Five Favorite Directors: Classic Horror

Even people who don't care for classic horror movies have probably heard of Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, and Vincent Price, but behind every horror classic there's also a director asking for heavier fog, more menacing closeups, and louder screams. Alfred Hitchcock, although not primarily a horror director, might be the most familiar to modern viewers thanks to Psycho (1960) and The Birds (1963), and more recent masters of the genre include George Romero, John Carpenter, and Wes Craven, but my personal favorites tend to be the earlier icons whose work influenced everyone after them. Most of the films from these directors are light on gore and heavy on atmosphere, which is how I like my creepy midnight thrills, and many worthy contenders aren't listed here only because I limit myself to five. These are the directors I most often turn to when I want something spooky to send a shiver down my cinematic spine.

Tod Browning

Browning is best remembered today for two horror classics, Dracula (1931) and Freaks (1932), but his directorial career started with silent shorts in 1915, and he helmed a number of notable silent horror pictures before his date with Dracula. Browning's movies with Lon Chaney, "the man of a thousand faces" and a master of silent horror, are especially good; try The Unholy Three (1925), The Unknown (1927), and West of Zanzibar (1928) for a sense of Browning's work before Dracula.

James Whale

Like Browning, James Whale is best remembered today for his iconic Universal monster movies, including Frankenstein (1931), The Invisible Man (1933), and Bride of Frankenstein (1935). Whale's work combines the usual elements of horror with a very dark sense of humor that sometimes tips right over into black comedy, especially with Claude Rains in the lead role for The Invisible Man. In between these more famous films Whale also directed The Old Dark House (1932), a wonderful spooky house picture with his usual flair for mixing giggles with screams.

Jacques Tourneur

As the son of French director Maurice Tourneur, Jacques Tourneur grew up in the movie making business in both France and the US; his career really took off when he teamed up with RKO horror boss Val Lewton for films like Cat People (1942), I Walked with a Zombie (1943), and The Leopard Man (1943). Later Tourneur would make memorable pictures in a number of genres, but he returned to horror for Night of the Demon (1957) and The Comedy of Terrors (1963). Cat People is justly celebrated today for its moody ambience and loaded subtext, but I'm also very fond of I Walked with a Zombie for its imaginative revision of Jane Eyre.

Robert Wise

Like Tourneur, Robert Wise enjoyed a fruitful collaboration with Val Lewton early in his career, even though he later became more famous as the Oscar-winning director of musicals like West Side Story (1961) and The Sound of Music (1965). His work in horror remains an important part of his oeuvre and the genre as a whole, with early Lewton projects like The Curse of the Cat People (1944) and The Body Snatcher (1945) laying the foundation for the horror masterpiece, The Haunting (1963), which is so good that it alone justifies Wise's place in this list. Watch it with the lights out and the sound turned up, and you won't sleep a wink.

Roger Corman

Roger Corman directed more than 50 movies, many of them low-budget shockers and now cult classics, and Corman has lived long enough to see himself become a true Hollywood legend. As much as I enjoy a really ridiculous B-movie romp like Attack of the Crab Monsters (1957), my favorite Corman horror films are the Poe adaptations he made with Vincent Price, some of them more faithful than others but all of them very entertaining. House of Usher (1960) kicked off the series, but two later entries, The Masque of the Red Death (1964) and The Tomb of Ligeia (1964) are probably my top picks for being less campy and more evocative of Edgar Allan Poe's works than a picture like The Raven (1963), even though that one is also a lot of fun.

Looking for even more classic horror directors? Try F.W. Murnau, Mario Bava, Mark Robson, and Terence Fisher for additional thrills and chills. 

See also: "The Kiss That is the Kill: Sex and Death in Three Classic Vampire Movies"

Classic Films in Focus: WEST OF ZANZIBAR (1928)

Tod Browning's silent 1928 story of revenge in the African Congo provides a challenge to modern viewers, given that it relies on hyper-racist stereotypes and deeply rooted misogyny for much of its horror, but if you're looking for something truly horrifying then West of Zanzibar (1928) certainly fits the bill. It packs an astounding amount of perverse cruelty into 65 minutes of film, most of it perpetuated by Lon Chaney as a paralyzed villain on a vendetta against his romantic rival and the child who symbolizes his betrayal. Lionel Barrymore and Warner Baxter also have prominent roles, although Mary Nolan takes most of the abuse as the young woman persecuted by Chaney's monstrous vengeance. Chaney is, as always, mesmerizing in a dark and complicated role, but be warned that this film is no stroll in the park.

