The Brute Man was disowned by its creator Universal

By Doug Gibson

I love the 15 golden years of Universal Studio horror films, starting with Dracula and adding Frankenstein, Igor, The Wolf Man, two Mummies, various Invisible humans and assorted mad scientists, creatures and tortured professionals (think Inner Sanctum). But the final film of the genre, "The Brute Man," stinks. 

Rondo Hatton was a truly tragic figure. Universal's last "monster," he was "The Creeper," except he didn't creep. He more or less staggered. He suffered from acromegaly, which disfigured his face and badly affected his health. In fact, he died of a heart attack a couple of months after "The Brute Man" wrapped at Universal. It was eventually sold to Producers Releasing Company, not due to quality; Universal, in the midst of a merger, was shedding its B-film productions. 

"The Brute Man" involves a series of murders committed by "The Creeper," an ugly, tall figure who apparently can slither through the city and kill at will. The police, doing nothing, are badgered by the mayor to catch the Creeper. Meanwhile, in a risible plot development, the Creeper orders groceries to his shack by the waterfront and then kills the delivery boy when he gets too curious. 

Finally, the police gather that The Creeper is an embittered former college football star who was disfigured in a lab accident. He's getting revenge on his ex-college pals whom he blames for his predicament. One of the ex-pals is wealthy Clifford Scott, played by Tom Neal. Now, Neal is usually an interesting actor to watch; anyone who has seen "Detour" or "Bowery at Midnight" can see he has some screen presence. But not in this film. Befitting the boring story and drab direction from Jean Yarbrough, Neal is a bore sans charisma who is killed by The Creeper.

Meanwhile, in what film historian Tom Weaver has correctly tagged as a grotesque homage/parody to the superb "Bride of Frankenstein," the Creeper becomes infatuated with a beautiful blind piano instructor, played by minor starlet Jane Adams, (best known for being a hunchback nurse killed by mad doctor Onslow Stevens in "House of Dracula.") Despite the Creeper's declarations that he's wanted by the cops, Adams invites him to visit her as often as he can. Also, for a little while, the Creeper is unaware she's blind ...

Eventually, The Creeper" kills a pawnbroker and gives the blind woman, named Helen Paige, diamonds to pay for an operation to restore her sight. Naturally, when she tries to redeem them, the police inform her they are stolen. (This is as boring to write as it was to watch).

Eventually, the languid cops use Helen, having her publicly confess-- via the press -- that she knows who The Creeper is. (Why they wouldn't keep it secret and wait for another Creeper visit, when he wouldn't be angry and ready to kill, is beyond me.) Anyway, the Creeper learns that Helen "turned" on him and hurries to her apartment to kill her. There, he's intercepted by the police and captured. End of story.

"The Brute Man" runs under an hour. It's strikingly underscores how Universal's chiller Bs deteriorated in the last couple of years, with Spider Woman and The Creeper. Everyone attacks Rondo Hatton for his poor performance, and it is bad. He whines rather than talks and his attacks are poorly staged. But has anyone considered that poor Rondo Hatton was in the final months of his life. He was dying! I'm sure he could use the money in the final few years of his life but the use of him as The Creeper is creepy and exploitative.

Ironically, Hatton's grotesque visage has become very iconic. The now defunct Cult Movies magazine used it on its cover for years and the Monster Kid Classic Board, or whatever it's called, has annual "Rondo" awards for excellence in the genre. I supposed the iconic status of Hatton justifies using his face today, and I don't doubt the good will or sincerity of the fans today. But it still seems like one more bit of exploitation toward a man who suffered from a truly tragic disease that caused him great pain during his life. If any screen visage should honor excellence in the genre, it should be Lon Chaney's Phantom of the Opera. Watch "The Brute Man" below, via MST3K.

Questions for Barbara Payton's biographer John O'Dowd -- Part 1

By Doug Gibson

Recently, at Plan9Crunch, I reviewed John O'Dowd's biography of the ill-fated 1950s movie star Barbara Payton (seen above), "Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye: The Barbara Payton Story." (Buy) You can read the Plan9Crunch review here. (I also wrote a review for my newspaper, The Standard-Examiner, here.)

