The Once Over Twice: The Devil’s Backbone

(2001) Directed by Guillermo del Toro; Written by Guillermo del Toro, Antonio Trashorras and David Muñoz; Starring: Marisa Paredes, Eduardo Noriega, Fernando Tielve and Federico Luppi; Available on DVD

Rating: **** ½

“What is a ghost?  A tragedy condemned to repeat itself time and again?  An instant of pain, perhaps.  Something dead which still seems to be alive. An emotion suspended in time.  Like a blurred photograph. Like an insect trapped in amber.” – Dr. Casares

An effective ghost story is more about what is unseen and unheard, rather than the limited information that our senses can gather.  With The Devil’s Backbone, director/co-writer Guillermo del Toro spins a paradoxically beautiful, horrible and affecting tale.  Del Toro understands that feeling on a visceral level is just as important as being shown unsettling imagery.  The spiritual and tangible worlds establish an uneasy co-existence, bridging a tenuous link between the living and the dead.  It’s the living, however, that we must be wary of.   

The film is set in the late 1930s, amidst the backdrop of the Spanish Civil War.  Del Toro would visit a similar milieu, and continue his exploration of themes about the deleterious effects of fascism, for his masterpiece Pan’s Labyrinth (set several years after the conclusion of the civil war). The title The Devil’s Backbone (aka: El Espinazo del Diablo) refers to a specimen of Dr. Casares (Federico Luppi), a fetus in a jar with spina bifida (referred to, in more superstitious, less enlightened times, as “the devil’s backbone.”).  Del Toro commented that this also served as a metaphor for the residents of the film’s secluded orphanage.  They are “children of no one,” shunned by the rest of society, and doomed to life on the fringe.  A bomb, still ticking, in the orphanage courtyard, serves as a grim reminder of the knife’s edge between life and death that the children face.

We are introduced to the central character Carlos (Fernando Tielve), as he’s abandoned by his tutor, and left at the orphanage.  His relationship* with an older boy, Jaime (Íñigo Garcés) is initially contentious, but an uneasy friendship is cultivated over time.  Although the orphanage’s headmistress Carmen (Marisa Paredes) describes him as “meek,” he quickly proves to be brave, generous and loyal.  He stands as a polar opposite to the film’s antagonist, Jacinto (Eduardo Noriega), who possesses none of these traits. 

* Guillermo del Toro infused the film with autobiographical elements from his childhood, and his experiences attending a boarding school in Mexico, based on the sometimes cutthroat behavior between his classmates.

 

Described as a “prince without a kingdom,” the hateful caretaker Jacinto (himself a product of the orphanage), lashes out at everyone around him.  Robbed of what he perceives his birthright, he takes what he can and discards the rest.  He’s primarily motivated by the prospect of getting his hands on the gold that was hidden in the orphanage to help finance the war effort.  Jacinto responds to everything with fear and hate.  He fears what he does not understand, such as connecting with another human being, and his natural reaction is to respond with violence.  In many respects, he’s the most pathetic character in the film because of his limited range of interacting and reacting with the world.  He’s animalistic and primal, motivated by self-preservation and incapable of empathizing with others.   His relationships are endemic of his disregard for everyone else.  He maintains an empty sexual relationship with the one-legged Carmen (in an effort to get closer to the gold), while keeping a callous attitude toward his girlfriend, the selfless and gentle Conchita (Irene Visedo).  Although his behavior is reprehensible, Jacinto never comes across as two-dimensional, but a lost soul, as worthy of our pity as our scorn.  His years in the orphanage produced a bitter young adult with an impenetrable shell. 

 

The other key player in The Devil’s Backbone is Dr. Casares, who serves as a parental figure for Carlos.  He stays at Carmen’s side, running the orphanage, while suppressing his unrequited love for her.  Unable to express his love for her physically, he endures her transgressions with Jacinto and bides his time.  He is the island of calm and reason in a sea of war and chaos.  Casares is a man of science, with no time for flights of fancy (or so it seems) or considering the veracity of rumors of a ghost roaming the halls of the orphanage.  