Chaney plays the magician Phroso, who loses the use of his legs in a fight with Crane (Barrymore), the man who is stealing his wife. Later the wife turns up again with a baby in tow and promptly dies. Over his wife's corpse, Phroso swears vengeance on Crane and his child, thus embarking on an eighteen year mission to ruin Crane, debauch his daughter, and murder them both by invoking the ritual sacrifice performed by a tribe of African cannibals. Phroso makes himself a voodoo master in the remote African camp by using his magician's tricks, but his relentless desire for revenge blinds him to a painful truth until it is almost too late to change.

Chaney's performance is the highlight here. He begins as a sympathetic victim, a good man buffeted by unkind fate. His world crumbles when his beloved wife abandons him and her suitor cripples him, but these events alone do not change him. He only chooses evil over good in the church where he finds his wife's body, with the helpless infant crying nearby. The scene swells with terrible irony; Phroso looks on the Virgin and Child, and instead of pity for his wife's daughter chooses hate. From then on he embraces cruelty, sending the girl to be raised in a Zanzibar brothel while he cheats Crane of his ivory haul. Chaney plays Phroso as tragic, then monstrous, with slight hints of the vestiges of his humanity peeking through from time to time just to remind us of what he once was. His dead legs provide a physical parallel to his withered soul, and Chaney is, of course, brilliant in the way he manages to convey both the bodily and the spiritual wreckage.

Everyone else mainly reacts to Chaney, and the emotions called for are horror, disgust, fear, and loathing. In his own way, Lionel Barrymore's Crane is just as much a monster as Phroso, wreaking havoc and creating misery without ever worrying about the consequences of his actions. He laughs at Phroso's folly because he feels no pity for its victims. Mary Nolan, as Maizie, is chief among these; her tragic eyes and body language suggest so much more about her suffering than the title cards can convey. Warner Baxter plays a good man mired in Hell as Doc, but Maizie's arrival stirs his numbed conscience, and the pair eventually gather the courage to defy Phroso. These two characters get more nuanced development in the 1932 version of the story, Kongo, which fleshes out the doctor's narrative and their budding romance. The superstitious natives also react to Phroso, but they're so hideously stereotyped that they remove the viewer from the moment, and it's hard to blame the actors playing them for being unenthusiastic about selling their roles.

If nothing else, West of Zanzibar proves (yet again) that silent horror is by no means tame; Browning pushes buttons and tests limits in ways that no horror director of the 40s or 50s could. It suffers from the usual limitations of its era, especially where racist, colonialist attitudes are concerned, and it exploits the sexual degradation of its main female character in deeply uncomfortable ways. It might be preferable to start with other Chaney films if you aren't already well versed in his work or silent movies in general; try The Phantom of the Opera (1925), The Unholy Three (1925), or The Unknown (1927). For some of Browning's more controversial work, see Freaks (1932), or try his very weird collaboration with star Lionel Barrymore in The Devil-Doll (1932), in which Barrymore plays the man obsessed with revenge. Browning and Barrymore also team up for The Show (1927). For a different look at Warner Baxter, try The Prisoner of Shark Island (1936).

Classic Films in Focus: THE UNHOLY THREE (1925)

The Unholy Three (1925) takes director Tod Browning and star Lon Chaney out of the horror genre, but this silent crime drama is still weird enough to satisfy fans of their other films. Many of Browning's favorite motifs are on display, including his obsession with carnival sideshow types, and Chaney, so often deformed to play strange characters, this time adopts the guise of a little old lady with stooped shoulders and a sweet, grandmotherly face. Mae Busch, Harry Earles, and a young Victor McLaglen add to the film's appeal with their performances, with Earles in particular getting the opportunity to prove that his small stature was not the only thing he had to bring to his roles.

Chaney plays sideshow ventriloquist Echo, who hatches a bizarre scheme to commit robberies by posing as the elderly female owner of a bird store. He recruits fellow performers Hercules (Victor McLaglen) and Tweedledee (Harry Earles) as his accomplices, and he also brings along his pick-pocket sweetheart, Rosie (Mae Busch). Echo's plans go awry when Hercules and Tweedledee commit a Christmas Eve robbery without him, and Rosie turns out to be in love with the innocent man they intend to frame for the crime.

