Five Favorite Films: Claude Rains Villains

With his distinctive English voice and intensely intelligent manner, Claude Rains made himself at home in a wide variety of memorable roles, although he was more often the heavy or a supporting character instead of a leading man. Born in London in 1889, the actor grew up in the English theater scene but made an indelible mark with his first big film role as the unseen protagonist of James Whale's horror classic, The Invisible Man (1933). He would go on to be nominated for four Academy Awards for Best Actor in a Supporting Role, and even though he never took an Oscar home he became one of classic Hollywood's iconic stars. Rains didn't always play villains, but his dark characters are delightfully complicated, so my list here compiles five of my favorite Rains rascals, each a slippery cinematic sinner worthy of your time.

The Invisible Man (1933)

It's no surprise that Rains would become a favorite Hollywood heavy after his breakthrough performance in this Universal horror adaptation of the novel by H.G. Wells. Completely unseen except for the last shot of the picture, Rains nevertheless triumphs as the increasingly insane Dr. Jack Griffin, who uses himself as a test subject for his invisibility formula. Even more than his other horror films for Universal, The Invisible Man lets director James Whale indulge his very dark sense of humor, and Rains goes over the top with Griffin's murderous, mad antics.

The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Rains is just one of many great stars packing into Sherwood Forest for this glorious Technicolor adventure, but his Prince John is a villain you'll love to hate. Sadistic, petty, and vain, the prince usurps the English throne in the absence of his brother, King Richard (Ian Hunter), only to be plagued by the rebellious Robin (Errol Flynn) and his merry band. Fans of the Disney version from the 1973 animated Robin Hood will enjoy comparing the vocal performance of Peter Ustinov with Rains' live action incarnation.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

Director Frank Capra spins a story of political idealism clashing with corruption and cynical power in this beloved picture. James Stewart stars as naive newcomer Jefferson Smith, who is suddenly thrust into the machinations of the US Senate. Rains plays Joseph Paine, the senior Senator who is Stewart's hero and mentor, but he turns out to be far less noble than Jefferson originally believes. Paine is one of Rains' more realistic antagonists, not so much outright evil as self-interested and jaded, but Rains gives a terrific performance in the role and earned his first nomination for Best Supporting Actor as a result. 

Notorious (1946)

Rains gets to be a subtler, more devious sort of villain in this Hitchcock thriller, but he's still delightfully bad as the Nazi Ingrid Bergman is asked to spy on by the US government. Rains' character, Alexander Sebastian, marries Alicia (Bergman) but is also willing to murder her in order to protect himself and his secrets. His duplicitous nature gives Rains plenty of opportunities to be both charming and chilling, especially in scenes with Alexander's sinister mother (Leopoldine Konstantin). The role earned Rains his final Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor.

The Unsuspected (1947)   

This noir mystery from director Michael Curtiz is another role that makes great use of Rains' fantastic voice by casting him as the popular host of a radio mystery show. Unfortunately, Rains' suave radio star, Victor Grandison, goes from just talking about murder to actually committing it. Rains has a much more central role in this picture as the "unsuspected" murderer of the title, but it's pretty obvious from the beginning, in spite of the title, that Victor is up to no good. The movie also stars Joan Caulfield, Audrey Totter, Constance Bennett, and Hurd Hatfield.

For more of the darker side of Claude Rains, see Kings Row (1942), Phantom of the Opera (1943), and Angel on My Shoulder (1946). Get a sense of his range with The Wolf Man (1941), Casablanca (1942), Mr. Skeffington (1944), and Caesar and Cleopatra (1945). Rains made his final screen appearance as one of the greatest villains of human history, King Herod the Great, in The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965).

Classic Films in Focus: KINGS ROW (1942)

Mixed reviews are often the hardest ones to write, and I have mixed feelings about Kings Row (1942), the Sam Wood drama adapted from the controversial novel by Henry Bellamann. I think, ultimately, the film is useful as an example of the ways the Hays Code could undermine the purpose of an artistic work in its relentless censorship of any really serious engagement of complicated issues, especially those involving sex. The original novel was an explosive bestseller, while the adaptation is far more conventional and even banal. It's hard to watch Kings Row and not notice the gaps and missteps where material had to be cut out or heavily revised in order to appease the puritanical Joseph Breen, but the film still has some very fine performances, especially from one of my favorite supporting actresses, the diminutive Maria Ouspenskaya.

In the film, Robert Cummings plays the protagonist, Parris Mitchell, who grows up in turn-of-the-century Kings Row, a sort of Everytown, USA. Parris has a privileged childhood despite being orphaned, and his best friend, Drake (Ronald Reagan), enjoys similar wealth and ease. Parris suffers a doomed romance with a fragile girl named Cassie (Betty Field), whose father, Dr. Tower (Claude Rains), serves as a mentor to the aspiring physician. Drake, meanwhile, draws the ire of his sweetheart's parents with his wild ways and ultimately settles down with Randy (Ann Sheridan), a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, but his luck takes a turn for the tragic. When a vengeful action threatens to destroy Drake, Parris and Randy work together to restore his will to live.