 

So what’s a ghost story without a ghost?  The ghost takes on a decidedly supporting role, since the interaction of the living characters is as integral to the story.   We’re aware of Santi’s (Junio Valverde) presence from the very beginning, as he watches over the orphanage.  He’s not there to frighten, but to provide a warning to Carlos and the other children.  Spawned out of violence, he’s doomed to replay his tragic circumstances for all time.

In the film’s engrossing, informative DVD commentary del Toro remarked that, “…horror is exclusively about context.”  Our minds fill in the blanks, occupying the vacuum left by what we cannot comprehend. The Devil’s Backbone generates an enduring feeling of dread and uneasiness that’s not quickly ameliorated.  In a lesser horror film, a quick scare panders to an immediate reaction, but vanishes quickly in the ether.  The scares in del Toro’s film are far more enduring.  Witnessing the cruelties that humans inflict on one another is one of the greatest horrors of all.

Guillermo del Toro has crafted a classic story of sadness, despair, love, devotion and sacrifice, where each character is uniquely damaged in his or her own way.  The Devil’s Backbone is also one of the finest ghost films, in good company with such supernatural tales as The Others and The Haunting.  

Classics Revisited: Dr. Phibes Double Feature

The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971) Directed by Robert Fuest; Written by James Whiton and William Goldstein; Starring: Vincent Price, Joseph Cotton, Hugh Griffith and Virginia North; Available on DVD.

Rating: ****

“Nine killed her; nine shall die!” – Dr. Anton Phibes

So far, during Horror Month, I’ve gone from the sublime (Eyes Without a Face) to the ridiculous (Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter), and now the sublimely ridiculous. There’s nothing quite like The Abominable Dr. Phibes, except perhaps its sequel (more on that in a moment).  With its unique art deco look and tongue-in-cheek horror approach, it left an indelible mark on horror film history.  Vincent Price contributed one of his most memorable roles as the vengeful Dr. Anton Phibes.  Robert Fuest (who passed away earlier this year, at the age of 84) capably directed this fresh take on the mad scientist film.

Following the death of his wife Victoria on the operating table, Dr. Phibes (presumed dead after a fiery automobile crash) vows revenge against the team of eight doctors and one nurse who supervised her doomed operation.  His punishments are based on the 10 biblical plagues of Egypt, and are as ingenious as they’re gruesome.  Some highlights include death by a skull-crushing frog mask, a lethal brass unicorn and face-eating locusts.  He’s flanked by his silent assistant Vulnavia (Virginia North), who helps carry out his elaborate schemes, although it’s never established what her stake is in the proceedings, or why she would help Phibes commit multiple murders.

 

Price seems to be enjoying every minute of his take on Phibes, with his flair for making a grand entrance and maintaining a sense of style.  His character pauses briefly from his killing spree to enjoy the finer things in life (such as dancing with Vulnavia, with musical accompaniment by his clockwork band).  He’s the embodiment of obsessive love, unable to sever his attachment to his dead wife.  An uncredited Caroline Munro (in the most thankless of thankless roles) spends the entire duration of the movie as Dr. Phibes’ deceased wife Victoria, stored in a glass case.  Her ubiquitous image (in picture frames and even on a phone dial) reminds him of what has been lost.  I can’t help but wonder, however, if she would have approved of his single-minded retribution.

 

One of the film’s unique touches is that the end credits refer to Phibes and his archenemy Dr. Vesalius (Joseph Cotten) as “The Protagonists.”  It’s one of the movie’s conceits that either character could serve as the protagonist, depending on your point of view.  We’re reluctant to cast Phibes exclusively in the bad guy role, due to the element of tragedy that contributed to his madness.  We feel strangely sympathetic for Phibes and the loss of his soulmate, alternately fascinated to see his plans come to fruition, yet horrified by the prospect that he will succeed at the expense of others.  The film plays to our sense of vicarious pleasure, watching someone commit morally bankrupt actions from the safety of our armchairs.

