Book review: Ed Wood, Mad Genius

Review by Doug Gibson

(Ed Wood, Mad Genius: A Critical Study of the Films, by Rob Craig, 2009, McFarland, Jefferson, N.C., 306 pages, www.mcfarlandpub.com and (800) 253-2187. The reviewer received a review copy from McFarland.)

Although some fans of Ed Wood may take issue with me, I think Woodmania has gone through four distinct phases:

The first was the "tiny cult" phase, as Wood fan Fred Olen Ray described it. This was the pre-Medved era, where small groups of fans would stay up late to watch "Bride of the Monster" or "Plan 9 From Outer Space" on Movies 'till Dawn. On NYC's 42nd Street, Wood's mysteriously delirious "Glen Or Glenda" would play at midnight on the weekends to surprisingly full houses. This is where Wood pop biographer Rudolph Grey first witnessed a Wood film. I myself first caught Wood's "Plan 9 From Outer Space" on LA's Channel 9's Movies Till Dawn about 30 years ago. It was followed by "The Creeping Terror." (What a delightful double feature!)

The second Woodmania phase was the early '80s Medved-inspired "Golden Turkey Awards" smarmy hysteria, which lifted Ed Wood into the pop culture consciousness. Wood became famous, but his films were mocked with deliberate glee. "Bad" film festivals featuring Wood films popped up everywhere. Long-forgotten Wood associates such as Vampira, Conrad Brooks, and Paul Marco were lifted out obscurity and into second careers. Wealthy Wood fan Wade Williams paid a long overdue editing lab bill and rescued Wood's "lost" film "Night of the Ghouls" from probable destruction. There were a few perceptive critics, such as Danny Peary in Cult Films, who saw more than just easy-to-mock foolishness in Wood's films during this time, but most of us laughed at Wood, and the early documentaries on his life, such as "The Incredibly Strange Film Show," were mostly condescending and disrespectful.

The third Woodian phase occurred in the 1990s and lasted into the early years of the new century. It was the Wood-as-tragedy era and it included Grey's respectful oral biography, "Nightmare of Ecstasy," There were also the much-celebrated Tim Burton film, "Ed Wood," and two feature-length film documentaries on "Plan 9" and Wood's career, Web sites that celebrated Wood's work sprang up, and there was the emergence of a tiny film journal, "Cult Movies Magazine," that treated Wood with genuine respect. Also, small printing presses, such as Four Walls Eight Windows, began to re-print Wood's pulp novels from the '60s. You could actually go into a Barnes & Noble and buy "Death of a Tranvestite." That era faded away; Wood's novels left bookstores and Cult Movies Magazine folded. But Wood's cult remained strong enough to survive.

And that brings us to the fourth and current phase of Woodmania -- Ed Wood-as-literary-and-film-criticism fodder. Yes, it's true -- Wood's work is of interest to the learned. Rob Clark's "Ed Wood: Mad Genius" is an extremely detailed and provocative academic criticism of just about all Wood's film work, whether, director, writer or adviser, the author is able to track down. It's a fascinating read for Woodphiles, but I wouldn't recommend it for Wood beginners. The book can be very ponderous at times. It defines dreay academic prose at times. Due to its depth, though, I wouldn't be surprised if "Ed Wood: Mad Genius" makes it onto the reading list in institutes of higher learnings' film or film studies classes.

Truth be told, there's a lot of academic folly in "Ed Wood: Mad Genius." It's tough to swallow Craig's claims that Wood's low porno is full of deliberate jabs against male-female relationships. The sad truth is Wood's porno efforts were only concerned with meeting male sexual fantasies. There's nothing to deconstruct. The actors have no clothes! And the book veers into silliness with its claims that "Plan 9" heroine "Paula Trent" is coyly suggesting to her worried, sexist pilot husband "Jeff" that she may engage in adultery or masturbation while he's gone flying in the "wild blue yonder."

But literary and film criticism are full of "throw-every-theory-in including-the-kitchen-sink" approaches. The Wood fan who plows through the denser parts will encounter observations on Wood's films that are fascinating, unique and indeed, at times on-target. Take "Glen Or Glenda," for example. Craig accurately cites it as Wood's most personal/political film, but he also draws comparisons on psychiatrist Carl Jung's theories of the destructive conflict that can arise when the inner self competes with the outer self. That is at the heart of "Glen's" dilemma with fiance "Barbara." Through Wood's film and a comparison of his early years, Craig also presents a good case that the film is a harsh criticism of Wood's mother for raising him to prefer women's clothing.