The movie garnered three Oscar nominations, with nods for Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Cinematography, and James Wong Howe certainly does make the most of the sets and faces on offer. The film also features a plethora of fine performers in supporting roles, including Charles Coburn, Judith Anderson, Henry Davenport, Claude Rains, and the always terrific Ouspenskaya, whose small stature never prevents her from totally dominating a scene. Cummings, Sheridan, and Reagan get the most screen time as the adult versions of the three main characters, whose friendship sustains them through the lowest points in their lives. Sheridan manages to make Randy appealing in spite of the weird tightrope she has to walk about what kind of girl Randy is and the blatantly sexist drivel she has to spout to soothe Drake's wounded self-esteem. Cummings is good looking but not terribly exciting as Parris, while Reagan gets the role of his career as the once carefree victim of Fate's turning wheel.

However, the changes that the Hays office demanded rob Kings Row of most of its purpose as a scathing commentary about the dark side of small town American life. The opening sign extolling the town's virtues should be read ironically, but instead the film bears it out as truth. We never really get the sense that Kings Row is a bad place at all; there's one sadistic doctor with very limited screen time and one crooked banker, but most of the other negative elements have been swept under the rug. The most glaring changes involve the Tower family; the movie makes Cassie a hysterical, mentally disturbed girl whose father is a paragon of paternal concern... for Parris, not his own child. With Drake's initial girlfriend, Louise (Nancy Coleman), also dissolving into hysteria and incipient madness later in the film, Kings Row seems to suggest that what's really wrong with small town America is just a bunch of overwrought girls, not the secret and villainous actions of their powerful, authoritarian fathers. Parris, who is supposed to be a caring psychiatrist, even goes so far as to consider having Louise committed to an asylum to shut her up although he knows perfectly well that she is telling the truth. He only reconsiders because it turns out not to be necessary to protect Drake, whose mental health means more to him than Louise's life. That sexist attitude makes Parris less sympathetic as a character, for it shows how easily he can become just a new generation of the same old attitudes embodied by Dr. Gordon and Dr. Tower.

Director Sam Wood earned two other Oscar nominations in addition to Kings Row, the others being for Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939) and Kitty Foyle (1940). See more of Ann Sheridan in Angels with Dirty Faces (1938), They Drive by Night (1940), and Nora Prentiss (1947). Robert Cummings stars in Hitchcock's Dial M for Murder (1954), while Ronald Reagan has his other most memorable dramatic roles in Dark Victory (1939) and Knute Rockne, All American (1940). If, like me, you just can't get enough of Maria Ouspenskaya, see her in Dodsworth (1936) and Love Affair (1939), both of which earned her nominations for Best Supporting Actress, and don't miss her best remembered performance in The Wolf Man (1941).

You can read a little more about the background of the Kings Row novel and film here.

Classic Films in Focus: MOONTIDE (1942)

Although its name doesn't telegraph anything about the plot, Moontide (1942) does give the viewer an accurate impression of its mood, which is dreamy but dark, yielding a seductive fantasy with noir's sharp edge, or perhaps a noir film with romance's soft center. France's Jean Gabin and rising star Ida Lupino take top billing as two bits of lonely flotsam washing up together into love and peril, and under the direction of Archie Mayo they drift across the screen into each other's arms, even as the treachery of an unlikely enemy threatens them both. Moontide is an unusual picture, not, perhaps, essential viewing for noir or romance fans, but certain to appeal to those who like their genres mixed with a side of European sensibility. Unexpected performances by Thomas Mitchell and Claude Rains have their own charms, while Gabin and Lupino have plenty to offer in their chemistry onscreen.

Gabin stars as Bobo, a French longshoreman who can't remember what happened after a long night of drinking near the California docks. His parasitic friend, Tiny (Thomas Mitchell), suggests that Bobo might have killed a man during his drunken stupor, which Tiny sees as reason for the pair to leave town quickly. Troubled by the idea but not convinced of his own guilt, Bobo instead takes a job running a remote bait barge, where he saves the desperate young Anna (Lupino) from suicide. The two fall in love and decide to marry, but Tiny proves dangerously jealous of Anna and her ability to affect Bobo's plans.

Moontide struggled with many problems during production, not least of which was the departure of Fritz Lang as the original director, but none of them diminish the film as it appears onscreen. Gabin has a great face for this kind of picture, broad and strong, but open and innocent in its own way; like everything else about the movie, he occupies the space where noir and romance meet. We believe that he might have strangled a man to death in a boozy rage, but we also believe that he might not. After all, he isn't sure himself. Lupino, having electrified the screen with her courtroom crackup in They Drive by Night (1940), here takes a turn as a fragile waif, a girl broken by life when we first meet her but strong enough to survive incredible suffering if only someone like Bobo will give her a reason to keep going. Her appearance in the film's poster makes her look like a juke joint floozy, but the dress is merely an odd gift of Bobo's; Anna is a kind, simple soul who yearns for a home and a place of belonging.