The Abominable Dr. Phibes consistently strikes the right dark comic tone.  It never gets too silly, yet we never take the characters too seriously.  The character death sequences have an episodic feel, as if lifted from the panels of a comic book, while the set pieces are purposely stagey.  Genuinely captivating and darkly humorous, it remains one of my all-time favorite Vincent Price films

 

Dr. Phibes Rises Again (1972) Directed by Robert Fuest; Written by Robert Fuest and Robert Blees; Starring: Vincent Price, Robert Quarry and Valli Kemp; Available on DVD.

Rating: *** ½

“You cannot threaten the dead with death, my friend. Only with life, eternal life!”

– Dr. Anton Phibes

The Abominable Dr. Phibes was a tough act to follow.  Its successor could never be quite as fresh or surprising, but it’s still an enjoyable romp.  The original’s director, Robert Fuest, returns to the helm.  The opening recaps the events of the last film with a montage of scenes and unnecessary narration (by Gary Owens), before setting the action three years later.  Unlike the revenge-filled plot of the last movie, Dr. Phibes Rises Again focuses on Dr. Anton Phibes’ (once again, played by the inimitable Vincent Price) quest for the Elixir of Life in Egypt.  Of course, anyone unfortunate enough to get in the way of Phibes and his single-minded obsession will meet a series of clever and ghastly ends. 

 

One of the dubious charms of the Dr. Phibes films is witnessing the innovative and diabolical methods that the title character has devised for dispatching his enemies.  There’s no shortage of new torments that Dr. Phibes has in store for his victims this time around, including being trapped by a giant golden scorpion (while being attacked by real scorpions), a man being crushed in his own cot, while another is skewered by a spike through a telephone receiver.  Phibes’ trusty assistant Vulnavia (this time played by Valli Kemp) accompanies him on his trip to Egypt to revive his dead wife and achieve immortality for himself.  Instead of a mansion in England, Phibes has set up shop inside a mountain, along with his clockwork band, while his deceased wife (Munro again) rests in a glass and chrome Rolls Royce coffin. 

 

This time, it’s a battle of wits between Phibes and explorer Darrus Biederbeck (Robert Quarry) as they race to possess the secrets of eternal life.  Biederbeck is nearly as ruthless as Phibes in his pursuit, seemingly unaffected when several close associates meet horrible ends.  He’s a worthy adversary; as a closer match to his nemesis’ intellect than the bumbling London policemen who are pursuing Phibes (always one step behind).  It’s a little baffling to see Biederbeck take a turn that seems out of character towards the film’s climax, when he appears genuinely concerned when his girlfriend Diana’s (Fiona Lewis) life is threatened by Phibes. 

Although a third Dr. Phibes film was proposed but never made, the underrated Dr. Phibes Rises Again serves as a fitting capper to the saga.  Both films end on a twisted positive note with renditions of “Over the Rainbow,” suggesting that there’s a better place and time for the antihero.   We’re left with the prospect that the further adventures of Dr. Phibes are yet to be revealed.  While I don’t exactly relish the prospect of a remake, it poses a formidable, intriguing challenge for a suitable director, writer and star.

Cinematic Dregs: Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter

 

(1966) Directed by William Beaudine; Written by Carl K. Hittleman; Starring: John Lupton, Narda Onyx, Cal Bolder and Estelita Rodriguez

Available on DVD.

Rating: * ½

Imagine, if you will, the following conversation between Jesse James vs. Frankenstein’s Daughter’s writer Carl K. Hittleman and producer, Carroll Case…

Hittleman: “Okay, what do you think of this? It’s a horror western.  Jesse James is running from the law, and he just happens to encounter the direct descendent of Dr. Frankenstein.”