Chaney's character resembles many of his other roles in that Echo is not an entirely bad man, but one capable of great good or great evil as a result of his ambitious, jealous nature. Echo loves Rosie more than he is able to express to her; he doesn't even realize how much he cares about her until she falls for the unassuming Hector (Matt Moore). When Rosie pleads with Echo to save Hector from being executed for the trio's crimes, Echo has to choose between selfless love and his own safety. As Echo, Chaney is intense, a man taut with energy and expectation. As Mrs. O'Grady, he hides that masculine identity beneath an old woman's face and clothes, but the best scenes show Echo struggling to repress his real feelings while maintaining his feminine disguise. The ridiculous nature of Echo's impersonation grabs our attention in several scenes, but Browning and Chaney frequently remind us that this is no mere frolic, and the consequences of the trio's robberies are deadly.

Of the supporting players, Victor McLaglen and Matt Moore have the least to do, although seeing McLaglen's impressive physique is quite a thrill. Moore’s milquetoast Hector is the weakest part of the film, even more so than the chimpanzee standing in for a ferocious gorilla. He’s so dull that it’s hard to understand what Rosie sees in him, although Mae Busch gives a very good performance as the bad girl slowly succumbing to her better nature. Harry Earles steals his scenes repeatedly as Tweedledee, who spends much of his time pretending to be a toddler but really has the most violent, selfish nature of the lot. When we first meet him, he kicks a child in the face and then tries to get into a brawl; later he watches the other characters with sharp, calculating eyes, always waiting for an opportunity to get the upper hand. The role provides a fascinating contrast with Earles’ best known part, that of the innocent Hans in Browning’s horror masterpiece, Freaks (1932).

Lon Chaney and Harry Earles reprised their roles for a sound version of The Unholy Three in 1930, with Jack Conway as the director. Tod Browning is best remembered today for Dracula (1931), but his other films with Chaney include The Unknown (1927), West of Zanzibar (1928), and Where East is East (1929). See more of Mae Busch in Foolish Wives (1922), Souls for Sale (1923), and Sons of the Desert (1933). Victor McLaglen won an Oscar for Best Actor for The Informer (1935); a favorite of director John Ford, he makes memorable appearances in Wee Willie Winkie (1937), She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949), and The Quiet Man (1952). Browning liked the drag aspect of The Unholy Three enough to revisit it with The Devil-Doll (1936), in which Lionel Barrymore tackles the role of the counterfeit granny.

Classic Films in Focus: FREAKS (1932)

Tod Browning made a lasting mark on the horror genre with Dracula (1931), but Freaks (1932) is by far the stranger and more inventive of the two films. The director had explored the circus before with Lon Chaney silents like The Unholy Three (1925) and The Unknown (1927), as well The Show (1927) with John Gilbert and Lionel Barrymore, but Freaks goes beyond those earlier efforts by casting actual sideshow performers along with more typical stars. The result remains controversial more than eighty years later; Freaks proved shocking in its own time but may smack too much of exploitation for some modern viewers, even though it works hard to show that its good characters treat the title attractions with humanity and kindness, while its villains mock and reject them. Whatever we make of it, Freaks remains an essential film, one that every cinephile interested in Pre-Codes and classic horror must see at least once.

The story follows various romantic entanglements in the tents of the circus folk. Hans (Harry Earles), a little person, is engaged to the equally tiny Frieda (Daisy Earles) but becomes smitten with seductive trapeze artist Cleopatra (Olga Baclanova). She and her strongman lover, Hercules (Henry Victor), delude Hans in order to get his money, with Cleopatra even marrying her small admirer, whom she then plans to poison. Meanwhile, circus clown Phroso (Wallace Ford) and pretty Venus (Leila Hyams) strike up their own romance; they both look out for the sideshow crowd and consider them friends. When Venus threatens to tell the cops about Hercules and Cleopatra, she, Hans, and Phroso all end up in mortal danger, but the circus freaks have their own plans for the cruel, murderous pair.