The fairy tale fog and isolation of the bait shack enhance our sense of this tidal fantasy as a story that exists outside of reality, and the supporting characters also add to that impression. Thomas Mitchell, a character actor best remembered for more genial or paternal roles, exorcises some inner demons as the trollish Tiny; he's rotten through and through, even if Bobo is too generous to admit it. The usually debonair Claude Rains becomes downright scruffy as Nutsy, a night watchman who befriends Bobo and Anna and encourages their romance. The names of the characters underscore their detachment from a realistic world of details and hard data; we don't know their real names, or where they came from, and tedious facts like those hardly matter. Other characters, including Jerome Cowan's lovelorn doctor and Henry, the bait barge's owner (Chester Gan), drift in and out of the plot as the moment demands. The third act sees a storm break over the lovers and their happiness; both Nutsy and Tiny have their roles to play as the climax hits like a typhoon, violent and terrible. A true noir would have ended differently, and a pure romance would never have gone to such a dark place at all, but the ending works within the context of this genre mingling.

Moontide picked up an Oscar nomination for Charles G. Clarke's dreamy cinematography but lost in a crowd of ten nominees to Mrs. Miniver (1942). For more from Archie Mayo, see The Petrified Forest (1936), It's Love I'm After (1937), and the delightfully wacky Charley's Aunt (1941). Jean Gabin, who spent only the war years in Hollywood, was a huge star in his native France, where he made films like Pepe Le Moko (1937), Grand Illusion (1937), and Port of Shadows (1938). Don't miss Ida Lupino in They Drive by Night (1940), High Sierra (1941) and On Dangerous Ground (1951). Thomas Mitchell won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor with Stagecoach (1939), but most people remember him best for Gone with the Wind (1939) and It's a Wonderful Life (1946). For more of Claude Rains' most unusual roles, try The Invisible Man (1933), The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), and Phantom of the Opera (1943).

Classic Films in Focus: WHERE DANGER LIVES (1950)

Robert Mitchum takes another dive into darkness in Where Danger Lives (1950), and once again he plays an easy mark for a dangerous dame, this time embodied by the sultry Faith Domergue. An icon of film noir, Mitchum made more celebrated forays into the genre both before and after this outing, but Where Danger Lives has much to offer in its 82 minutes of twisted flight, thanks to expert direction from John Farrow and gripping performances from Mitchum, Domergue, and the perpetually brilliant Claude Rains. Like many noir films, Where Danger Lives depicts people's lives crashing into ruin in spectacular fashion, but the peculiarly bent nature of Domergue's femme fatale gives this story an extra shot of the strange and perverse.

Mitchum plays a young doctor named Jeff Cameron, who unexpectedly meets trouble when the seductive Margo Lannington (Faith Domergue) tries to commit suicide and is placed under his care. Almost immediately, Margo and Jeff begin a steamy romance, and Jeff decides to dump his steady girlfriend, Julie (Maureen O'Sullivan), in order to marry Margo. Jeff finds out too late that Margo is already married, and her husband (Claude Rains) ends up dead after an altercation with Jeff. Dizzy and disoriented from a concussion sustained in the fight, Jeff accompanies Margo on a run for the Mexican border, but her mental instability and the pair's bad luck get worse with every passing hour.

Jeff is one of Mitchum's most straight-laced and passive noir protagonists, just a normal young professional until Margo tempts him into the depths. Admittedly, his resistance is pretty weak, especially when he already has a good match in Julie, who lacks Margo's glamor but shares Jeff's professional world and is grade A wife material. Once he's in over his head, Jeff lets Margo take the lead, largely because he keeps passing out thanks to a poker blow from Margo's husband, but also because Margo constantly manipulates the situation to her own ends. Mitchum's best scenes are the woozy ones, where he doesn't really know what's going on and has to plunge ahead in spite of it, always getting himself deeper and deeper into Margo's crazy scheme. Faith Domergue, perfectly cast as the unstable siren, has her finest moments when Margo is at her worst; the wildest, most maniacal actions light a strange fire in her dark eyes, and we believe that she's capable of anything. Her scenes with Rains are electric; he has just a hint of madness about him, too, so that we understand their attraction to each other as well as their mutual hatred. Sadly, Rains' character gets killed off early in the picture, but his warnings haunt Jeff until the end. "If you take her," Lannington tells Jeff, "it's a long road. There's no turning back!" Like Edward G. Robinson's trolley car speech in Double Indemnity (1944), the admonition proves prophetic.

