Category: Classics

   Japanese horror movies have become big box office in
many countries now, including the USA and Europe.  Movies
like The Ring have become household
names.    Video stores stock the American-made
English-language versions, and in many cases too, the Japanese
originals.

   Onibaba is a much older movie
(1964).  Some would argue that it really doesn’t belong in a
book on horror films; that it is more of a war film or possibly an
art film about the effects of war.

   In some ways those people would appear to be
right.  It is not easy to find another movie in this book
similar to Onibaba.  For example, it seems
light-years away from The Ring.  Off the top
of my head, I would probably say it is closest to
Deliverance, shown from the crazed backwoods
people’s point of view.  Onibaba, like
Deliverance, shows people at their simplest and
most savage.  It is not an optimistic outlook, to put it
mildly.  The characters in Onibaba are in
desperation.  The men have been forced far away, to fight a
war that means nothing to them.  The old men, women and
children left behind are finding it impossible to work their farms
anymore. They are close to starving.  Already they have seen
much bad weather. Strange omens of doom are signs of worse things
to come. 

   Onibaba takes place in a remote part
of Japan, in land covered in grass taller than any of its human
characters.  At night, especially, the grass sways wildly in
the intense wind.  The movie starts by introducing two of the
main characters, the Woman, and the Young woman, who is married to
the woman’s son, now gone to war.  You never learn their
names.  For a long while, it has been just the two of them.
They have done what they had to in order to stay alive; killing
soldiers and selling their weapons and armor in exchange for
food.  Killing has become as familiar to them as washing
clothes, eating and going to the bathroom.  It is just
something you do.  All their humanity appears to be gone.

Brutal times; the only way to stay alive

     Hachi, an old neighbor returns out of nowhere
from the war.  He tells them that the man they have waited to
hear about, son to one, husband to another, has died.  The
man’s death was just one of a long series of horrors Hachi has
seen.

      Almost right away, Hachi’s return
creates a tense triangle between the three people, with each
struggling for ultimate power.   All Hachi wants now is
his old house, food to survive, to stay out of the war, and to be
with the young woman.

      And that is enough to throw
everything that existed out of balance.  The woman sees
Hachi’s desire for her former daughter-in-law, and she is
terrified.  Not because she cares about her, she is past
caring for anyone.  But she absolutely needs her
daughter-in-law, to help with the killings now that she cannot
farm.  If Hachi takes her away, she feels that her life will
be over. 

 Hachi’s return; a rapidly growing competition

     When Hachi first returned, he described a war
with sides that meant nothing to any of them.  But now Hachi
has started a new war; only three people, but they cannot live
side by side.  Someone has to win; someone has to lose. 
At first the older woman seems to be the loser.  Strangely
enough, it is sex that determines the battlefield.  Hachi and
the younger woman are attracted to each other almost
immediately.  When they start their affair, you can feel the
heat; maybe it is their desperation, possibly more than that.

      For the older woman, intimidation
is the only weapon left.  She tells the young woman stories
about purgatory and a hell that sounds right out of Dante’s
Inferno, with the most intense physical pain saved for those who
indulge in extramarital sex.  The young woman is afraid but
Hashi is not.  He tells her that he would risk hell to
continue having sex with her.  And despite her talk you know
that the older woman is tempted too by Hashi’s sensuality. 
She tries unsuccessfully to seduce him, and not just to break up
the affair.  She desires him too.

      Things change one night the old
woman is alone.  A samurai appears, wearing a grotesque
mask.  All he wants is to find his way out of the sea of tall
grass.  The old woman refuses at first, then seems to be
intimidated into helping him.   

      And here is where
Onibaba finally starts to feel like a traditional
horror movie.  The samurai talks about his mask, and how he
needed it to protect his handsome face during combat.  The
old woman has trouble believing him, the same way she has trouble
believing anything positive anymore.  More and more, you feel
the bitterness eating her up from the inside.  It’s no big
surprise when she lures him into the same deep pit where she has
thrown the bodies of the other men they have robbed.

     To get his armor and weapons, she needs to
climb down to the bottom.  Piles of human skeletons cover the
ground around his body.  Seeing them, wading through them,
does not seem to bother the woman.  She talks to the dead
samurai in a sarcastic way about his handsome face; she feels no
sympathy.  He is just one of the many faceless samurai who
dragged her son away to his death.   To her horror his
face is not handsome beneath the mask but horribly scarred,
possibly war wounds, there is no way to know.

      The samurai mask now becomes a
weapon in the war between the three survivors.  The older
woman puts it on, and uses it to play the role of a demon. 
In this way, she hopes to keep the Young woman home and afraid to
leave.  Each time the Young woman leaves for Hachi’s hut, she
finds the demon waiting for her.  Knowing nothing about the
dead samurai and fearful of hell, she does not suspect the other
woman yet.

      But other forces (Black magic?
Karma? The list is endless.) have been brought to life. 
Whatever powers the mask may have, each of the three must now pay
a price.  As you would expect you are left with a lot more
questions than answers:  Why won’t the mask come off the
woman’s face?  Is her pain while she wears the mask only
physical pain or is she feeling her terrible loss of humanity at
last?  Has the mask been cursed by the dead samurai?  As
the old song goes…Nothing is revealed.

