Monsters from deep in the subconscious mind – such creatures occupy an important position in the human soul. What we call bad dreams are neither superfluous nor necessarily bad.
A mournful howl pieces the fog.
Slowly, the coffin lid begins to rise.
The creature’s eyes blink open, burning with dreadful purpose.
The shadows of seductive wraiths and lumbering behemoths have filled our most cherished nightmares since the first monster movie flickered across the first screen. Between the years 1931 and 1946, Universal Studios produced nearly 100 horror films, numbering among them most of the acknowledged classics of the genre, a lineup studded with titles like THE INVISIBLE MAN, THE WEREWOLF OF LONDON and THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. Many of the numerous volumes devoted to vintage movies have demonstrated a disappointing shallowness in both conception and execution, relying heavily on photographs or endless lists of credits, but “Universal Horrors” is worthy of shelf space next to fabled texts like Douglas Drake’s “Horror!” or Carlos Claren’s “An Illustrated History of the Horror Film.” Quoting extensively from interoffice memos, contracts, budget sheets and other marginalia somehow unearthed from the studio archives, the authors provide a stimulating account full of surprising details – a treasure trove for aficionados.
Hardly qualifying as traditionalists, these authors boast a bracing radicalism. For instance, they consider the generally revered 1931 version of DRACULA a “sacred cow,” Bela Lugosi’s performance “ridiculous,” and the famous source novel “a crashing bore.” Strong words indeed. (Castles have been burned for less.) Clearly, however, the authors venerate many of these cobwebbed masterpieces, waxing eloquent over gems like THE SPIDER WOMAN STRIKES BACK and SON OF FRANKENSTEIN. In dozens of chatty interviews, they coax scintillating anecdotes from a variety of luminaries, their cast of players ranging from commanding presences like Boris Karloff and Elsa Lanchester to great screamers like Evelyn Ankers. Deliciously, the text sometimes veers into just plain gossip, hinting darkly about the orgies that ruined Lionel Atwill’s career. And just how drunk was Lon Chaney, Jr. on the set of SON OF DRACULA when he smashed that vase over the director’s head? (Apparently, he didn’t care for foreign accents.) Imagine “Hollywood Babylon” with fangs and a cape.
A certain unevenness is perhaps to be expected in a work with three authors, and the prose here sometimes runs to bizarre constructions like “a disturbing underbelly of corruption sets in.” But if the complexities of language occasionally elude them, the authors’ passion for their subject burns through every sentence.