From the moment Jeff and Lannington have their fatal encounter, the action of the picture never lets up, but the protagonists are driven forward more by cruel quirks of fate than their own intentions. Jeff and Margo think the police are after them long before Lannington's body is actually found, which forces them to abandon their plan to fly to Mexico in favor of a more dangerous journey by car. They make rookie mistakes; neither is an experienced criminal, so they get into more jams and become more desperate with each new error. For Jeff, drifting in and out of consciousness, the trip has a nightmarish quality, reflected in the desolate landscapes and strange characters they encounter. All around them are opportunists, eager to take advantage of their obvious problems, like the car dealer who profits by swapping an antiquated clunker for their car and even gets Margo's forgotten fur coat into the bargain. There's a darkly comical element to many of their misadventures, especially the town that forces them to stop and get married because of some goofy local festival going on. In a screwball comedy it would be the start of marital bliss, but in this setting it's a perverse punishment, giving Jeff exactly what he thought he wanted at a point where he no longer wants it. When he finally realizes the extent of Margo's madness, it's too late to walk away; Jeff and Margo can only be separated by the same kind of violence that first brought them together, and the finale is an explosive confrontation on the Mexican border, a symbolic line that mirrors the film's juxtapositions of good and evil, sanity and madness, and life and death.

For more of Mitchum's noir films, see Out of the Past (1947), The Racket (1951), and Angel Face (1952); he also worked with John Farrow on His Kind of Woman (1951). Faith Domergue's career never quite came together, but you can find her in The Duel at Silver Creek (1952), Santa Fe Passage (1955), and This Island Earth (1955). Catch Claude Rains making other noir turns in Moontide (1942), Notorious (1946), and The Unsuspected (1947). John Farrow also directed Wake Island (1941), for which he won an Oscar for Best Director, Alias Nick Beal (1949), and Hondo (1953). Maureen O'Sullivan, best remembered as Jane to Johnny Weissmuller's Tarzan, was married to John Farrow; the two worked together on The Big Clock (1948) as well as Where Danger Lives, but their most famous collaboration would be their actress daughter, Mia Farrow, the third of their seven children.

CMBA Blogathon - The Fabulous Films of the 30s: THE INVISIBLE MAN (1933)

This post is part of the CMBA Spring Blogathon celebrating The Fabulous Films of the 30s. Visit the Classic Movie Blog Association for more information and links to participating posts!

Even among the great horrors produced by Universal in the 1930s, The Invisible Man (1933) stands out. It revels in madness and genius in equal measure, presenting viewers with a shocking example of a figure we now know all too well, the insane super villain. It's the movie that made Claude Rains a star, even though we can't see him, and that's all the more reason to be impressed with his stunning performance, which gains in grandeur by being set loose from the conventional experience of being seen. Just as Rains is the picture's unseen star, James Whale is its equally invisible yet utterly palpable director, putting his ineffable stamp on every moment of chaos and comedy. Between the two of them, Rains and Whale make The Invisible Man a cinematic work like no other, a dark delight that takes us over the edge with its tragically mad protagonist.

Rains plays Jack Griffin, who has already tried his fatal experiment with invisibility by the time we first meet him. His formula has worked, but Griffin has no way to reverse the effects, and murderous insanity turns out to be a secondary result of the transformation. Griffin works feverishly to find a cure for his condition even as his madness grows, while his mentor, Dr. Cranley (Henry Travers), and fiancee, Flora (Gloria Stuart), try to help him. Unfortunately for all of them, Griffin's humanity is also vanishing, and many lives must be lost before fate catches up with the doomed madman.

One of the great shared elements of the Universal horrors is their ability to present their monsters as figures of sympathy and pity in spite of the destruction they wreak. We feel bad for them because they once were human beings, and we understand that they have not chosen this fate, even though we also recognize that death is the only possible ending for their stories. Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, and both Lon Chaney Sr. and Jr. invest their monsters with enough pathos to complicate our feelings about them. Claude Rains follows this tradition, but he has to evoke those simultaneous responses of revulsion and sympathy without the usual makeup or even the expressions of his own face. His voice, however, is powerful enough all on its own, gripping the audience and holding it mesmerized throughout the picture. Through that exquisite instrument Rains conveys all the panic, despair, and horrific insanity that Griffin experiences. He is monstrous, murderous, an id utterly divorced from the higher powers that once controlled it, and yet he is heartbreaking in his struggle to reclaim his humanity and hold onto his love for Flora.

Whale creates scenes around Rains' invisible protagonist that heighten the horror but also undercut it with the director's usual pitch black sense of humor. The special effects are marvelous, even by today's CGI standards, but they are also jokes that Whale is playing on the audience. It doesn't take a genius to realize that Whale basically gets away with a movie in which a naked madman parades around destroying things and riding bicycles through town. We even get scenes in which Griffin chucks his clothes, highlighting the fact that he's only invisible because he's totally nude. For Whale, the joke has its deeper side, too; Griffin's naked id, unprotected by reason or morality, is set loose, just as Griffin's naked body breaks the bounds of social convention and self-protection. His nakedness hides him, but it also leaves him exposed, especially in the final scenes, when falling snow becomes a threat to him in more ways than one. Griffin has dreamed of greatness, influence, and power, but he is reduced to a naked animal, shivering in the cold, hunted and cast out from humankind. It's a tragic ending, and when we see Rains' face at last, we remember that Griffin was a man before he became a monster.

