Classic Films in Focus: BLANCHE FURY (1948)

Of all the films I have watched so far in the Criterion Channel's Gaslight Noir collection, Blanche Fury (1948) is the darkest, even though it's also the brightest thanks to its use of gorgeous Technicolor. This adaptation of the 1939 novel by Marjorie Bowen (under the pseudonym Joseph Shearing) employs many of the familiar elements of Victorian Gothic fiction, including the governess heroine and the upper class's obsessions with legitimacy and inheritance, but it has more in common with Wuthering Heights than Jane Eyre in the romance department, with doomed lovers who are both far from innocent in their desires. Without spoiling the ending too much, let me at least warn you that Blanche Fury is true noir in Victorian dress, and no happy endings should be expected for any of the central characters. That said, it's a fascinating example of the overlap between traditional Gothic and noir, with a complex anti-heroine whose better angels are as dangerous to her as her demons.

Valerie Hobson takes the lead as the title character, a penniless young woman named Blanche Fuller who changes her surname to Fury when she joins her wealthy uncle (Walter Fitzgerald) and his household as a governess to the uncle's granddaughter, Lavinia (Suzanne Gibbs). Soon Blanche is married to her cousin, Lawrence (Michael Gough), but also engaged in a passionate affair with Philip Thorn (Stewart Granger), the illegitimate son of the estate's previous owners, who is now reduced to a servant in his own childhood home. The embittered Philip is obsessed with reclaiming the property for himself, even to the point of plotting to murder everyone who stands in his way. When Philip decides that Lavinia is just another obstacle to his plans, Blanche must choose between the man she loves and the innocent stepchild she longs to protect.

Hobson nimbly walks the fine line required for Blanche, who possesses both good and bad qualities that dominate her nature at different times. We first see her as a Becky Sharp type of adventuress, chafing under her subservient role as a paid companion and eager to improve her situation through marriage to the weak-willed but unfeeling Lawrence. At the Fury estate, her immediate kindness to Lavinia softens her, and her courage in retrieving stolen horses proves her fortitude. What seems at first like mere carnal lust for Philip develops into real love, which makes her choices in the third act all the more difficult, and she evokes our sympathy even as we recognize her complicity in the events that have brought her so much suffering. In addition, Hobson looks divine in the costumes and elaborate hairstyles worn by Blanche, with a finely made face that conveys hatred, love, and grief equally well in her many closeups. As the title suggests, this story belongs to Blanche and therefore to Hobson, but Stewart Granger has fantastic energy as Philip that evokes shades of Wuthering Heights' Heathcliff in his intensity and dark, brooding sex appeal. Their scenes together don't really need the confirmation of a closing door to tell us the nature of their relationship, while doors repeatedly closing against Gough's character symbolize the contrasting coldness of Blanche's marriage to Lawrence.

The real darkness and noir mood of Blanche Fury stem from the relentless sense of fate bearing down over the unfolding events, starting with the opening scene, which is actually the end of the story being told. The legend of the fierce ape who defends the Fury name and fortune serves to remind us constantly that the current family are interlopers who have usurped both the name and estate from the biological - if not legal - heir, Philip. Fate, as embodied by the figure of the ape, will not spare any of the usurpers as it works to restore the line of the rightful owners. Blanche's uncle and husband are too dim to sense the doom that hangs over them, but Blanche and the old Italian nurse (Sybilla Binder) both feel it. Fate wields a Shakespearean level of power here, so much so that neither Blanche nor even Philip can be considered free agents; they are pulled by forces they cannot fathom or resist. Blanche attempts to moderate the scorched earth tactics of Fate, but like many noir protagonists she suffers more for her good actions than she does for her evil ones, and Fate still wins in the end. 

The Gaslight Noir collection includes two other movies adapted from novels by Marjorie Bowen: Moss Rose (1947) and So Evil My Love (1948). Her 1943 novel, Airing in a Closed Carriage, was adapted as The Mark of Cain (1947). Valerie Hobson also stars in The Bride of Frankenstein (1935), Great Expectations (1946), and Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949). See more of Stewart Granger in Scaramouche (1952), The Prisoner of Zenda (1952), and Footsteps in the Fog (1955). If you enjoy melodramatic tales of governesses and forbidden love, try All This and Heaven Too (1940), Adam Had Four Sons (1941), and, of course, Jane Eyre (1943) or any of the other adaptations of the classic novel.

