with frightening sensibility. The carnival caravans being driven in a row underneath a dark rainy sky where the slight light from the scarce lamps and the occasional thunderous lightning are the only sources of illumination. Within these caravans, the freaks are brainstorming a plan for vengeance. One brilliant scene involves Hans revealing that he knows of Cleo and Hercules' plan, forcing Cleo to recant when she becomes surrounded by three other freaks carrying a knife, a gun, and one playing an uncomfortable tune with his flute. The sequence climaxes in the culmination of the freaks' plan for revenge. The filmmaking is absolutely impressive. Browning mixes shock and creeping horror when the freaks slowly crawl, walk, squirm towards the villains. It is thus unfortunate that Freaks became a victim of studio politics and misconceptions since what we have now is a mere abridged film. One wonders if we'll ever be granted the brilliance of Browning's original vision.