Case: “Sounds great.  But we need to get this movie in the theaters ASAP!  We already have Billy the Kid vs. Dracula lined up for a double bill.  Who are we gonna get?”

Hittleman: “Why not William ‘One Shot’ Beaudine?  He works fast, and he directed my last screenplay, Billy the Kid vs. Dracula.  Look how well that turned out!”

Case: “Um… yeah.  Well, how fast?”

Hittleman: “They don’t call him ‘One Shot’ for nothing.  No second takes.”

Case: “Sounds like he’s our man.  There’s just one other thing…According to your script, isn’t she really Dr. Frankenstein’s granddaughter?”

Hittleman:  “Yeah, well… whatever.  Who would pay to see Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Granddaughter?  Now that’s a stupid title.”

 

I probably had numerous opportunities to catch Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter on TV in the 70s and 80s, but something always stopped me (perhaps a sense of self-preservation).  As a kid, I instinctively knew it couldn’t possibly be good, but I was always intrigued by the title, and the promise of a melding of genres and characters that shouldn’t share the same room together.  Curiosity finally got the best of me after all these years.  I’m now older, but not necessarily wiser for the experience.

 

Über-prolific William Beaudine, responsible for helming approximately 350 feature films (as well as dozens of television episodes), directed this little piece of cinematic excreta, which would prove to be his swan song.  His involvement in movies started with the silents, under the guidance of D.W. Griffith.  Beaudine worked in virtually every genre, but he seemed especially at home with westerns.  It’s easy to see how the familiar western tropes in the movie seem second nature, while the sporadic horror elements simply look awkward and perfunctory. 

The western portion of the story follows Jesse James (John Lupton) and his dim-witted sidekick Hank Tracy (Cal Bolder) as they flee a botched stagecoach robbery attempt.  They run into Dr. Maria Frankenstein (Narda Onyx) and her brother Rudolph (played by Steven Geray, who looks old enough to be her father), who have fled Europe and set up shop in the western United States.  Lupton’s lifeless performance somehow manages to make Jesse James seem dull.  At least as he’s portrayed here, it’s hard to imagine that he would be the center of a love triangle between concerned villager Juanita (Estelita Rodriguez) and the scheming Maria.  Bolder, with his hulking muscle-bound appearance and perennially blank expression, seems in danger of being out-acted by the surrounding foliage.  When Hank (suddenly re-named Igor) succumbs to one of Maria’s experiments and falls under her control, he plays the role of mindless drone all-too convincingly.  Only Narda Onyx provides any spice to the film, with her sneering, over-the-top performance as Maria Frankenstein

 

Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter was career poison for more than just its director.  According to Joe Bob Briggs (his wry DVD commentary might be the only sane way to watch this flick), this was the last feature film for several of the stars (Onyx, Geray, Bolder and Rodriguez).  Two of the cast members, Rodriguez and Nestor Paiva (playing a small role as a saloon owner) died after filming was completed.  Paiva would appear in a few more movies after this one, albeit posthumously.

Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter is an ode to ineptitude, good for a few scattered laughs.  Some dubious highlights are the mind transference devices that resemble surplus U.S. Army helmets painted red, yellow and green and adorned with neon, and a scene (straight out of a cartoon) in which Rudolph Frankenstein reaches for a flask conveniently labeled “poison,” with a skull and crossbones.  Whether or not it’s worth watching this film directly correlates to your tolerance for bad cinema.  The fact that the movie’s absurd story and general lack of competence hold a certain kitsch value cannot balance out the realization that you’ve just wasted nearly 90 minutes of your life.  Ah well… Such is the life of a movie blogger.