With their costumes, physical traits, and exotic accents, the career actors in Freaks can be hard to tell apart from the actual circus performers, and perhaps that is intentional on Browning's part. The most ordinary of the bunch are Wallace Ford and Leila Hyams, whose generosity and kindness mark them as kindred spirits despite their hard scrabble lives. The Russian Olga Baclanova puts her foreign appeal to good use as the cold-hearted Cleopatra; her character stands apart from the freaks, literally above them, but the actress fits perfectly in the circus setting. Her dalliance with the German Henry Victor feels like a symbolic union of Eastern menace, especially since Victor went on to play a long string of Nazi roles. Hiding in plain sight is stuttering comedian Roscoe Ates as a circus clown married, awkwardly enough, to a conjoined twin. He, too, fits in with the circus, even though he was an important enough actor to get fourth billing on the film. Despite being under three feet tall, Angelo Rossitto is also one of the movie's professional actors; he racked up 90 screen credits in a career that lasted sixty years. Other, smaller roles are quietly filled by professionals, with Rose Dione as Madame Tetrallini and Edward Brophy as one of the Rollo brothers.

Browning's special cast of actual circus performers begins with Harry Earles, who had made his movie debut in The Unholy Three. He and his real life sister, Daisy, act surprisingly well, and the story depends on them to sell their characters' hopes and heartbreak. They can't pretend they aren't German, but they use that to their advantage; unlike Hercules and Cleopatra, Hans and Frieda seem more vulnerable and lonely because of their foreignness. Their small stature makes them look very young, but Harry was thirty in 1932, and Daisy was twenty-five; both continued circus work for many years and eventually retired. Also acquitting themselves well are the conjoined twins Daisy and Violet Hilton and "half boy" Johnny Eck, although they are overshadowed in the public memory by Schlitze, the Snow sisters, and the limbless Prince Randian. Other sideshow veterans include armless girls, a bearded lady, a human skeleton, and Josephine Joseph, but the film shows us the very ordinary human lives of these people, who chat and have feelings and raise families just like anyone else. If the picture's gruesome climax paints a different image, with its small, grim figures creeping through the mud, Browning at least tries to suggest that they are really just an oppressed and unfairly treated group of people looking out for their own and dishing out some thoroughly warranted poetic justice.

Freaks was banned, recut, denounced, and relegated to vaults for decades; the version you'll find today is not the original work that Browning intended, and the more upbeat ending was a late addition. Modern viewers are unlikely to have the same response that audiences did in 1932; we are too accustomed to a constant diet of visual spectacles, but still Freaks stands out as something unique in the history of film. For more from Tod Browning, try West of Zanzibar (1928), Mark of the Vampire (1935), and the weirdly wonderful The Devil-Doll (1936). Olga Baclanova plays another cruel temptress in The Man Who Laughs (1928), while Leila Hyams faces bestial threats in Island of Lost Souls (1932). Violet and Daisy Hilton made one other screen appearance in Chained for Life (1952), which capitalizes on their experiences as conjoined twins and adds a murder plot twist. Look for Angelo Rossitto in The Beloved Rogue (1927), Spooks Run Wild (1941), and, decades later, Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985).

Classic Films in Focus: THE SHOW (1927)

Horror maestro Tod Browning is in familiar territory in The Show (1927), which takes place in a community of Budapest carnival performers. Although much of the movie falls more into the category of melodrama, Browning revels in the opportunity to stage images of the disturbing, the extraordinary, and the truly bizarre, and fans of Browning’s work will certainly see the parallels to films like The Unholy Three (1925), The Unknown (1927), and, of course, Freaks (1932). John Gilbert, Lionel Barrymore, and Renee Adoree star in this silent shocker about a deadly love triangle, which holds up well despite some unintentional hilarity from an unusual animal costar.

Gilbert plays the skirt-chasing Cock Robin, a sideshow barker and performer who uses his charm with the ladies to attract the foolish daughter of a wealthy sheep farmer. Barrymore’s character, known only as The Greek, is a dangerous criminal who jealously watches the attention that Cock Robin receives from his lover, the beautiful dancer Salome (Renee Adoree), who used to be Cock Robin’s girl. Determined to get rid of his competition, The Greek devises a series of bizarre schemes to kill Cock Robin, who has enough problems already thanks to his mercenary entanglement with the farmer’s daughter.