    Well, maybe a little.  The director, then
in his 90’s when Onibaba was re-issued on DVD,
did talk about some of his ideas in an interview included on it.

    For one, he hoped to show that sex was more
than just basic animal need.  It was the one spiritual
experience available to these people in their ravished land. 
A brief scene of Hachi and the young woman running naked in a
downpour shows this.  Its tone screams of freedom; it is so
different from what has come before: the endless cycle of work,
the voices with no expression.  The lust of the older woman
too (which she spells out clearly to Hachi) is a need for love as
well.  Only she cannot express this (a need for love,
as well as the sex) until much later.  Her anger
masks everything else about her.  Why wouldn’t she want to
tear her inner mask of anger away, the way she longs to tear the
real mask off her face?

 A mask; and perhaps a look inside a soul

     But this is only one of many interpretations;
people will find many other insights of their own, based on their
own experience.  Onibaba may or may not
scare you in the sense of making you jump out of your
seat.   That is an individual thing.  But this is
not all you can judge it by.  For a lot of people,
Onibaba will stay with them a long time: 
Outside forces stripping you of pieces of your life and people you
once loved.  Realizing those forces mean nothing to you; That
your losses have been for no reason you can  understand. The
theme of losing your humanity in a savage world.  The
additional pain when another person finally makes you realize the
pain of that loss.

 The word “important” has a bad sound to a lot of people…like
a teacher saying , “This should be important to you.”  Still,
Onibaba is an important movie, much more than
just a good story.  

   A lot has been written and argued about
Halloween.  It generated loads of
controversy.  The main reason for the
controversy:  Halloween was soon followed by
a huge number of “slasher” movies.  It’s hard to write
about Halloween simply for itself, apart from
what came after it.

Three things cannot be disputed, though.   This movie
was made cheaply. And it was extremely successful.   Third, Hollywood producers knew a good thing when they saw
it. 

Its cast was unknown then, except for Donald Pleasence, best known
as an off-beat character actor in The Great Escape and Fantastic Voyage.

   Halloween’s sequels tried to explain
the mysteries with characters and past relationships. 
The original explained practically
nothing.   I’m not sure if the filmmakers
intended this, but these unanswered questions added to
Halloween’s power.  Fear of the unknown can
be devastating, and Halloween takes great
advantage of our fears. 

   The movie begins in 1963.   All seems
fairly conventional; a typical teen couple makes out in the
girl’s empty house.   They walk upstairs, the room
goes dark. 

    You realize that things are
not normal, though.  You are watching these events
through a third person’s eyes, a person wearing a mask.
 This unknown figure stops in the kitchen, and takes out a
large knife.

   He/she stops a moment and watches the boy leave, then
goes upstairs.

   A girl sits, brushing her hair, wearing only
panties.  She only has time to say “Michael…!”
before being stabbed to death.

   The masked figure goes downstairs.  The parents
are just getting home.   “Michael?” they ask. 
The mask comes off.  You see a boy, about six, blonde
hair, angelic face, somewhat dazed, mystified expression…

    Fifteen years later, a different town. 
Hard rain pours down as Dr. Loomis and a nurse drive the
last stretch of road towards a hospital for the insane. 
Loomis’ voice is entirely cold, clinical, “He hasn’t spoken a
word in 15 years.”  You know who he is talking
about.  In the downpour, figures wander aimlessly across
hospital grounds.

   Suddenly a dark shape jumps onto the car roof, then
throws both of them out of the car and drives away.  It
is one of those totally unexpected moments that makes you jump out
of your seat and wonder how it all happened so fast.

   This is your introduction to Michael Myers, more a
force of nature than a human being.  Nothing,  no one,
can stop him for long.  What is equally scary; he is beyond
communicating with.  

   Loomis later describes Michael this way:

   “I first met Michael when the boy was six. 
After eight years, I was convinced he was pure evil.  I
spent the next seven years making sure he could never
escape.”

    You know that Michael will return to his
hometown for Halloween.  Not knowing
why makes it even scarier.   You cannot
figure out what he wants.   But you must expect the
absolute worst.

   Meanwhile, his hometown of Haddonfield appears to
have forgotten Michael.  Another Halloween; everyone
pretty much knows the drill.  You’re introduced to Laurie
Strode and her friends Annie and Lynda.  None is
sketched out in detail.

   You feel you know Laurie well enough, though. 
She is shy but has her feet planted firmly on
the ground.   She has common sense, she is
resourceful, loyal to her friends, and to the kids she babysits
for. 

    She is more reserved than Annie and
Lynda.   A major difference between them: Laurie has
no boyfriend.  But Laurie is no 70’s hardcore
feminist.  At times she reveals her loneliness, her wish to
find a boy she cares about.

    Laurie is the focus of Michael’s return to
town.  Why Laurie, the movie never explains.