The supporting cast also makes The Invisible Man a memorable film. Be sure to appreciate the performances of Henry Travers, Gloria Stuart, William Harrigan, and the inimitable Una O'Connor. Compare Whale's work on The Invisible Man with his direction for Frankenstein (1931) and The Bride of Frankenstein (1935). See more of Claude Rains' work in the horror genre in The Wolf Man (1941) and Phantom of the Opera (1943). The Invisible Man inspired a number of sequels, including The Invisible Man Returns (1940), in which Vincent Price takes on the title role, and The Invisible Woman (1940), which stars Virginia Bruce as a calmer and more comedic unseen protagonist.

10 Classic Movies Directed by James Whale

Born on July 22, 1889, the English director James Whale stands with Tod Browning as one of the most important developers of the 1930s horror genre. Both directors worked to give the iconic Universal horrors their sense of style, but Whale set the bar particularly high with his combination of terror and sly, subversive comedy in The Bride of Frankenstein (1935). Whale directed 23 films over the course of his career, but the Universal horrors are the pictures for which he is best remembered today. In honor of Whale's birthday, here are ten classic movies where you can see the director's hand at work.

1) Journey's End (1930) - Whale's first directorial effort was an adaptation of a 1928 stage play about World War I. Its cast included two actors who would later be major players in the Universal horror unit: Colin Clive and David Manners.

2) Waterloo Bridge (1931) - This romantic drama about a prostitute and a soldier stars Mae Clarke and Douglass Montgomery, but it was also the third screen appearance of 23 year old Bette Davis. A 1940 adaptation of the Robert Sherwood play would prove more enduring with stars Vivien Leigh and Robert Taylor.

3) Frankenstein (1931) - Whale's first horror picture would shape the genre for decades to come, influencing countless later adaptations of Mary Shelley's Gothic novel. With Boris Karloff as the resurrected monster and Colin Clive as his mentally unbalanced creator, Whale crafted a stylish, wry, and genuinely terrifying masterpiece. Mae Clarke, Edward Van Sloan, and the deliriously mad Dwight Frye also contributed to Whale's success with their performances.

4) The Old Dark House (1932) - As the name implies, this film belongs to the "old dark house" genre of horror, with Whale emphasizing the absurdly comedic possibilities of the conventional plot. The collected cast makes this picture a delight for classic movie fans, with Boris Karloff, Charles Laughton, Gloria Stuart, Melvyn Douglas, Ernest Thesiger, and Raymond Massey all in the mix, but the strangest pleasure is Elspeth Dudgeon cross-dressed to play the elderly Sir Roderick Femm.

5) The Invisible Man (1933) - Whale's next horror production took the darkly humorous aspect of the genre to a whole different level, with the increasingly mad Claude Rains gamboling invisibly and wreaking havoc all over the English countryside. The film was the first screen role for Rains, who remains unseen until the very last shot, but his voice proved the real draw. Gloria Stuart and Henry Travers star as the friends trying to save Rains from himself, but Una O'Connor also demonstrates her ample talent for scene-stealing and an ear-piercing pitch.

6) The Bride of Frankenstein (1935) - Whale's earlier efforts paved the way for this outstanding picture, which also mingles absurd comedy with its gripping horror. The film reunited Whale with Boris Karloff, Colin Clive, Ernest Thesiger, Dwight Frye, and Una O'Connor, but its most iconic, if only briefly seen, performer is the young Elsa Lanchester as both Mary Shelley and the shock-haired Bride.

7) Show Boat (1936) - Whale is remembered primarily for his horror, but this 1936 musical drama proved that he could also tap into tender emotions. Generally considered the best film adaptation of the original stage play, Whale's Show Boat gave the world both spectacle and sentiment, with touches of the Whale humor still in evidence. The cast includes many top stars, from Irene Dunne and Allan Jones to Charles Winninger and Helen Morgan, but the film is known today primarily for Paul Robeson's performance as Joe and his powerful rendition of "Old Man River."

8) The Great Garrick (1937) - After The Bride of Frankenstein, Whale moved away from horror, making several dramas and war films. This picture took Whale into the territory of the romantic comedy, with a period setting and Brian Aherne as David Garrick, the great theater personality of the 18th century. Other notable members of the cast include Olivia de Havilland, Edward Everett Horton, Lionel Atwill, and Lana Turner.

9) The Man in the Iron Mask (1939) - Whale continued the period theme with this adaptation of the Alexandre Dumas adventure, with Louis Hayward starring in the double role of the twin royals. Swashbuckling regulars in the cast include Alan Hale and Montagu Love, but Joan Bennett, Warren William, Joseph Schildkraut, and Albert Dekker also make appearances.

10) They Dare Not Love (1941) - Sadly, by the beginning of the 1940s Whale's career was more or less over.  Show Boat had been his last truly memorable work. They Dare Not Love, a World War II drama starring George Brent, Martha Scott, and Paul Lukas, would be his last feature film.