The reviews were popular reads, and O'Dowd was kind enough to agree to my request for an interview. I asked him 10 questions. The first five questions and answers are below. In several days Plan9Crunch will publish the second half of the interview. So read on, and enjoy! Photo above is courtesy of O'Dowd.

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PLAN9CRUNCH: What do you think Payton's finest film performance was?

         
          O'DOWD: I think Barbara’s finest acting performance was in her first WB film, “Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye”. Although she had only been acting professionally for two years, Barbara’s performance in the film was strong and nuanced and totally believable. Barbara worked extremely well with the film’s director, Gordon Douglas, and if she had been able to rein in her personal life during that time and had concentrated more on her acting career, she might have stayed at WB for several years (instead of for just a little over a year), and worked with Douglas a lot more times. Gordon Douglas really pulled a great performance out of her in KTG…more so, I think, than he was able to do in Barbara’s film with Gregory Peck, “Only The Valiant”. (Barbara seemed really distracted in that picture, but then again, her role in the film was quite small and I’m not sure how much more she could have done with what little she had been given to do in it.) But, getting back to “Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye”, Barbara very believably took her character through several personality changes, according to the requirements of the script. Her character of Holiday Carleton started out as a very naïve and impressionable young woman, but as she fell deeper under the spell of the character that James Cagney played in the film (that of a sadistic and unregenerate criminal named Ralph Cotter), she gradually transitioned into a greedy and reckless person who came to completely overlook Cotter’s evil ways. Several people who knew Barbara have told me that her real-life personality was closest to the character she played in KTG. Barbara, it seems, was naïve, trusting, thrill-seeking and reckless throughout her entire life. She was inherently goodhearted (like Holiday), but also tragically drawn to the very unhealthy influences which usually surrounded her. Knowing this, it has made watching her work in KTG even more fascinating.

PLAN9CRUNCH: What contemporary star is most like Payton as an actress?

O'DOWD: I’m not sure I can answer that question as I am nearly completely unfamiliar with the work (and even the names) of most contemporary film actresses (especially those in their 20s and 30s). There is a film project on Barbara’s life (titled “Bad Blonde”) that is currently in development in Los Angeles, and I am trusting that the two producers who are shepherding the project (Ira Besserman and Barrett Stuart) know a lot more about today’s actresses than I do, because unfortunately, I know very little. I am not a big fan of the majority of today’s films, as they seem to concentrate more on special effects than on character-driven storylines (which is what I prefer). I am far more interested in, and have more knowledge of, the films and stars of Classic Hollywood.

 PLAN9CRUNCH: What was Payton's top feature as an actress or as someone that would appeal to fans and be a star?

          

          O'DOWD: I believe Barbara was a very effective performer who was usually responsive and totally present if she felt connected to the material she had been given. In “Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye” and “Murder is My Beat”, for instance, which are two of her better films, there is an innate honesty and intelligence in both Barbara’s line readings and in her facial expressions, that is very apparent. I really wish she had been given the opportunity to work a lot more and to build up her film credits with good projects, because I think she would have surprised a lot of people with the strength and scope of her acting talent.

PLAN9CRUNCH: Who was the greatest positive influence in Payton's life?

            

          O'DOWD: Unequivocally, that person would have to be her son, John Lee Payton. Every person I interviewed for the book who knew Barbara personally, stressed to me how much she loved and cherished him. That she would end up losing custody of him (and, in fact, would never see him again for the rest of her life) makes that, of course, a huge irony. While she truly loved John Lee, and never treated him with anything other than the utmost warmth and kindness, Barbara was severely devoid of proper parenting skills. Amazingly, when John Lee was just a child, Barbara not only regularly exposed him to her horrendous lifestyle of indiscriminate sex, drug use and excessive drinking, she also often left him alone for long periods of time. No matter how you look at it, that is unforgivably irresponsible of her. However, over time, I have come to understand just how skewed Barbara’s thinking was, and while she doesn’t get a pass from me for this really terrible behavior, I do “get” it (and her), and John Lee does, too. In fact, he has long ago forgiven her for all the mistakes she made in raising him, and has remained totally loyal and loving to his mother’s memory. I believe that says a lot for the man himself, as well as the positive and lasting influences of the people who greatly picked up the slack for Barbara, and helped raise John Lee (mainly, Jan Redfield and her family, and John Payton, Sr.)