    A lot of the criticism of
Halloween revolved around the connection between
active sex and being killed by Michael.   The
promiscuous characters seemed the ones much likelier to die. 
Strangely, Michael appears fixated on Laurie, someone who has
never had an intimate relationship.

    You realize for sure that Michael is back when
Laurie stops by the old Meyers house to drop off a set of keys
there.  (Her father is a realtor who thinks he can finally
sell this property again.) 

     You see someone’s point of view from
inside the house.  A figure suddenly emerges from the right
side of the screen—a sign of things to come.

   Meanwhile, Dr. Loomis is on his way, trying to warn
the police about Michael.  The police don’t take him very
seriously.  On the highway, Loomis finds an empty pickup
truck, but in his hurry, misses the dead body of its driver,
thrown into nearby bushes.

   For Annie and Lynda, Halloween is a chance to combine
babysitting, sex with boyfriends, and socializing with
friends.  Only Laurie is beginning to suspect that someone
has other plans for them.

   In 1978, Carpenter’s direction appeared to over-use
certain conventions… to the point of breaking cinematic
rules.  Watching Halloween 30 years after
its release, its camera work no longer seems so
shocking.   Perhaps because many other directors adopted
styles similar to Carpenter’s.  

  One example is to show someone in danger, such as Laurie,
in a close “one shot,” then show another character suddenly appear
next to her.  The first time this happens is 25 minutes into
the movie.  It turns out to be Annie’s father, the town’s
sheriff.  A harmless meeting.   Yet you still find
yourself jumping; it comes only seconds after Laurie has seen the
stranger facing her directly, then abruptly vanishing.

Laurie’s early glimpses of Michael–still an unknown to her
  

Laurie gets to Tommy’s house to babysit; Annie is also sitting, at
a house across the street.  Meanwhile, Michael stalks the
peaceful streets in a mask, but is ignored; masks on Halloween are
expected.

   Slowly the story tightens the circle around the four
characters: Laurie, Tommy, Annie, and Lindsay, the girl Annie sits
for.  Tommy’s dog goes outside, confronts Michael, squeals
and dies.  Annie goes to use the washing machine and gets
stuck in a doorway.  Lindsay goes to Tommy’s house so Annie
can drive her boyfriend Paul over to the house.

   Through much of these events, the camera appears to
taunt you, to play with your fears.  When Annie talks to Paul
on the phone she moves continuously, left-right, right-left,
forward-back, back-forward. The camera follows her but much
of the time, Annie seems to be in “two-shots.”   In
other words, she is framed so that there is room for another
person; you expect another person (Michael)… yet there is
no one.  Your adrenaline slowly but surely reaches unbearable
levels.

                 
             

Laurie’s friends–expecting only the same old
Halloween

     Annie tries to take out the car, finds it is
locked, walks back for her keys.  When she returns, the doors
are unlocked; she never notices the mist on the inside of
the windows.  She gets in.  Immediately she is
strangled, then stabbed. 

    I still remember my reaction the first time I
saw Halloween.   It was the first time
I can ever remember being relieved when a character was
murdered.  At least you can breathe again, I
thought   That’s how suspenseful the moments before had
been.

   From here on, the action comes fast and
furious.  But describing the events in sequence gives only a
hint of the power you experience onscreen.  You’ve seen women
before pursued by a maniac, and finally forced to fight
back.  (One example is the under-rated
Wait Until Dark.) 

   But Carpenter uses Michael (also called The Shape) in
a new way.  You see him appear, seemingly out of the void, as
he did inside the deserted house earlier.  Much later, Laurie
tells the two young children, “There’s no Boogeyman.  I
killed him.”

   Then without a sound, he is abruptly visible, holding
the knife again, in the right side of the frame.  Has
Carpenter over-used this device?  It doesn’t feel that
way.  Somehow he has made it work, like the repeated use of
one-shots to set us up for the kill, mixed with the two-shots with
a character missing…until it is too late, and The Shape is at our
throats.

   I remember seeing Halloween, by
myself, in Flushing, New York, the Friday night it opened.  I
had a girlfriend, but she didn’t like horror movies.  A group
of about ten teenage girls sat near me, screaming their heads off
for the last 30 minutes.  A man was seated just in front of
them.  As the movie ended, he turned around, smiled at them,
and said, “I gotta see if my ears still work.”

   Other box office smashes, such as
Deliverance
and The Exorcist were soon followed by many bad
imitations.  It was the same story with
Halloween, only worse.  A new series,
Friday the 13^th followed, and also
made huge profits. 

   I don’t think Halloween had any
message (for example, a girl having premarital sex will die
violently, or deserves to die) or even any great social
significance.  But its style affected  horror films in
general; that feeling of the camera playing with you, almost
taunting you in a mean way.  Once you had a chance, you could
finally find some holes, some inconsistencies in the story.

  How could a child as psychotic, as evil as Michael have
passed himself off as normal for six years?  Why wasn’t his
sister more scared of him?  What did he see in Laurie that
made him focus on her?  How did he learn to drive?