Critic Peary opined that Wood made his films so ridiculous as means to mask his provocative personal and political statements that were too extreme for the conservative 1950s. If his films were more understandable, Peary argued, they'd never get shown. Take "Plan 9," which Peary saw as a brave critique of the 1950s U.S. military buildup. But Craig interestingly takes that theory a step further and argues that Wood used many of the tactics of minimalist director/producer Bertolt Brecht. The ridiculous special effects and sets in films such as "Plan 9," "Jail Bait," "Bride of the Monster," and "Night of the Ghouls," may have had a lot more thought attached to them than we previously thought. They unconsciously create a believable scenario for the audience through the surrealistic almost agitprop sets. The bizarre dialogue of a Wood film creates a dream-like state -- almost a dream world.

Rather than be considered a joke, Wood is closer to a Luis Bunuel in his ability to suspend our normal world and draw us into a cinematic other world for an hour and a half.

Craig posits the insightful claim that Wood used the absurdity of Brechtian theater to seduce the audience into accepting his alternate reality that was on the screen. Wood's characters, the dolt Kelton the Cop, the drunk in the police station, Lobo the monster, the military men in "Plan 9," etc., existed in their own world or time, separate from our realities. There's never a clear evidence in a Wood film where something is occurring, or even if it is occurring in our world. If we take these Brechtian ideas, Craig argues, it's easy to accept that night and day intermix so often in Plan 9, or that a photo enlarger in "Bride" can be an atomic growth machine, or that the very, very low-budget, slapped together "Night of the Ghouls" can be as fascinating as "Waiting for Godot" in its bewildering minimalism.

There are other examples of the singular, alternative universe of a Wood film. Until reading Craig's book, I had not realized that Wood's "Jail Bait" occurs only at night, or that Wood's "The Sinister Urge" has detectives who both rail against and obsessively look at the criminal pornography. We need to watch these films more than once to notice this, or to note that "Plan 9" has a lot of dialogue that bravely attacks the popular 50s conservative military buildup jargon. For all his slapdash, low-budget, one-lung procedures, Wood, Craig argues, deliberately created a different world for his viewers, no matter how pitifully few were in theater audiences when his films were released. This alternative universe, mixed with the provocative ideals espoused in the cross-dressing "Glen Or Glenda" or bizarre sci-fi tale "Plan 9," guaranteed that a long-time, never-ending Wood cult would eventually form and not go away. How could it? His film are pleasant narcotics for his devotees.

Indeed, the strongest argument for Craig's alternate universe theory is the iron hold Wood's films have on viewers 50-plus years later. Other low-budget sci-fi horror hodgepodges of the 50s don't have this hold, no matter if they are occasionally watched fondly by genre fans. Ten minutes of "Bride of the Monster," that Craig accurately pegs as an homage to the Bela Lugosi Monogram films of the 1940s, are more interesting than any film Roger Corman ever directed.

That's simply a fact.

While reviewing this book, I watched six Wood films, "Glen," "Jail Bait," "Bride," Plan 9, " "Night of..." and "Sinister Urge." I noted the critiques of Craig, and I witnessed many of his observations in "Ed Wood, Mad Genius." Craig's book, which throws in hundreds of critical theories, some wild, some sound, regarding Wood, his movies and screenplays (the book is very thorough) is worth having because it offers unique, important ideas about Wood that are new ideas.

The truth is we have not plumbed the depths of our Ed Wood obsession. There is a new criticism book of his novels and short stories, "Muddled Mind," that has been published. There's room for more critiques of Wood, and Craig is right in saying that despite Grey's very interesting oral bio of the director (1924-1978) we are still waiting for a definitive biography of Wood.

The Unearthly!

The Unearthly

The Unearthly, 1957, Director: Brooke L. Peters; Cast includes John Carradine, Tor Johnson, Allison Hayes, Myron Healey; About 75 minutes in most prints. *******1/2 out of 10 stars on the Schlock-Meter

The Unearthly boasts Ed Wood’s giant Tor Johnson among its cast, which automatically bumps it up a star or two on the Schlock-Meter. The tale is pretty standard fare for 1950s sci-fi/horror filmdom; Mad scientist John Carradine uses unsuspecting patients to try and graft on a “17th gland,” which the “good” doctor hopes will create eternal life. The problem is, all of the previous human guinea pigs he’s tried the gland procedure on have turned up mentally impaired and deformed. They exist -- a pretty motley bunch -- in the basement.

Pretty Allison Hayes is Carradine’s next intended victim, but she’s saved by Myron Healey, who plays an undercover cop who infiltrates Carradine’s sanitarium pretending to be a killer on the lam. Don’t you love these convoluted plots. Anyway, it’s up to Healey to save the day, since the patients of Carradine are too dense to realize that their ranks are shrinking rapidly.

