Tag Archives: 1939

Nolan’s Insomnia Theater Presents: “Frankenstein” (1931)

I watched “Frankenstein” (1931) last night, as it was one of those immeasurably frustrating nights when I couldn’t sleep.  No, this movie obviously can’t be considered frightening by modern standards — but I still had fun finally seeing a Universal Pictures monster movie I’ve heard about all my life.

Here are a few fun Frankenfacts, courtesy of Wikipedia:

  1. If the story here feels static and dialogue heavy, there’s a reason for that.  Like “Dracula” (which Universal Pictures released the same year), “Frankenstein” was adapted from a stage play, which itself had been adapted from its classic novel source material.
  2. The makeup effects for Boris Karloff’s monster might seem simple by today’s standards, but people went nuts for them in 1931.  I can’t imagine what a Depression-era filmgoer might think of a modern tv  show like “The Walking Dead.”
  3. If you think Hollywood relies too heavily on cheesy sequels today, take a look at the B-list stuff that followed this classic movie: “Bride of Frankenstein” (1935), “Son of Frankenstein” (1939), “The Ghost of Frankenstein” (1942), “Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man” in 1943 (which was also a sequel to 1941’s “The Wolf Man”), “House of Frankenstein” (1944), and “Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein” (1948).  Dr. Frankenstein’s monster also showed up in “House of Dracula” (1945).
  4. “Frankenstein” has something else in common with “Dracula” — the talented, hyperactive character actor, Dwight Frye.  Here he is the scene-stealing assistant to the doctor — he is Dracula’s minion, Renfield, in the other film.
  5. Frye’s character is not named “Igor,” as countless homages and references to this movie might lead you to believe.  His name is “Fritz.”  There is a deformed, graverobbing henchman named “Ygor” in the later “Son of Frankenstein,” and I am guessing the two movies are just easily conflated in popular memory.  Also … the mob of townspeople never storm Frankenstein’s castle with torches and pitchforks.  They instead chase the monster to an abandoned windmill at the top of a mountain, and destroy him there.  (I am guessing that the denouement I thought I’d see also comes from a sequel.)
  6. I … might have noticed a major plot hole for the movie.  (Yes, I realize that it is almost certainly absent from Mary Shelley’s 1918 novel, which I have not read).  The townspeople want to hunt down the monster for his accidental drowning of  little girl.  But … how did they know the monster was even involved?  We are shown nobody witnessing the tragedy.  In fact, how do the townspeople even know that the monster exists — and that it was loose from the laboratory if its birth?  Granted, I might have missed something — it was a sleepless night for me, after all.

Let me close with two observations:

  1.  The castle housing Frankenstein’s laboratory would be a wicked cool place to live if it were properly renovated.  Think about it.  You’d need to wire it everywhere with reliable heat and electricity, and then somehow keep it dry — no small feat for an abandoned castle.   But could you imagine how amazing it would be to have a home office there?  A library?  A home theater?  A dining room?  You could have a whole Victor von Doom thing going on.
  2. I really want to see “Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein.”  I think that will be next for a sleepless night.


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Men of a certain age …

W. H. Auden called the mid-twentieth century The Age of Anxiety. It was the title of a book-length epic poem that won him a 1948 Pulitzer Prize, and it depicted his perception of the loneliness and isolation of the mid-twentieth century.  (I have not read it.)

Auden set it in a bar in New York City.  (He actually immigrated there in 1939; many casual poetry readers are unaware that he had dual citizenship with Britain and America.)

I wonder what Auden would think of the early 21st Century, here at his adopted home. I t started with the September 11 terror attacks and has arrived at a pandemic that has killed 443,000 Americans (along with nearly 94,000 back in his native Britain).  Evictions and unemployment have predictably risen right along with the deaths.

And America seems the closest now to civil war since … the actual Civil War began in 1861.  (We did, after all, see one side storm the Capitol to attack its democratically elected government.)

I’ll bet our anxiety could give Auden’s a run for its money.




Throwback Thursday: “The War of the Worlds” (1953)!

Man, did “The War of the Worlds” rock my world as a little kid.  When this movie made the rounds on 1980’s television, it was arguably a bigger reason to celebrate than a “Godzilla” movie.

I’m a little puzzled to realize that neither the trailer or the original film poster below show the Martian ships, which were pretty damned nifty for a 50’s movie.  I’m not sure why that is.  (Maybe up to  certain point the filmmakers wanted to save that as a surprise for people who bought a ticket?)

This isn’t the only adaptation of the classic 1898 H. G. Wells novel that I would come to love.  A few years later, I wound up getting the famous 1939 radio play on cassette tape.  And as an adult, I’ll always enjoy  Steven Spielberg’s genuinely frightening big-budget 2005 version.  I haven’t quite warmed to the new BBC series yet, but maybe that will change.