   Halloween’s raw power makes all
these questions irrelevant.  It pounds you into a place where
rational questions have no meaning.  I don’t think Carpenter
has ever done anything equal to it yet.

    The Seventh Victim is a unique
movie experience– in many, many ways.  Some may
find it highly scary…others may find it more creepy than
scary.  Others…find it neither.  Like many viewers, I
was struck by its bleak outlook.   A viewpoint that goes
beyond sad… closer to despair.  You will come across
people trapped,  for example: 

–a woman doomed to remain at a boarding school she despises, a
tyrannical boss, no fulfillment in her life (the headmistress’
assistant)

 –a kind-hearted poet unable to produce anything for 10 years
after writing a promising first book (Jason Hoag)

 –a woman who joined a sect of Devil-worshippers because
nothing in her life brought her meaning, then quit the sect, still
not finding what she wanted (Jacqueline Gibson)

 –a warm, caring attorney whose wife nevertheless abandoned
him, experiencing him as un-exciting, ultimately
boring (Gregory Ward)

 –a suave, sardonic psychiatrist who talks a good game, but
ultimately unable to love anyone, even care about anyone
(Dr. Judd)

     The Seventh Victim has a
storyline that is way more complex than it appears.  In
addition, the movie was cut for length.  Without the deleted
scenes, many of the relationships don’t quite make as much sense
as they could have.

     You learn that Jacqueline Gibson has
disappeared.  She is beautiful, sophisticated, artistic and
successful.  Owner of a successful business.  Desired by
a number of men, (and by some women as well).  Her sister
Mary begins to search for her.  Mary realizes quickly that
she is a latecomer; eventually she meets at least six other people
also searching for Jacqueline.  Each one has an agenda of
their own.  Knowledge is power and you see several subtle
power struggles going on.

     Like Betsy, the heroine in
I Walked with a Zombie, Mary has an unfailing
good heart.  But like Betsy,she is challenged again and again
by despair, terror and cynicism.  When she leaves boarding
school to search for her sister, the headmistress’ assistant warns
Mary never to come back.  That if she returns, her heart and
soul will be stifled by the school and its stern, unfeeling
headmistress.

Mary–realizing she is in over her head but refusing to give
up searching

     But as critics have pointed out, freedom in
the outside world is not so different.  Everywhere, people
struggle against loneliness and lack of purpose.  Lost souls.
 

     Check out the scene where Mary visits the
Missing Persons Bureau.   The camera pans across three people
at three separate windows to Mary’s right.  All three seem
filled with quiet desperation; not much hope they will ever see
their loved ones again. 

     It’s likely that most of the world felt this
despair then; Hitler’s Third Reich controlled most of Europe, with
a big push coming by the Nazis into the Soviet Union.  People
watching this movie were worried about family members serving in
the war, or mourning their deaths.

     You can make the argument that when the movie
finally shows the Palladists, the Devil-worshipping sect, the
members seem too dignified, too bland, appearing to lack any real
vicious side.  I think this is a fair point.

     But perhaps from the movie’s point of view,
the Palladists are just another group of lost souls, searching for
meaning, trying desperately to convince themselves they have found
something to believe in.

     Except for Mary, few characters come out
looking like heroes  They may have kind hearts, but they
cannot accomplish much.  Jason Hoag, the kind,
romantic, philosophical poet,  loses both the women he
loved most in his life.  Gregory Ward, the attorney, can do
nothing to save Jacqueline, the woman he loved.
 Mrs. Romari, an owner at the Dante Restaurant (even the name
of the restaurant suggests Hell) has a genuine sweetness to her,
but comes off totally naïve.  She suggests for example that
Jason “cheer Mary up” (not exactly what Mary needs).  

     When Jason and the cynical Dr. Judd actually
confront the Palladists and tell them they (Jason and Judd) have
never forgotten the power of The Lord’s Prayer, you are
reassured…but not a lot.  You don’t sit there thinking,
 “Well I guess they told them where to get off.”
 

     In fact, you may well feel that the Palladists
share the weaknesses of the “good” people.  Their laws state
that any member who abandons their sect must die, yet the
Palladist laws bind their members to non-violence.  

     The Palladists gather in a room with
Jacqueline and do their best to convince her to drink poison.
 But none of them is brimming over with charisma or great
powers of persuasion.  Jacqueline refuses.

 

Condemned to death by the Palladists

   

    Many mysteries

     Finally the Palladists agree to resolve their
conflict by hiring a hit-man to kill Jacqueline.  Jacqueline
barely escapes the killer and his switchblade, but has no remedy
for her despair.  Neither God nor the Devil can provide her
with answers.

   This is the world as producer Val Lewton, his
director and screenwriter see it.  Presenting an outlook like
this took considerable courage and artistic integrity, even during
this gloomy time.  (It is likely that Lewton accepted low
budgets and shorter running time; in exchange for less
restrictions and less studio interference.)

     Think about how many movies from the 30’s,
40’s, 50’s, even the 60’s you have seen where a character loses
their way but is shown how to find faith again.  Perhaps it’s
a minister, a doctor, or another respected parental figure; they
are able to point out the direction.  The hero/heroine finds
their way back, with light focused, shining in their eyes and the
sounds of chiming bells on the soundtrack.