In 1998, Whale's story became familiar to a new generation of moviegoers with the release of Gods and Monsters, adapted from Christopher Bram's novel, Father of Frankenstein. In the film, Ian McKellen plays the director at the very end of his life, while Brendan Fraser stars as the gardener who befriends him. You can also learn more about Whale by reading James Curtis' 2003 biography, James Whale: A New World of Gods and Monsters.

Classic Films in Focus: THE UNSUSPECTED (1947)

Michael Curtiz’s 1947 thriller, The Unsuspected, puts Claude Rains back into the kind of role he had already played with great success in films like Casablanca (1942) and Notorious (1946), so it’s no surprise that he’s equally compelling as Victor Grandison, the suave but manipulative radio host who is really this picture’s protagonist. Fans of the incomparable Rains will enjoy The Unsuspected because it focuses on his character and gives him a series of excellent scenes in which to work out Grandison’s various moods, although the romantic leads aren’t able to hold the screen against their more interesting costar. Despite a few weak spots that hold it back from true greatness, The Unsuspected is certainly worth watching if you like Claude Rains, and it also offers some memorable performances from Audrey Totter, Hurd Hatfield, and Constant Bennett.

Rains dominates the movie as the “genial host” of a murder mystery radio show, who lives with his vicious niece, Althea (Audrey Totter), and her drunken husband, Oliver (Hurd Hatfield), in a mansion that actually belongs to Grandison’s ward, the naive Matilda (Joan Caulfield). When Matilda unexpectedly returns home after being presumed drowned in a shipwreck, she finds not only her familiar housemates but also Steven (Ted North), a mysterious young man who claims to be her husband. Murder, mystery, and hysteria ensue as the apparent suicide of Grandison’s secretary is revealed to be foul play, and the chief suspects are the residents of Matilda’s own home.

A strong Gothic quality hangs over the whole plot, with the imperiled heiress constantly under siege from one quarter or another. Her sanity is already questionable because of the shock of being lost at sea, and the events that unfold do little to improve her mental health. Like Paula Alquist in Gaslight (1944) or Lina McLaidlaw in Suspicion (1941), Matilda Frazier spends much of the story coming unglued, but Joan Caulfield lacks the presence of an Ingrid Bergman or a Joan Fontaine. We never see enough spine in this heroine to root for her or really fear for her safety. In fact, Caulfield’s Matilda is such a milquetoast that it’s easy to see why Althea hates her and much more difficult to understand her appeal to either Steven or Oliver. Steven also comes off as a bland, straight arrow sort, which undermines his guise as the forgotten husband. Joseph Cotten or Cary Grant might have played his role with a little more menace and uncertainty, but Ted North, credited as Michael North, can’t muster the necessary subtlety, and this role would prove to be his last screen appearance.

As problematic as the lovers might be, there are several solid players giving top-notch performances here. Rains, of course, puts his talent for slippery types to excellent use, and his hypnotizing voice makes him a perfect choice for a radio host. The great Audrey Totter oozes malice as nasty Althea, who steals Oliver from Matilda just for spite and quickly gets to work on Steven when she finds out that he belongs to Matilda, too. Hurd Hatfield, best remembered today as the title character in the 1945 adaptation of The Picture of Dorian Gray, here looks more like Dorian’s ruined portrait than his ageless original, with the decay of alcohol and self-loathing heavy on his brow. He makes us pity Oliver even as we deplore the weakness that leaves him vulnerable to Althea’s predatory charms. Constance Bennett has a small but effective part as Jane, who works for Grandison and is deeply interested in finding out who killed his secretary. Unlike Matilda and Althea, who could easily relocate to a Gothic castle, Jane is a thoroughly modern woman, cheerful, smart, and independent. Her no-nonsense attitude and strong moral character make her the only female character in the movie who is never in the slightest bit of danger.

Be sure to appreciate comedian Fred Clark in a supporting role as Richard Donovan. See more of Claude Rains in The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), and The Wolf Man (1941). You’ll find Audrey Totter in The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946), Tension (1949), and The Set Up (1949). Michael Curtiz also directed Angels with Dirty Faces (1938), Mildred Pierce (1945), and White Christmas (1954). For even more Gothic thrillers, try Rebecca (1940), Jane Eyre (1943), and Dragonwyck (1946).

The Unsuspected is available on DVD from Warner Archive.

Classic Films in Focus: MR. SKEFFINGTON (1944)

Despite its title, Mr. Skeffington (1944) is really a movie about Mrs. Skeffington, a focal shift that makes more sense when you know that the leading lady cast in that role is Bette Davis. Davis tends to dominate any picture in which she appears, and this one is no exception, even though the title character and presumed protagonist is played by the terrific Claude Rains. While Mr. Skeffington clocks in at an overwhelming two and a half hours and gives most of its attention to the shallow heroine rather than the long-suffering hero, the movie remains worth watching because of its performances and its engagement of issues as difficult and diverse as feminine narcissism, interfaith marriage, and anti-Semitism in the years leading up to World War II.