 

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Tis’ the season.

Isn’t this the coolest Halloween card ever?  The little skeleton guy dances.

Hope you guys have something scary planned for the month ahead.  I’ve got a short list of movies I’d love to make time for: “Dracula” (1939), “House of the Devil” (2009),  “Annabelle Creation” (2017) and “Mr. Mercedes” Season 3 (2019).  Yeah, I know that last one isn’t a feature film, but it’s a program of truly cinematic quality.  “Mr. Mercedes” has been the best kept secret in Stephen King fandom — no, its antagonist isn’t as flashy as Pennywise the Clown or The Gunslinger’s various nemeses.  But it’s a gorgeous adaptation of a King novel that might even be better than its source material.  Check it out, seriously — skip “American Horror Story” if you have to.

There are two movies I need to get to that have been recommended to me with a lot of enthusiasm.  The first is “In the Mouth of Madness,” 1994’s H.P. Lovecraft adaptation starring Sam Neill.  (I actually started it a few years ago after a friend in New York urged me to, but it just didn’t hold my interest.)  The second is 2001’s “Shadow of the Vampire,” which features Willem Dafoe doing Nosferatu.  (I only discovered just now writing this that John Malkovich portrays F.W. Murnau.)

I’ll tell you something else, too — I’ve checked out one or two short films on the free ALTER channel and they’ve been terrific.  Maybe I’m due for another visit there.

 

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“Children afraid of the night/ Who have never been happy or good.”

Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play …

Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

— excerpts, W. H. Auden’s September 1, 1939

 

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“All that a speech can say/ About Democracy”

Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.

— excerpt, W.H. Auden’s September 1, 1939

 

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Throwback Thursday: “Just So Stories,” by Rudyard Kipling, 1902

Rudyard Kipling’s “Just So Stories” was one of my favorite childhood books — a gem I found in my elementary school library.  (I seem to remember the nuns just sort of setting us loose there during reading class with the instructions to find something we liked.  It was the kind of unstructured activity that I don’t often remember from Catholic School.)

It’s basically a short collection of fables that Kipling concocted for his daughter about how certain animals got their key traits (“How the Elephant Got His Trunk,” “How the Leopard Got His Spots,” etc.).  This was one of two favorite books that were consistently a magnet for me in the tiny, tidy library beside the principal’s office.  The other was the collection of Arabian folktales, “One Thousand and One Nights.”

Growing up, I never realized that Kipling was the same author who wrote “Gunga Din” — both the 1890 poem and the eponymous 1939 war film with Cary Grant and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.  (That movie was beloved by my father and brother, and later by me.)  I just never made the connection.

 

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Throwback Thursday: WOR-TV Channel 9’s “Million Dollar Movie” intro!

This will probably be a pretty obscure Throwback Thursday post, but the segment below should be recognized by people who grew up in the New York metropolitan area in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s.  It’s none other than the intro for WOR-TV Channel 9’s “Million Dollar Movie.”  (That music you hear is a particularly brassy rendition of Max Steiner’s “Tara’s Theme” from 1939’s “Gone With the Wind.”)

If you were in the New York area at that time, it ought to bring back memories of the old days of broadcast television.  (It’s actually surprising how much nostalgia people online report at seeing this 44-second clip.  And it’s amazing what you can find on the Internet.)  A few commenters note sardonically that the clip makes Manhattan look like a nighttime paradise — while The Big Apple in the 1970’s was not always an easy place to be.  (The city if far cleaner and safer today.)

Some of the comments I read were befuddling.  There is one blogger who wrote that he remembers this intro from as far back as the 1950’s.  (Had they really used it for more than two decades?)  And a populous minority of commenters remember being unsettled by the clip.  (They describe it as ominous, and the music as creepy, which mystifies the rest of us who remember “Million Dollar Movie.”)

This intro had an indelible effect on me.  While it recalls monster movies like “King Kong” (1939) and “Godzilla” (1954) for a lot of others, it will always remind me of my father watching war films and cowboy movies on his days off — along with the occasional Charles Bronson flick.   “The Great Escape” (1963), “A Bridge Too Far” (1977) and “Shane” (1953) all spring to mind.

When I was in the first or second grade, I habitually enhanced my Dad’s enjoyment of the “Million Dollar Movie” by peppering him endlessly with questions about whatever was playing — even if I had only wandered into the room for a few minutes.  “Why did they call it ‘a bridge too far?'” “Why did they fight World War II?” “The British and French were good guys in the war, right?” “Why did the cowboy drop his gun on purpose?”  “Why did the guy fake his death?”  (Bear in mind, folks, this was broadcast television — long before the days of Netflix and DVD’s.)

If any kid did that to me when I was watching my favorite movies, I’d go nuts — even if I had a pause button.  My father was a saint.