All three of the principals perform their roles beautifully, projecting their characters’ emotions as only silent stars can. John Gilbert, devilishly handsome in his striped shirt and fitted pants, makes us see what the ladies love about the aptly named Cock Robin even though he behaves like a heel. His charisma helps to explain Salome’s helpless attraction to a man who mistreats her so cruelly, although Cock Robin might as well be a saint compared to The Greek. There’s something sadistic, even sociopathic, about Lionel Barrymore’s bright, steely eyes as he imagines his gruesome revenge on Cock Robin. Everybody is afraid of him, and with good reason, too. Renee Adoree plays Salome as a complex character, sometimes a temptress, as her name and stage role suggest, but at other times a patient martyr, a voice of reason, and a steadfast protector. If her sexy carnival costume doesn’t quite become her, it’s because her true nature differs so greatly from the role she has to play; she looks most beautiful when her eyes fill with tears of suffering, love, and compassion.

With the sideshow as the setting for this romantic melodrama, Browning has room for plenty of bizarre touches. Cock Robin and Salome perform a recreation of the beheading of John the Baptist, which ends with Salome kissing the mouth of the decapitated but still living victim. The show also includes an assortment of fake freaks, the most striking of which is the Spider Woman staring balefully from the center of her web. The horrific teeters over into the hilarious, however, when a deadly Gila monster is introduced as The Greek’s weapon of choice against Cock Robin. The poisonous animal is played in the movie by a rather energetic iguana, who leaps onto his victims as if he has been shot from a catapult. When The Greek finds himself trapped in a closet with the angry animal, it’s a moment of poetic justice, but watching Barrymore react to the iguana provokes laughter much more than horror. Perhaps iguanas were less familiar when the movie was made, but whatever audiences in 1927 might have thought of the reptile, it’s sure to be one of the movie’s most memorable elements for modern viewers.

Tod Browning is best remembered today as the director of Dracula (1931), but he also made Mark of the Vampire (1935) and The Devil Doll (1936) with Lionel Barrymore. See more of John Gilbert in He Who Gets Slapped (1924), Flesh and the Devil (1926), and Queen Christina (1933). Renee Adoree also stars with Gilbert in The Big Parade (1925) and La Boheme (1926). Of the three stars, Lionel Barrymore is the most familiar to modern audiences; his long career included over 200 roles in classics like Captains Courageous (1937), You Can’t Take It with You (1938), and It’s a Wonderful Life (1946).

The Show is currently available for streaming on Warner Archive Instant.

Strange Stuff on Warner Archive Instant

Last night I picked a double feature of freakish fare from the streaming catalog at Warner Archive Instant. I'm intentionally seeking out more obscure classic horror films in the hopes of getting a collection of reviews together by the fall of this year, but last night's movies were so unusual that it might take me a few days to figure out what to say about them in a full-length review format.

Now, Warner Archive Instant devotes a whole category to Mondo/Cult films, so they like the weird stuff, but these picks came from the regular Horror section. I don't know how long they'll stay in the current lineup, but if you want to revel in the bizarre spectacles described below then head on over to the Instant site and check them out there.

When Killer Iguanas Attack!

First up was The Show (1927), a Tod Browning silent starring John Gilbert, Lionel Barrymore, and Renee Adoree. The human actors are all great in this creepy melodrama set in a Budapest carnival, but they have a scene-stealing costar in the large iguana who stands in for a venomous Gila monster. Seriously, the iguana attack scene near the end was so funny I almost fell off the couch. My howls of laughter attracted the attention of the my daughter, who then wanted to see the scene for herself. We ended up replaying it twice. Watching Lionel Barrymore locked in a closet with an angry iguana is one of those priceless moments of movie-watching only a classic film fan can really appreciate. The rest of the movie is menacing, tragic, and possessed of a weirdness typical of Browning's sensibility, but the iguana scenes are the ones you'll remember.

The Demon Bogart of Fleet Street?

My next feature was The Return of Doctor X (1939), which really doesn't have anything to do with the original Doctor X (1932) but does offer the one and only appearance of Humphrey Bogart in a horror movie. Through the whole movie I kept wondering, "Why is Humphrey Bogart dressed up like Sweeney Todd?" Actually, that question ought to be, "Why is Sweeney Todd dressed up like Humphrey Bogart?" since Bogart did it almost 70 years before Johnny Depp. I'm not the first person to notice the resemblance, either. Jim Emerson posted about it in 2007, when Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street made its debut in theaters. If you have ever wondered what Bogie would look like as a pale-faced, blood-lusting vampire, here's your chance to find out. The Return of Doctor X is by no means a great movie, but I had a lot of fun watching it, and Bogart's first appearance - cuddling a bunny?! - is quite the spectacle.