     Remember the psychiatrist Robert Cummings in
King’s Row, who has seen insanity, misguided
violence and several other dirty, small-town secrets.  The
ugliness he has seen strengthens his will to cure the people he
cares about.

     The pain he has experienced (and he
experiences plenty) actually gives his life a greater sense of
purpose.  The implication in
The Seventh Victim is far different: neither
religious faith, loving relationships, career success, artistic
expression have any substance.  You can attend the house of
worship of your choice, as the old TV commercial goes, or even
worship the Devil, but ultimately…life is barren.

     I don’t want to overemphasize this argument;
the movie’s outlook is not all barren.  Mary is
capable of seeing the good in people, especially in Gregory, and
in Jason Hoag.   And no one can miss the good in Mary.
 Mary and Gregory stand a chance at long term happiness.
 Jason has a gift at observing (for example, the way he talks
about looking out his picture window) allowing glimpses of life’s
joys to get through to him.   

   Then there is Jacqueline’s neighbor, knowing she is
dying of tuberculosis; past any hope of a cure.  (Only
limited medicine for TB existed then.)  After weeks, probably
months, of shutting herself in a lonely room, she goes out…dressed
in style, for a last night on the town.  Determined to
experience all she still can from life.

     I also don’t want to leave the impression
there are no scary moments in
The Seventh Victim.  So much is
understated that when the hit-man’s knife opens, the noise makes
you jump.  After endless innuendoes, it is the sound of true
violence; this guy is doing more than hinting.

     Another scene you may describe as creepy… or
out-and-out terrifying, takes place when Mary showers in
her room alone.  Mrs. Redi, Jacqueline’s business partner,
comes in, warns Mary to call off her search
now.  

     Though I find Mrs. Redi a bit whiny, I can’t
help being touched by Mary’s vulnerability at that moment, alone
and naked, so defenseless.  Through the translucent curtain,
Mrs. Redi’s hat gives her the appearance of two horns—probably no
accident.  Again, this may have been one of Val Lewton’s
trade-offs with the studio; flying under the radar, he had the
freedom to include something as daring as this in the 1940’s.

     Like the rest of Val Lewton’s productions,
it’s not easy to catch everything on a single viewing.  But
seeing it again will be worth your time, and never mind the
missing scenes that were edited out.  Making this movie
cheaply gave Lewton a lot of freedom; he seized his
opportunity. 

 Jacqueline–out of hiding but impossible to keep safe   

     Like
I Walked with a Zombie, Suspiria,
and many more, you need to acceptCat People on its own terms.  Not everyone, especially younger
people, will find it scary.  I myself have never found it
heavy on scares but it has an originality and a vision which is
unique.

Even the opening is original.  Oliver is
a naïve, but trusting, good-hearted American man.  Someone
who has always believed in “things working out okay.”  On a
bright Sunday afternoon, in the midst of everyday life, he meets a
lady by chance in Central Park Zoo.  She is sketching a black
panther.  Her name is Irena and she is from an
older, superstitious culture, from the mountains of Serbia.

.

Bright sunlight, an ordinary New York
Sunday; Oliver and Irena meet by chance

They are attracted to each other right way.
Their differences bring them together at first.  Irena
loves Oliver’s kind heart and trust; he loves her mysterious
background.  Both have faith (especially Oliver) that their
love, and living in twentieth century America can destroy any past
superstitions, past supernatural beliefs.

Because from the beginning, Irena has told
Oliver about her dark past, and he has never pulled away.
Centuries ago, Serbia was conquered by the Mamelukes, who
introduced worship of Satan before they were driven out by King
John.  King John killed most of the Satan-worshippers but a
few escaped, fleeing into the mountains.  Irena believes
she is a descendant of those few.

Oliver hears Irena’s history

Those survivors have carried a curse ever
since; sexual desire or any intense emotions will turn them into
panthers .

Oliver listens patiently, respectfully.
Again and again you see his good heart.  When he tells
his friend Alice  that he is getting married, Alice asks if
she knows the woman.  Oliver says she doesn’t, but “I know
you’ll like her.”

But in these unique circumstances, his
goodness is almost a flaw.  He is finding out that true love
does not guarantee “…and they lived happily ever after…”
And he does not know where to go with that contradiction.
At their wedding dinner, Irena is radiant, all smiles,
completely at ease among Oliver’s friends.  (No one Irena
knows is there.)  Then a strange woman leaving the restaurant
suddenly stops, seems to recognize Irena, stares at her, calls her
“my sister” in Serbian.

Everyone does their best to reassure Irena but
she is never the same.  When she and Oliver get out of the
cab later, snow falls hard, a sign of things to come.  Irena
begs Oliver for time.  The dialogue is not explicit, but you
know exactly what she means.  The next scene makes it
painfully clear.  The newly-married couple in two different
rooms, pressing against the same closed door, from opposite
directions.