Surprisingly, Carradine makes a pretty effective bad guy in this low-budget offer. He’s more subtle, resisting the urge to revert to his usual “over-the-top” overacting. The few times Carradine raises his voice in anger, his sinister side is effectively revealed. Tor Johnson, as Carradine’s hulking helper, is actually allowed a few lines of garbled dialogue. There are a few shots of Allison Hayes in a low cut nightgown, which must have a excited quite a few movie-going boys just entering puberty in 1957.

Some of the more glaring inconsistencies include: The sanitarium appears to be located in a secluded, out-of-the-way site, but it only takes the police a couple of minutes to arrive when called; none of the “patients” of Carradine’s doctor appear too concerned that Tor Johnson’s grotesque “Lobo” is on the staff; also, it’s amusing to see characters feign the effects of being shot in the stomach without any blood or bullet holes showing up.

The Unearthly is definitely worth a rental, if just to see one of the few films Tor Johnson made.

-- Doug Gibson

THE APE MAN: Don’t monkey around with this movie!

By Steve Stones

Of all the roles Hungarian actor Bela Lugosi played in his career for low-budget studios, such as Monogram and Producers Releasing Corporation (PRC), this is the one role he is criticized for the most. That’s unfortunate because, as with all his roles, Lugosi really gets into his role of the Ape Man and takes the role very seriously. He even moves around hunched over like a monkey, swaying his arms back and fourth.

Directed by William Beaudine in 1943, The Ape Man stars Lugosi as Dr. James Brewster. Brewster has been conducting some unusual experiments on himself in his laboratory. These experiments have transformed him into a half ape, half human creature. An opening sequence in the film shows Lugosi in a cage with a gorilla, which is obviously another actor in a fur and rubber suit.

Brewster must obtain human spinal fluid to inject into himself in order to reverse the process of his ape transformation. Meanwhile, newspaper reporter Jeff Carter, played by Wallace Ford, and his photographer Billie Mason, played by the lovely Louise Currie, arrive at the Brewster home to interview Mrs. Brewster and take pictures of her. Mrs. Brewster tells the reporters that the home is haunted, and plays a record of haunted sounds in the home.

Dr. Brewster becomes greatly upset by this as he secretly watches the interview from another room. Brewster then returns to his laboratory in anger, and throws glass beakers at the cage of the gorilla. This is one of the more priceless and unintentionally funny scenes of the film.

Another priceless scene in the film shows Brewster arriving at Dr. George Randall’s office in a coat and hat still looking like a half ape, half human creature. He brings the gorilla with him and demands the aide of Randall in helping him obtain human spinal fluid. Randall’s butler enters the office, and the gorilla kills him so that Brewster can extract his spinal fluid.

Carter later discovers a blurred image of Brewster standing behind Mrs. Brewster in a photo Mason took at the home. The photo makes Carter want to investigate the Brewster home once again.

After Carter’s second visit to the Brewster home, Dr. Brewster becomes anxious to obtain more spinal fluid to speed up his recovery. He leaves his laboratory with the gorilla to go on a murdering rampage to obtain the fluid from murder victims. Eventually the gorilla ends up killing Randall because he refuses to help Brewster obtain more spinal fluid.

It’s hard to believe that The Ape man was made only twelve years after Lugosi’s iconic performance in the 1931 Dracula. Unfortunately, Lugosi’s career was on a fast decline by the late 1930s as a result of being typecast after Dracula. This made it difficult for him to receive offers for roles in bigger budget films.

Like another horror actor of his time, John Carradine, Lugosi recognized that work is work, and he accepted and appreciated most of roles that came his way, playing them with dedicated professionalism. If there’s any actor who deserves great respect for his hard work, dedication and tenacity in the early days of the cinema, it is Bela Lugosi. Forget what critics have said over the years about The Ape Man and watch it anyway. You’re not likely to go ape over the film, but perhaps you may enjoy seeing Lugosi walking around imitating a monkey.

You can catch this film for free on various Net sites if you have high-speed Internet. Here's the trailer!