Now that you know I'm on the prowl for unusual or lesser-known horror classics, feel free to send me some suggestions! In the meantime, I'll be checking out The Cyclops (1956), The Hypnotic Eye (1960), and Frankenstein 1970 (1958) on the Warner site.

Classic Films in Focus: THE UNKNOWN (1927)

Lon Chaney’s talent for physical transformation takes a different form in this silent horror film from Tod Browning, the director best remembered today for Dracula (1931) and Freaks (1932). Like Freaks, this earlier Browning production also unfolds in a circus, with Chaney as one of the sideshow acts, and it presages the later movie’s themes of altered bodies, unrequited love, and terrible revenge. As the movie’s murderous protagonist, Chaney gives an intense, powerful performance that silent horror fans are certain to appreciate, but Joan Crawford also provides part of the appeal as the object of Chaney’s deranged devotion.

Chaney stars as Alonzo, an armless performer in a gypsy circus. His inability to touch her attracts the friendship of the beautiful Nanon (Joan Crawford), who harbors a phobia of men’s hands. Alonzo, however, has a dangerous secret; he does have arms, which he keeps hidden because a deformity of his fingers marks him as a wanted criminal. Alonzo pretends to encourage his handsome rival, Malabar (Norman Kerry), to pursue Nanon, but secretly he plots to win her for himself, even if keeping her love means making a monstrous sacrifice.

Many of Chaney’s most famous characters depend on makeup and appliances to alter his face, but as Alonzo he looks more or less like himself, if outfitted in picturesque gypsy garb. We actually get to see the way in which his arms are bound when Alonzo gets undressed at night, and it looks absolutely excruciating, but the real fascination lies in Alonzo’s expressions, which Chaney brilliantly invests with love, hatred, rage, and grim resolve. We understand that Alonzo is both evil and insane, but we also see that he worships Nanon with a passion even more violent than his darker urges. He will go to any lengths to possess her, and we have to pity him for that devotion, much as we pity all of the great, doomed monsters of classic horror.

As Nanon, Crawford amply justifies Alonzo’s ardor, although she’s so young that you might not recognize her at first glance. With her large eyes and Cupid’s bow mouth, the youthful Crawford has a softness about her that we don’t normally associate with her image. We do, however, see flashes of the woman she would become later in her film career; when Nanon is frightened, angry, or repulsed, the angles of her face take on their familiar shape, the hard lines revealing that steely, indomitable force. She has her best scenes early on, when she recoils from the amorous Malabar’s embraces; later, once she gets over her fear and accepts him as a lover, she functions mostly as Alonzo’s unwitting tormentor, smiling at her distraught admirer while the hated rival triumphantly takes her in his arms. We can hardly blame Alonzo for plotting an accident that will tear the offensive appendages right off of Malabar’s muscular torso.

Browning and Chaney both revel in a perverse sense of irony that builds to a crescendo around the halfway point and then spills over into the conclusion, but the climax really comes with Alonzo’s realization, too late, that he has made his sacrifice in vain. It’s an extreme but effective reminder not to count one’s chickens before they hatch, and the scene delights in showing us the happy couple’s caresses contrasted with Alonzo’s increasing hysteria in reply. They don’t know why he laughs, and cries, and faints, but we do, and the result is brilliantly awful, the kind of moment that makes a viewer squirm with an unbearably delicious sense of agony and dread. It is precisely the kind of sublime horror that the best of the silent films excel at evoking.

Alloy Orchestra provides musical accompaniment on the Warner Archive version of the film, which enhances the mood without being intrusive. For more Chaney and Browning collaborations, see West of Zanzibar (1928) and Where East is East (1929). You can see Chaney in his most iconic roles in The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923) and The Phantom of the Opera (1925); Norman Kerry appears in both of those films, as well. For more of Joan Crawford's early screen work, see West Point (1927) and Our Dancing Daughters (1928).

The Unknown is currently available for streaming on Warner Archive Instant, along with the 1928 Chaney picture, Laugh, Clown, Laugh.

Classic Films in Focus: THE DEVIL-DOLL (1936)

Tod Browning, the horror director best remembered for classics like Dracula (1931) and Freaks (1932), also heads up the unusual 1936 thriller, The Devil-Doll, although the lurid title rather misleads the audience about the kind of movie on offer. In fact, this weird but compelling story features the venerable Lionel Barrymore himself as its tortured protagonist, a man driven to bizarre extremes to avenge himself on the traitors who ruined his life. Effective performances from Maureen O'Sullivan, Frank Lawton, and Rafaela Ottiano add to the film's attractions, but the real surprise is the emotional depth that lies beneath Browning's grotesque facade.