Weeks pass.  Life is both ironic and sad.
Oliver and Irena live in New York, arguably the most modern
city on Earth.  But their life together has been sealed off
from this century, as though they exist on an isolated island in
the Dark Ages.

Oliver believes his faith and good heart can
make anything right. There is no questioning Irena’s love. But
without a doubt she believes she is cursed.  That the moment
she and Oliver become intimate she will become a panther, and do
what a panther instinctively does…kill anyone violating its space.
She looks for outside signs of hope, but finds none.

They decide to buy a canary.  When the
couple enters the pet shop, every bird in the store reacts
violently.  The lady in the store is one of those folksy,
eccentric, big-city characters. But if you slice away her earthy
mannerisms and listen closely to her words, her message is clear:
Animals can pick up on certain people–those having something wrong
with them.

Oliver and Irena finally try something rare at
the time—psychiatry.  Oliver gets the name of a man with a
good reputation, Dr. Judd.

Dr. Judd has so many contradictions that
someone could write a term paper about him.  Personally I
feel his character is not written well; it may be the weakest part
of the screenplay.

At first he is professional and hopeful.
He hypnotizes Irena; you see a strange shot of her, the
center of her face in glaring light, while everything else is
darkness.  Abruptly he opens the curtains; all is bright.
He seems professional, but sympathetic enough.

Irena returns home, encouraged and cheerful.
But she finds Alice, Oliver’s co-worker, with him.
Oliver reveals that it was Alice who recommended Dr. Judd.
Unwisely, he tells Irena that Alice has heard “everything”
from him (Oliver).

Irena understands what he means; she is hurt,
angry; feeling betrayed.  She returns to the zoo, to the
panther’s cage.  (She has never stopped visiting the same
panther.)

Irena returns home, full of regret.  She
tells Oliver she never wants to be angry with him.  Then
subtly, she intimates that he would be in danger if she ever got
really angry. But Oliver misses most of what she means.

Things are changing too fast for Irena.
Clearly Alice has become a threat.  Oliver is Irena’s
only path out of a reality overshadowed by her curse.
Without him, she is totally alone.

You can look at Alice in many different ways.
To me, she is just about what she seems—a truly good-hearted
individual who wants the best for everyone, even if she must save
the marriage of the man she loves.  She is one of only a few
women  who can survive in a male environment.  Everyone
respects her, with good reason.

Many people (perhaps more than we think) have
suffered through a relationship where self-doubt eventually
overwhelms them.  The one they love begins to feel those same
doubts about them.  It is downhill from there.  Before
long, they may actually turn into a stalker; no one can reason
with them; they are in emotional  free-fall.  If
something doesn’t bring them  to their senses they may do
something they regret.

Irena is headed straight down that path.
Her jealousy, unfounded or not, is beginning to push Oliver
toward Alice, who reveals that she has always loved him.
Irena is feeling that her only choice is violence.
Gradually, subtly, you can feel
Cat People changing into a horror movie.
Twice, Alice is followed, stalked by something she never
sees, once in a Central Park transverse, once in a swimming
pool.

This is a memorable scene: Alice alone and
vulnerable in the water, the ripples of the pool casting eerie
reflections on the walls.  She treads water in the darkness,
waiting for something…Then suddenly bright light, and Irena
standing by the door, asking Alice if something is the matter.

Alice  

The scene could easily have been camp-y…unintentionally funny if
Irena had played it “cute.”   But there’s no trace of irony
in her voice.  Irena  leaves, and Alice finds her
bathrobe ripped to shreds.

Many critics have tried to find the symbolism in
Irena’s fear; is she “frigid,” is she a repressed lesbian, is
everything she has told Oliver literally true…

But from one point of view, it is almost
irrelevant.   Like Leon the title character in
Curse of the Werewolf, you see crystal-clear the
baggage someone is carrying, baggage almost sure to doom
their search for love.  They may find someone gentle, someone
forgiving, to love and to love them, but eventually, their lover
sees them as they are.

Then they become once again the beast they
were before.   In tears perhaps, (like the werewolf in
Curse) but still, drawn to anger, perhaps
violence.

Oliver and Alice turn away from Irena in
terror; they need to, to save themselves.  Irena reaches out
for help where she can.  It feels as though no one, nothing
will save her.  The old cliche “Love conquers all” generally
proved true in 40’s movies but not here.

Cat People, like all of Val
Lewton’s RKO productions is much stronger on atmosphere and
suspense than on pure terror.  Lewton had very little respect
for the Universal horror films of the 1930’s and early 1940’s (for
example, Werewolf of London,
The Wolf Man.) But the screenplays he got, and
often re-wrote, were usually high-quality.

DeWitt Bodeen’s script defines his characters
beautifully, their great hopes, disappointments, and sorrow.
I keep coming back to that first time Oliver describes Irena
to Alice, “I know you’ll like her,” in light of the way things
turn out.

Or so many lines Irena speaks.  When Oliver
talks about finding a psychiatrist,  the hopefulness in her
voice, on her face when she tells him, “Yes, the
best one…”

The 1940’s were beginning; the world was
changing fast.  American soldiers were about to pour into
Europe to fight Hitler’s Nazi forces.