Eyes Without a Face (aka: Les yeux sans visage)

(1959) Directed by Georges Franju; Written by Jean Redon, Pierre Boileau, Thomas Narcejac and Claude Sautet; Based on the novel by Jean Redon; Starring: Pierre Brasseur, Edith Scob, Alida Valli and Juliette Mayniel; Available on DVD

Rating: ****

“The fantastic is created, but the bizarre is revealed.” – Georges Franju

Eyes Without a Face is a rare horror gem that balances style with substance.  Its influence on other genre films* (not to mention a song with the same title by Billy Idol) is incalculable, with a combination of artful horror and gore-infused thrills.  Oddly enough, the film’s director/co-writer Georges Franju would have likely argued that this was not a horror film, but something else entirely.  Franju was fascinated with finding the disturbing out of the ordinary, rather than creating an artificial construct that had no basis in reality.

* One notable recent example would be Pedro Almodóvar’s excellent movie, The Skin I Live In. 

The opening scene sets a mysterious tone, with a woman disposing a body in a river.  We soon learn that she’s a (reluctantly) willing accomplice to the gifted surgeon Génessier (Pierre Brasseur) and his unsavory plans.  Louise (Alida Valli) is beholden to him for repairing her damaged face, and does his bidding out of gratitude – or is it something else?  Although it’s never explored onscreen, their relationship seems to be more than professional. 

In a 1982 interview, Franju commented that, “…a character is much scarier if he seems to be normal but acts abnormally.”  Génessier is not a mad scientist, as he would be portrayed in a lesser film, but a man faced with performing unthinkable acts for the sake of his daughter.  His actions, as a result, seem more horrific because he appears to be a reasonable man.  After his daughter’s face is destroyed in an automobile accident (one that was caused by his own negligence), he searches for a way to restore her to her original beauty.  Stricken with guilt, he doesn’t pause to consider the ethical ramifications of attempting to secure a new face for his daughter.  He stays one step ahead of the police, shrouded by a veneer of respectability, as he and Louise abduct young women to be unwitting donors for his experiments. Génessier tries to rationalize that the means justify the end, but his intentions are ultimately selfish.  Maintaining control is a vital aspect of his personality.  He implores his daughter to keep her mask on to conceal her appearance, while perpetuating the lie that she died in the car accident.  This, of course, leaves him free to covertly proceed with his nefarious medical endeavors.

 

Eyes Without a Face owes much of its power to the remarkable performance by Edith Scob as Dr. Génessier’s waiflike daughter Christiane.  Scob conveys an almost angelic presence as she floats from room to room.  Franju is careful to conceal her face from the audience for most of the film’s running time.  Only her eyes are visible behind an expressionless mask, conveying a profound sadness that’s impossible to quell.  She’s burdened by the deeds of her father, and repulsed by her complicity in his schemes.  In one scene she comments that she wishes she had been left blind, as her eyes remained intact to gaze on her ruined visage. 

The makeup effects by Georges Klein are still unsettling today.  It’s easy to imagine how audiences must have squirmed in their seats as they witnessed the film’s most infamous scene, when Dr. Génessier removed the face of one his victims with clinical precision.  In contrast to the explicit gory detail of Génessier’s medical procedure, we only catch a fleeting glimpse of Christiane’s face behind the mask.  Instead of lingering on her distorted facial features, we are left to empathize with her condition.    

The wonderful, lively score by Maurice Jarre also deserves special mention.  It provides a sporadically ironic counterpoint to the grim proceedings, perfectly skirting the line between the playful and the macabre, like a Charles Addams cartoon.

 

In 1962, Eyes Without a Face was edited and dubbed into English, and slapped with the lurid title The Horror Chamber of Dr. Faustus.  It suffered the added indignity of being placed on a double bill with the schlocky (but fun) The Manster, and thrust on an unsuspecting American audience.  Thankfully, the original, unadulterated French language version is now available, for all to enjoy.  While Franju was reluctant to describe his movie as horror, most viewers would probably beg to differ.  At its heart, Eyes Without a Face is a sad tale about trying to recapture what has been lost.  It’s at once strangely beautiful, eerily captivating, and surprisingly moving.