Tod Browning was a director who made movies for a Halloween evening

(This column originally ran in the Oct. 25 Standard-Examiner newspaper)

By Doug Gibson

My friend, Steve Stones, and I have a blog on cult movies. As a result, sometimes we are asked to recommend a suitably chilling Halloween movie. That’s a little like being given $25 and being asked to buy that one novel you want more than any other novel. There’s just too much competition.
To enjoy great films, think of them as samplers of genres, directors or stars. You like Bela Lugosi, (I do), Check out “Dracula,” “The Black Cat,” “The Raven” and “Son of Frankenstein.” You like Vincent Price? Try “The Tingler,” “Tower of London” and “The Conqueror Worm.” I favor the older films but I don’t discriminate against new films. Watch Sam Raimi’s “Drag Me to Hell” and then rent his earlier films “Army of Darkness” and “Dark Man.”
This year I hope people will discover, or re-discover Tod Browning, a director whose popularity peaked during the silent era. Although he directed Lugosi in “Dracula,” his career declined in the ‘30s and by 1939 it was over. As a boy late in the 19th century, Browning ran away from home and joined the circus. He was a contortionist and lived closely with the carny lifestyle. Later he was a fairly successful early silent movie actor before gaining fame as a director.
Always fascinated with the circus lifestyle, Browning cultivated the talents of a young actor named Lon Chaney. Dubbed the man of a thousand faces, Chaney was the biggest star of the late silent era. The actor was an incredible physical specimen, and a perfectionist. He created faces in two films, “The Phantom of the Opera,” and the now-lost “London After Midnight,” that have not been matched in fright value. Chaney died just before he was to film “Dracula.” His death opened the door for Lugosi and Boris Karloff (Frankenstein’s monster) to achieve stardom.
In 1927, Browning directed Chaney in the silent film “The Unknown.” It is my first selection for a Halloween evening. Set in a circus, it stars Chaney as circus attraction, “Alonzo the Armless,” who shoots arrows safely at a pretty circus girl, Nanon, played by a very young — and gorgeous — Joan Crawford. Chaney really isn’t armless, he’s a violent criminal on the lam. With a trusted assistant’s help, he wraps his arms to his sides to escape detection. Chaney is in love with Nanon. With his eyes and facial grimaces, he lets us know what a possessive, frustrating, tinder-box love it is. He can’t bear the sight of the circus strongman, Malabar the Mighty, who admires Nanon, and he encourages Nanon to distrust Malabar.
Chaney’s obsessive love for Nanon leads him to really remove his arms in an operation. When he returns weeks later, expecting to pursue Nanon and find his love requited, he discovers Nanon and Malabar have fallen in love and will be married soon. In my opinion, the two minutes of Chaney’s reaction to the news, bewilderment, frozen smile, pantomime of maniacal laughter and threatening glare, is the finest acting of the silent era. This is a tight, 50-minute film (some inconsequential scenes are lost).
Besides “Dracula,” the film Browning may be best known for is the 1932 “Freaks.” It is a masterpiece of surreal horror. The plot involves a selfish, beautiful trapeze artist (Cleopatra) who marries a little man (Hans) for his money. With her strongman lover (Hercules), she plots to kill Hans. Their big mistake is that they assume the circus “freaks” are little children, rather than adults capable of retribution. What they learn too late is that the “freaks” — and the actors really were such — act like children as a defense mechanism. They want to be left alone. But threatened in their environment, they draw strength from numbers.
For 40-plus minutes of this slightly longer than an hour film, we are not scared. Instead, we learn about life in a circus, and we view the “freaks” as human beings. The last 20 or so minutes are horrifying as the “freaks” gain revenge on two who would falsely request their trust and then try to kill one of them. The scenes of the “freaks” with knives and guns, peering through windows and under wagons, slithering, hopping, sliding and pursuing Hercules and Cleopatra through a dark rainy night are frightening. For years, the fim ended with a brief, jarring shot of what the “freaks” had done to Cleopatra. It’s one of the most shocking finales in film. But I recently saw “Freaks” on Turner Classic Movies and the print added an epilogue with Hans and other characters that diminishes the impact a little.
“Freaks” was ahead of its time. The suits at MGM hated the film and barely distributed it. More than any other film, it damaged Browning’s career. In fact, it was banned in Britain for 40 years. See it for yourself: it’s a masterpiece that draws on Browning’s love and respect for carnival life.
One more Browning film worth seeing is the 1936 “The Devil-Doll.” It stars Lionel Barrymore as Paul Lavond, a framed banker who breaks out of France’s Devil’s Island prison with a mad scientist who can turn people into doll-sized humans who can be manipulated by human masters’ thoughts. It’s a wild plot. Outside Paris the mad scientist dies. Lavond’s and the scientist’s widow — who is as crazy as her husband — continue the experiments. She wants to turn the whole world little; Lavond just wants to gain revenge on his ex-partners who framed him and also help his blind mother and daughter, who were impoverished by his imprisonment. He uses the “devil dolls” to get his revenge on his ex-partners and clear his name.
Watch this film for the special effects and Barrymore’s performance. He’s great as a mostly decent man who can’t control his thirst for revenge and knows it.
All these films are inexpensive, pop up on Turner Classic Movies and can be rented. Trust me, they are far better than “Saw VI,” or any of the “Saw(s)”.