Based on the novel by Elizabeth, Mr. Skeffington follows thoughtless and selfish socialite Fanny Trellis as she delights in leading around a trail of admirers, both before and after her marriage to the wealthy Jewish businessman, Job Skeffington. Fanny marries Job for the benefit of her reckless brother, Trippy (Richard Waring), but her ungrateful sibling reacts to the marriage by running away to fight in World War I, where he inevitably gets killed. Despite the advice of her devoted cousin, George (Walter Abel), Fanny wrecks her marriage and her relationship with her daughter, continuing to play the coquette to a bevy of suitors until diphtheria ruins her celebrated beauty.

Like Heaven Can Wait (1943), Mr. Skeffington spans many decades in the lives of its characters, which requires some creative makeup and costuming, as Davis in particular changes dramatically over the course of time. In mere physical terms, Davis is not really beautiful enough to play the great charmer that Fanny is supposed to be; she lacks the luminous grace and perfect features of Gene Tierney or Ingrid Bergman, for example, but she makes up for it with her tremendous personality, flashing her famous eyes wide and carrying herself as if every movement were a pose calculated for the best effect. Even director Vincent Sherman felt that Davis' wrecked look at the end of the movie was probably overdone, but Davis wanted it that way, again angling for the greatest impact on her audience. She reveled in self-transformation in her pictures, but she ends up looking shockingly ghoulish in Mr. Skeffington, something like a combination of an aged Queen Elizabeth I and Baby Jane Hudson. I hope that Davis pushed the envelope so far only because she wanted to demonstrate that Fanny makes herself look worse by trying to cover up her changed face with the trappings of artificial beauty; would she be so terrible is she just gave up the false eyelashes and store bought curls and accepted her fate with grace?

Fanny's struggle against her own mortality makes a deeply flawed character more interesting, but it also highlights popular notions about women and aging in the early part of the 20th century. Like Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard (1950), Fanny is a relic at 50; her illness makes her look decrepit, almost embalmed in her own beauty products, but the other characters seem to think that this alteration is more a kind of poetic justice orchestrated by fate, that diphtheria has merely allowed the years to catch up with her at last. Mr. Skeffington might be a women's picture, but the attitude here is far from friendly toward women, particularly if the women in question refuse to look or act "their age," and Davis seems as determined as anyone to punish Fanny for her vanity and charm. These days we see women as vibrant and viable members of society well past the point where they would have been considered "old" before, and a movie like Mr. Skeffington ought to make any woman profoundly grateful for that change in the cultural climate. Certainly Fanny is annoyingly self-centered and shallow, but making her a mummy of herself in the early years of middle age seems unnecessarily sexist and cruel.

Ironically, Davis doesn't even appear in the movie's finest moment; Claude Rains delivers the film's most poignant and moving performance in a restaurant scene between Job and his adoring daughter. Struggling to explain the complications of an interfaith family and the rising tide of anti-Semitism in Europe, Rains' Job breaks the code of masculine restraint and sobs with his child; their embrace, so full of desperate love and raw emotional power, will reduce even the stiffest upper lip to trembling.

Davis and Rains both earned Oscar nominations for their performances, but Davis lost Best Actress to Ingrid Bergman for Gaslight (1944), and Rains lost Best Supporting Actor to Barry Fitzgerald in Going My Way (1944). For more melodramatic romance, try other Davis pictures like Jezebel (1938), Dark Victory (1939), and Now, Voyager (1942). See Claude Rains in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), Casablanca (1942), and Notorious (1946). Vincent Sherman also directed Adventures of Don Juan (1948), The Damned Don’t Cry (1950), and The Young Philadelphians (1959).

This review was originally posted on Examiner.com. The author retains all rights to this content.

Classic Films in Focus: PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (1943)

Lon Chaney set the standard for Phantom of the Opera performances way back in 1925, and it’s no surprise that later adaptations of Gaston Leroux’s original tale have failed to measure up to the iconic silent classic. The 1943 version, directed by Arthur Lubin and starring Claude Rains in the title role, plays fast and loose with its source material but cannot improve upon it, despite a lavish Technicolor treatment. As pretty as it is, Phantom of the Opera ultimately lacks both terror and interest, largely because it focuses more on its less compelling normal characters than on its tragic central figure, who ought to be its protagonist from beginning to end.

Rains plays middle-aged violinist Erique Claudin, who transforms into the murderous Phantom after a series of heartbreaking events ends with his disfigurement by acid. Still harboring an unrequited passion for the beautiful young soprano, Christine (Susanna Foster), Erique commits increasingly terrible crimes to advance her operatic career. Meanwhile, Christine’s two suitors, Anatole (Nelson Eddy) and Inspector D’Aubert (Edgar Barrier), vie for her attention while attempting to capture the deadly Phantom.

In terms of its plot, Phantom lies halfway between the 1925 film and the 1953 horror feature, House of Wax (or even the original 1933 Mystery of the Wax Museum). Unlike those films, however, it prefers melodrama and long musical segments to actual horror. As a result, the majority of the picture focuses on the romantic triangle represented by Susanna Foster, Nelson Eddy, and Edgar Barrier, all of whom are maddeningly dull. The opera scenes might be entertaining to fans of the art form, but they do little to build suspense in the narrative. The romance also stumbles because Christine’s two suitors are so alike that it hardly matters which of them she might prefer, an issue that is, perhaps, winked at in the story’s final scene.