Classic Films in Focus: WEREWOLF OF LONDON (1935)

Although The Wolf Man (1941) is by far the best known of the Universal werewolf movies, director Stuart Walker’s Werewolf of London (1935) predates it by a good six years, making it one of the earliest examples of the genre. The 1935 picture lacks an iconic horror star like Chaney, Karloff, or Lugosi; instead, it relies on Henry Hull, an actor primarily relegated to supporting roles, as the afflicted protagonist who sprouts fur and fangs whenever the full moon rouses his inner animal. Of the Universal horrors of the 1930s, Werewolf of London is certainly a minor addition, but it does have particular charms for classic movie fans and those seriously interested in the history of werewolf films. Supporting performances by Valerie Hobson, Spring Byington, and a collection of character actresses make Werewolf of London worth watching, even if the picture’s comical old ladies prove more interesting than its titular monster.

Henry Hull plays botanist Dr. Wilfred Glendon, who travels to Tibet in search of a rare moon flower. There he is bitten by a werewolf, Dr. Yogami (Warner Oland), who later appears in London to ask Glendon for some of the flowers from his plant. The blooms are the only thing that can prevent both men from turning into murderous werewolves when the moon becomes full, but the short supply creates deadly conflict between them, even as both struggle to prevent themselves from killing more innocent victims. Glendon’s troubles are compounded by his growing estrangement from his wife, Lisa (Valerie Hobson), and the unwelcome attention of her former beau, Paul (Lester Matthews).

None of the men in the film is especially compelling. In The Wolf Man, Chaney’s protagonist appeals because we see him as a good man tragically robbed of his humanity, but Hull’s Glendon is more the obsessed scientist type, a character begging for doom to knock at his door. Hull lacks the screen presence of a true horror star; though not very handsome or charismatic, he does at least have a good face for the werewolf makeup. The monster’s look was designed by Jack Pierce, who had already worked on Dracula (1931), Frankenstein (1931), and The Mummy (1932) and would go on to provide the hairy facial treatment for The Wolf Man. Hull actually makes a more interesting werewolf than he does a human being, and we do get several transformation scenes showing off the special effects process. Warner Oland plays a sinister variant on the Charlie Chan character, but he never develops into a really satisfying villain or a tragic victim of his own circumstances. Lester Matthews plays Paul as a relentless interloper who steals the girl from his monstrous rival, which makes him hard to root for as any sort of hero.

The women fare better, especially Valerie Hobson as Glendon’s unhappy wife. Hobson’s elegant face registers the many shades of Lisa’s complicated feelings; while Paul was her first love, she is determined to be loyal to the man she married, even as he drifts away from her to grapple with his monstrous urges. Hobson was no stranger to this kind of role, having already played Dr. Frankenstein’s wife in The Bride of Frankenstein (1935) that same year. Very different from Hobson but perhaps even more memorable are the movie’s old ladies, a bevy of colorful characters led by Spring Byington as Aunt Ettie. Charlotte Granville, playing the wry Lady Forsythe, has some humorous exchanges with Byington, but the upper crust ladies are outdone by the more outrageously funny old gin swillers portrayed by Ethel Griffies and Zeffie Tilbury. They don’t really have anything to do with the werewolf plot, which might annoy some viewers, but those who appreciate Una O’Connor in The Invisible Man (1933) and The Bride of Frankenstein will adore them.

Stuart Walker also directed Henry Hull in a 1934 adaptation of Great Expectations, but Walker spent more of his career as a producer, particularly of the Bulldog Drummond series. You can see Hull in a more sympathetic light in Boys Town (1938) and Lifeboat (1944). The Swedish Warner Oland played mostly yellow face roles; in addition to Charlie Chan, he also starred in a series of Fu Manchu pictures. Look for Valerie Hobson in Great Expectations (1946), Blanche Fury (1948), and Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949). Spring Byington earned an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress for You Can’t Take It with You (1938), while Ethel Griffies is best remembered today as the ornithologist, Mrs. Bundy, in The Birds (1963).