Barrymore stars as Paul Lavond, a banker framed and sent to prison by his former partners. When he and a fellow inmate escape, Lavond thinks only of his revenge, but his comrade, Marcel (Henry B. Walthall), is driven by an obsession with secret scientific experiments. Marcel and his wife, Malita (Rafaela Ottiano), have found a way to shrink living beings to doll size, though the process renders the subjects mindless automatons with no will of their own. After Marcel dies, Paul and Malita take the miniatures to Paris, where Paul disguises himself as old Madame Mandilip and uses the tiny slaves as the agents of his revenge.

Adapted from Abraham Merritt's novel, Burn Witch Burn!, The Devil-Doll prefigures Attack of the Puppet People (1958) but owes a great deal to Browning's earlier film, The Unholy Three (1925), in which Lon Chaney had played the cross-dressed granny role. The title of The Devil-Doll draws attention to the gimmick of having miniaturized characters, a trick briefly used in The Bride of Frankenstein (1935), as well. The best scenes with the "dolls" feature gigantic sets that make the actors look convincingly tiny, but modern audiences will be less impressed with the composite shots, and none of the doll scenes are terrifying enough to warrant the devilish description.

Barrymore makes for the real attraction, giving a truly memorable performance in his scenes as Madame Mandilip. The humor of seeing Barrymore in drag contrasts with the pathos and wrath of his hunted character. Lavond was a good man before 17 years in prison embittered his soul, and he never becomes a true villain in spite of his strange and terrible acts. He stirs our pity by visiting his blind mother and weeping over the hard life of his daughter, Lorraine (Maureen O'Sullivan). Lavond has his limits, but madness drives his wild-eyed collaborator, Malita, and she is the much more diabolical character of the two. Rafaela Ottiano gives a terrific performance in the role, a female equal of great genre actors like Ernest Thesiger, Dwight Frye, and even Peter Lorre. It's a shame she didn't appear in more horror films.

See Lionel Barrymore in more familiar roles in Grand Hotel (1932), You Can't Take It with You (1938), and It's a Wonderful Life (1946). He also appears with Bela Lugosi in Tod Browning's Mark of the Vampire (1935). Look for Maureen O'Sullivan in Tarzan the Ape Man (1932), The Thin Man (1934), and A Day at the Races (1937). Rafaela Ottiano turns up with Barrymore in Grand Hotel, but you'll also find her in She Done Him Wrong (1933), Curly Top (1935), and Topper Returns (1941).

The Kiss that is the Kill: Sex and Death in Three Classic Vampire Movies

The youthful fans of Twilight and True Blood might like to believe that they have cornered the market on the sexy vampire trade, but attractive bloodsuckers have been haunting the silver screen for quite a long time. Long before Edward Cullen and Bill Compton thrilled the hearts of today's Gothic heroines, the undead were making love to and war against humanity in a wide variety of films. Back in the 1980s, we had some great examples of the sexy vampire in The Hunger (1983), The Lost Boys (1987), and Near Dark (1987), but even these movies are relative newcomers to the vampire canon. Here is a sampling of classic movies that highlight that enduring connection between blood and lust.

Nosferatu (1922)

Max Schreck's Count Orlok is definitely not sexy, unless you long to date the fabled Bat Boy of traditional tabloid fodder, but this landmark silent horror film from director F.W. Murnau nonetheless teems with sexual undertones. Ignore nominal hero Hutter (Gustav von Wangenheim); the principle struggle takes place between the vampiric count and the ethereally good Ellen (Greta Schroder), who must willingly give herself to the monster in order to save Hutter and, presumably, the world.

The sexuality of Orlok's conflict with Ellen becomes clear in the final attack scene, but watch the way that Ellen, drawn by a psychic connection to her husband, first reacts to Orlok's menace, even from across the far reaches of the ocean. Her goodness is the equal opposite force that stands against Orlok's evil, and thus the two are bound together in a kind of danse macabre, elaborating once more the ages old allure of the figure of Death and the Maiden. Murnau, borrowing liberally from Stoker's novel, is keenly aware of all this deeper imagery, which gives his treatment its unique appeal. From her white gown to her lovely neck and huge, liquid eyes, Ellen is the very embodiment of imperiled femininity, at once the sacrifice and the salvation of men, and toward this flame the Count is drawn as surely as the destructive moth, only to be destroyed in turn.