The film’s greatest failing, however, is its wasted opportunity with Rains, a tremendously gifted actor who had proved his talent for horror in The Invisible Man (1933) and The Wolf Man (1941). Unfortunately, Rains has very few scenes in Phantom in which to develop his take on the character. We see enough of Erique to pity him before his psychotic break and fatal encounter with a pan of acid, but we don’t see nearly enough of his existence and menace as the Phantom. His inevitable abduction of Christine is rushed through in the last segment of the film, giving almost no time to the subterranean world that the Phantom haunts. The casting of Rains in the role has the potential to be a stroke of genius, but we never see it realized, which makes the movie all the more frustrating to watch. Unleashed, the actor might have brought the Phantom all of the passionate madness, mystery, and tragedy that such an iconic character deserves.

Despite these problems, Phantom of the Opera won Oscars for Best Art Direction and Best Color Cinematography, with nominations for its musical score and sound. For better opportunities to appreciate the inimitable Claude Rains, see The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), Casablanca (1941), and Notorious (1946). Of the other leads, Edgar Barrier had the best career; you’ll find him in Journey into Fear (1943), Nob Hill (1945), and as the ill-fated Banquo in Orson Welles’ adaptation of Macbeth (1948). Don’t miss Fritz Leiber (the father of the science fiction author of the same name) as Franz Liszt and Hume Cronyn as Gerard. For comparisons beyond the Lon Chaney version and other Phantom adaptations, have a look at Laird Cregar’s terrific performance as the musician made madman in Hangover Square (1945).

This review was originally published at Examiner.com. The author retains all rights to her content.

The Sins of the Father: Claude Rains in THE WOLF MAN (1941)

Although rock solid supporting player Claude Rains is certainly best remembered today as the mercurial Louis in CASABLANCA (1942), the English actor also made huge contributions to the genre of horror, and Turner Classic Movies will put the spotlight on that aspect of Rains’ career with its primetime lineup for SUMMER UNDER THE STARS on Sunday, August 5.

THE INVISIBLE MAN (1933), a wickedly funny James Whale classic that proved a breakthrough role for Rains, takes center stage with the 8 p.m. Eastern time slot, but just before it at 6:45 p.m. is THE WOLF MAN (1941), the original Universal picture starring Lon Chaney, Jr. as the moon-cursed protagonist and Rains as his skeptical father. Directed by George Waggner, THE WOLF MAN is one of my all-time favorite movies, not because it’s particularly scary but because the performances of Rains, Chaney, and their costars pitch the story as a deeply affecting domestic tragedy, in which Rain’s Sir John Talbot pays a terrible price for his failures as a father.

Rains brings wonderful gravitas to his role, and he lets us see very early on that Sir John has done a great deal of damage to his relationship with his son, not through outward cruelty, but through the insidious effects of favoritism and indifference. Larry’s older brother was the heir to the family estate, and Sir John pinned all of his hopes and his love on his firstborn son, leaving so little for Larry that the younger son fled to a new life in America. Now, in the wake of the heir’s death, Larry returns to England but seems fated to fail in taking his brother’s place. Rains keeps his distance as Sir John, never really embracing his only surviving child but still subtly dependent on him in a way that neither expected.

In the context of the story, Larry never does anything wrong to deserve his awful fate. In fact, he is bitten by the werewolf (Bela Lugosi) while trying to save a young woman from being killed by the monster. Sir John, however, has earned the wrath of the heavens by first neglecting his younger son and then expecting him to give up his own desires to replace the dead heir. Like King Lear, Sir John fails as a father to his younger child and is therefore punished by the loss of all of his children. A bad father becomes no father at all. The film’s most eloquent and tragic piece of poetic justice comes in the final scene, when it is Sir John himself who brings his fate to bear.

It takes an actor of Claude Rains’ caliber to carry off such an important role. Sir John must be sympathetic enough that we understand why Larry yearns for his approval, but he must be flawed enough that we recognize the ending as right in some way, no matter how terrible it is for our protagonist. The expression on Rains’ face in the final scene of this film is one of the most heartbreaking things you will ever see. With the silver cane in his hand and his dead child at his feet, Sir John knows, too late, how much he has lost in the son he failed to love before.

TCM will air plenty of other great Rains performances on Sunday, August 5. Among my other favorites on the schedule are NOW, VOYAGER (1924) and THE ADVENTURES OFROBIN HOOD (1938). Rains also plays a very different father in MR. SKEFFINGTON (1944), which features one of the most sob-inducing father-daughter moments ever seen on film. 

 This post is part of the TCM Summer Under the Stars Blogathon hosted by classic movie bloggers at Sittin' On a Backyard Fence and ScribeHard on Film. Check out their sites for links to all of the blog posts celebrating every star of the day on TCM in August!