Like Oliver, they were about to learn some
hard lessons about life.

     Not everyone will agree, but I think the
creators of Masque of the Red Death saw a rare
opportunity.  A chance to produce a movie that made big
money.  And the opportunity to slip a message in.   A
profound message about an individual’s faith, how you live your
life, given the inevitability of death.  Even better, they
could include this message without damaging their movie’s
commercial appeal. 

     Some felt
Masque over-reached… or it was pretentious.
 I can understand those feelings.  

    But the more I watch it, the more I feel how high it
set its goals.  Limited budget and shooting schedule took
their toll.  In other words, Masque was
bound to fall short of what could have been. 

    The question is, how good was the final cut, what
they were able to capture.  

    Real good.   I’d still rate it Vincent Price’s
best horror movie…even better than
Witchfinder General.  And director Roger
Corman’s best too.  (Others prefer Tomb of
Ligeia, Corman’s last horror movie.)  

   Don’t forget the veteran screenwriters Charles
Beaumont and R. Wright Campbell who came up with a great story and
dialogue, most likely under great time pressure.

   The main character is Prince Prospero
(Price)—arrogant, often cruel, most of all, confident in mocking
Christianity.  An ego the size of Cleveland Ohio.   The
story begins with a plague (the Red Death) sweeping through the
countryside.  

Vincent Price as Prospero– in probably his all-time best
movie    

    Prospero’s opinion on the Red Death?  It can’t
touch me in my castle; I am a prince, immune to such everyday
shit.  

    Prospero is also a Satanist who makes no apologies.
 He condemns Christianity in a whole slew of ways: it is
hypocritical; it gives people a wretched life.
 Basically—what has God ever done for you?

    He takes sadistic pleasure at putting people to the
test—if you really believe, what will you do once I get my claws
in you?   Prospero never misses a chance to challenge them—to
say, if you’re such a good Christian, how will you handle this?
 

    The plot is based on a brilliant Edgar Allan Poe
story.   But the story is too short to sketch out many
characters.   The movie is generally faithful to Poe’s sketch
of the prince, and uses that as a jumping-off point.  

     Near the beginning, Prospero stops in a
village where the plague just hit.  In his typical mocking
style, he invites the villagers to his celebration.  Three of
them refuse to grovel—the young lovers Gino and Francesca and
Francesca’s father.

    Their courage, especially Francesca’s, intrigues
Prospero.  He orders her taken to his castle, the two men
taken to his dungeons—then burns the village.

    Prospero is determined to convince Francesca that
her faith is hollow.  How?  Any way he can.

    Show her the suffering of innocent people, and
innocent animals.  And not a single sign from God in protest.
 Show her the selfishness, the mean-ness of people who call
themselves good people.  Tell her about cruelty done in the
name of God—monks who tortured during the Inquisition.  Most
of all—let her experience life with the rich people in his castle,
who will survive the plague while people outside die.  

     Not that Prospero calls his guests good
people.  The fact that they survive while other people die
only proves his point.

    Francesca gets to Prospero’s castle just in time for
the freak show—a medieval version of the privileged class…at their
worst.  You can imagine that old Emerson, Lake and Palmer
song for a soundtrack, 

    “We’re so glad you could attend/Come along, Come
along/Come along, the show’s about to start/Guaranteed to tear
your head apart/Come see the show!”

    Prospero hopes the corrupt atmosphere will rub off
on Francesca.  But even more, that he himself can teach her,
win her over to his satanic viewpoint. 

    Many critics found Jane Asher (Francesca) utterly
bland.  They have a point.   Yet she shows a kind of
quiet courage that is not easily broken. She has faith she doesn’t
need to throw in your face. 

Francesca–quiet but unshakeable faith

    Only one scene in Masque takes
place outside during daylight.  Yet it is cruel and brutal as
anything else in the movie—Prospero lets his falcon fly free, it
kills a dove; the dove falls from the sky.  He and Francesca
watch.

    Director Corman was legendary for dealing with the
worst circumstances and managing to use them to his advantage.
 He may not have planned this to be his only daylight scene.
 But the results are devastating; a good argument that life
is continual brutality—night or day.

     Again Prospero mocks Francesca’s faith, tries
to bait her into his argument.  She has no compelling
comebacks to his taunts, but continues to hold her ground with a
quiet courage,  a dignity.  The Prince is clearly not
scoring any quick knockouts.

    Prospero believes he will soon receive a sign from
Satan.   The festivities begin; a dinner followed by a huge
celebration and dance.  Prospero’s humor has a mean edge to
it.  Most of his guests take it in stride.  They realize
it is a small price to remain in this sanctuary.  

    Okay.  You know things will not turn out the
way Prospero swore they would—a reckoning is at hand.  Corman
had directed several movies loosely based on Poe already, and had
done well with most.  He knew a formula that worked and
basically stayed with that.

    But what messages gets slipped in, along with this
commercial recipe?  I wish I knew enough about Corman,
Beaumont, or Campbell to tell you whose concept this was
originally.  