Nosferatu tops many horror film lists as the greatest horror picture of all time, but don't expect it to be scary by modern standards. Instead, think of it as a prelude for things to come, as an artistic suggestion of that which later films will make explicit, and decide which method possesses the greater aesthetic power. Still, that iconic shadow moving on the wall of Ellen's stairwell strikes its own kind of fear, a delicious thrill that comes when we know that the creatures of the dark are closing in. The girl lies helpless in her nightgown, the bed becomes the grave, and the monster leans close for the kiss that is the kill. What could more sensual than that?


Dracula (1931)

Bela Lugosi's performance as Count Dracula has defined the image of the vampire for generations since, from the widow's peak hairstyle to the infamous cape in which Lugosi insisted on being buried. Is Lugosi's Dracula scary? Not really, and there are certainly places where the film shows its age. However, his hypnotic power over the women who encounter him underscores the essentially sexual appeal of the vampire. That famous stare, and the visible attraction that the women feel toward him, pulse with dangerous seductive energy. Both Lucy and Mina fall prey to that energy and are transformed by it into sexualized monsters of desire. Watch the scene in which the enthralled Mina seduces Harker out on the balcony; her eyes light up, her lips purse, and she leans in close almost quivering with anticipation. One has to wonder if even a restored Mina can be happy with a man like Harker after this interlude of passion.

Even more interesting is the sexualized nature of Dracula's power over Renfield; the attack on Renfield near the beginning of the film plays out very much as a homoerotic rape sequence, in which the female vampires are waved away from the unconscious man so that the Count himself may feed on him. Renfield spends the rest of the film driven mad by desires which cannot be fulfilled; unlike the women, he cannot become wholly united with the Count, and thus he suffers with a terrible and exquisite longing that ought to delight the most ardent sadomasochist. Of all the characters in the film, I think Renfield is the most frightening and the most pitiable; he is the quintessential victim of unrequited desire, with Dracula cruelly stringing him along until his services are no longer required.

Despite the title, the film plays fast and loose with Stoker's novel, using the stage play version instead for much of its material. Director Tod Browning created a more enduringly frightening picture with Freaks (1932), but Dracula still stands as a classic moment in vampire movie history.

Dracula's Daughter (1936)

Dracula's Daughter plays out as a direct sequel to the 1931 film, with the first several minutes of the movie catching the audience up on what has gone before. Edward Van Sloan returns to the role of vampire killer Van Helsing, which gives the sequel an added sense of continuity from the first picture, although director Tod Browning has been replaced by Lambert Hillyer this time out.

Despite the return of Van Helsing and the appearance of romantic leads Otto Kruger and Marguerite Churchill, the movie really belongs to the title character. Gloria Holden plays Countess Marya Zaleska, a beautiful woman whose eyes are full of death. The gender reversal of the vampire in this film makes for some very interesting sexual subtexts, especially when the gorgeous monster seduces and attacks other women. A victim tally reveals that the Countess actually goes after equal numbers of men and women, but the scenes with her two female victims are by far the more provocative and the more elaborate. Watch her move in for the kill on the helpless and partially undressed Lili (Nan Grey) early in the picture; Lili is so young, so fresh, so delicious with her smooth cheeks and her full, soft lips. We cannot blame the Countess for wanting to devour her.

In contrast to the cheap, sensationalist title, Dracula's Daughter is a surprisingly elegant film, one that suggests real tragedy in the person of its central character. The Countess longs to be human and live a normal life; she yearns for love and companionship. The man she hopes will help her proves singularly useless, and she succumbs to the monstrous urges that have driven her for over a century already. Despite her bloody appetite, she never looks like a monster, nor even like a traditional vampire. She seems more an angel of death, a marble cemetery statue come to life. Her beauty and misery render her a more complex and sympathetic character than her Transylvanian father, and this portrayal of the vampiric character proves a foretaste of things to come in later films. John Landis' Innocent Blood (1992), for example, clearly has a lot in common with Dracula's Daughter.

If you're still thirsty for more blood-soaked seduction, try The Vampire's Ghost (1945), Horror of Dracula (1958), Blood and Roses (1960), and Dracula A.D. 1972 (1972).

An earlier version of this article originally appeared on Examiner.com. The author retains all rights to this content.