   Because whoever it was, took a courageous,
enlightened look at spirituality.   One not usually found in
mainstream movies… especially as early as 1964.  

    Satan-worshippers in movies were nothing new. 

    But Masque’s viewpoint was a major
break from the past.  

    A lot more than “God/Jesus=good…Satan=evil.”
 Carefully, subtly, this movie reached to expand its vision
beyond Judaism/Christianity/Islam into a broader vision, including
other religious faiths.  

    Look carefully, and Masque reveals the differences
between Prospero and those who defied him—Francesca and Gino.

     You may not catch it the first time, but I
think the key is this—their deeds, their purposes, not their
words.  With Prospero, forget a moment all his talk about
Satan vs. Christianity.  Don’t  judge him on his Mortal
Sins… or sins at all…Instead, feel his attitude toward humanity.
 

    And that is an attitude virtually empty of
compassion.  At scattered moments you get strange hints of
empathy–perhaps Francesca has touched something in him.  But
his arrogance is so great that little penetrates it.  

    Jane Asher and David Weston (Francesca and Gino),
never became big stars, but there’s more to their characters than
you realize.  Francesca’s impact is in her faith—she‘s no
clever evangelist with brilliant debating skills.  No zinging
quotations from Scripture.

    It is her actions you respect.  Her willingness
to enter Prospero’s castle, expose herself to the freak show.
 Offering to give herself to Prospero if he spares Gino’s
life.  

    Even her words to Julianna, Prospero’s mistress,
after Julianna brands her own breast with a satanic symbol.  

    Francesca could have spoken words of contempt…or
complete disgust.  You’re lower now in God’s eyes than a
toad.

    Instead she shows concern for Juliana.  “Did
Prospero do that to you?”  

    Her humanity shows through at that moment.

    Gino is no Kirk Douglas or Gregory Peck (major
action heroes in 1964) —he is more of an Everyman, a peasant from
a tiny village who never learned to use a sword; he never had the
chance.

    But again and again he shows his courage.  He
refuses to accept Prospero’s abuse.   Later he tries to
appeal to the Prince’s humanity when Prospero orders his men to
burn the village: “Winter comes.”

    He fights a guard he knows is a skilled swordsman.
 When the surviving villagers come to beg Prospero for mercy,
he tries to stop them; “Forgiveness for what?

     Later, Prospero orders Gino thrown out of his
castle.  Alone in a dark forest, Gino experiences not just
doubt, but real fear.  He falls to the ground in near-panic.
 The atmosphere in this scene feels familiar to fans of
Corman’s previous Poe movies.

The figure in red

    Then, everything changes suddenly.  Gino
notices a figure dressed all in red, his back to a tree.  He
slowly drops Tarot cards to the ground from a deck.  His
voice is cold but his words are kind, comforting.   “Who is
your God?”

    “The true one,” Gino says, no hesitation.

    “Tell me—have you sinned?”

    “I’ve killed, “ Gino says.

    “For yourself?”

    “No!”  Gino says.  “I’m afraid.”

    “For yourself?”

    “For Francesca, and for me.”

    Gino gets the reassurance he needs to get his
courage back.  Watching him experience doubt and fear, then
get past them, makes him a hero you can identify with.

    I don’t want to spoil the ending; I will try not to.
 But the same red figure soon enters the castle.  He
will have a long talk with Prospero.  At first, Prospero is
overjoyed, believing him to be a messenger from Satan.  

    Definitely wrong.

    “Satan rules the Universe,” Prospero tells him
confidently.

    “He does not rule alone.”  

    Rare talk in a movie in the early ‘60’s.  
Maybe from exiled Spanish director Luis Bunuel (The Exterminating Angel, Nazarin, unknown to audiences except for hardcore art-film fans).  
 Miles away from any American movies.  

     The figure states his blunt truth to Prospero,
“Each man makes his own Heaven and Hell.”

    Again, that suggestion between the lines—it’s not
worshipping Satan that makes a difference to your soul, but your
feelings toward mankind—all the people you touched in your life.
 You may call God uncaring, even deny God’s existence, but
was your life still a kind one, a caring one?  

    Most of us have known people like that.
 Someone who hasn’t attended a religious service in years,
but a good person, beyond any doubt. 

    The final scene would be tough to describe without
spoiling it.  You may find it deeply touching…or pretentious,
like Sonny and Cher being philosophical in their song
The Beat Goes On.  

    Again, the theme is the one inevitable certainty in
all our lives—and it’s not taxes, not if you’re a CEO or an
investment banker.

    Not everything works in Masque.   The costumes
and sets are intense with color and beautifully shot.   But
the visual images don’t capture as much as they need to, in the
scenes without sound (Juliana’s hallucinations, the final dance
scene), where powerful images are needed most.  Vincent Price
gives a typical performance—powerful but borderline-hammy in many
spots.

    But give the filmmakers credit for taking all the
chances they took.  Corman had more options  making this
movie in England than he did in his previous Poe movies.  He
aimed high and found the vision he wanted.