PLAN9CRUNCH: Who was the great love in her life and why?

O'DOWD: Again, I would have to say, her son, John Lee. But then again, that was a pure,            maternal love. In terms of whom she loved romantically, I have to believe the greatest love          of her life was Tom Neal. Then again, that may have also been the sickest and unhealthiest          relationship she was ever involved in, as well. The dynamic there was very strong, very              passionate, and more than a bit sado-masochistic. Barbara was drawn to Neal’s intrinsic “bad boy” qualities, and I think she wanted him to stay that way every bit as much as she wanted to tame him. They were drawn to each other in an almost feral way, and the fever-pitch of their relationship, I think, doomed it from the start. They shared a big and messy life together and they had to burn out in a big and messy way, which they did. I don’t believe, though, that Barbara ever got over Tom Neal. I am not certain if he ever got over her, but I tend to think their breaking up added a few layers to the damage in Barbara that was already there. Her behavior certainly grew more unhealthy after Neal exited her life…that’s for sure.

Surf back to Plan9Crunch soon, readers, to read part 2 of our interview with Barbara Payton biographer, John O'Dowd. One question focuses on why no one was able to successfully help Payton as she spiraled into a living hell.

Bio of ill-fated starlet Barbara Payton is a horrifying Hollywood tale

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Review by Doug Gibson

"Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye: The Barbara Payton Story," 2007, Bear Manor Media, by John O'Dowd, is a horrifying story. It's very tough to read, particularly if one knows the very public fate of the very beautiful early 1950s Warner Brothers starlet Payton, who rivaled Marilyn Monroe in beauty. The actress, who was once earning several thousand a week, was a mere 10 years later a street hooker in the shabby sections of Hollywood, perpetually intoxicated, frequently stoned, and dispensing blow jobs to derelicts for $5. Payton didn't live long; her heart and liver gave out at 39.

As mentioned, it's a horrifying tale; author O'Dowd has chronicled Payton's life in an interesting manner. He deserves credit for compiling a tremendous amount of information. Payton's remaining family members, an ex-husband, a former booze and sleeping partner, film executives, former lovers, people who only knew the ill-fated actress a few minutes, all are eager to share their memories. (This can be carried to a fault. Did we really have to hear from the scuzzy former low-low level employee of the old Hollywood Citizen-News newspaper who recalled paying Payton $5 for oral sex outside the newspaper office?)

Nevertheless, O'Dowd is fond of his subject, even as the disgusting details of Payton's unfortunate life are splayed on the pages. The author sees Payton's life as a morality tale, in which the subject is both perpetrator and victim of her own downfall. Barbara Redfield, born in Minnesota and later raised in Odessa, Texas, was blessed with tremendous beauty. Her life seemed to be moving toward success. She married John Payton, an World War II pilot and a war hero. The attractive couple moved to Los Angeles County, and had a baby.

Not long after, Barbara, who had began modeling, left her husband, taking the baby with her. She began a successful quest in films, earning roles in western shorts and bit parts in larger studios. She was a contract actress. She also began what would be a long series of affairs with stars. Her first major lover was Bob Hope, who set her up in an apartment with an allowance.

Eventually, Payton's beauty and acting talent led to a major role with James Cagney in the film "Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye." That led to the Warner Brothers deal and wealth for the 20-something Payton. That should have meant a long, prosperous acting career. Instead, it was the peak of Payton's career. While she would become far better known over the next several years, it was bad publicity, that gradually destroyed her career. Warner Brothers loaned her out for minor films, including the cult film, Bride of the Gorilla.

As described in her biography, Payton liked to party, and she liked to hook up. She might have survived the occasional bad publicity if she had not met Tom Neal, a low-budget acting "hunk" with a bad temper. Payton initiated an affair with Neal when she was engaged to actor Franchet Tone. One day Neal savagely beat Tone, who was hospitalized. Despite the aggression, Payton continued her affair with Neal, even after she married Tone. After the divorce, Payton and Neal tried to be a team, making a few films and doing plays, but they eventually broke up. (Neal would eventually go to prison for the manslaughter death of his later wife.) (The much-older Tone would spend the rest of his life not thinking about Payton. He would die 17 months after Payton.)

That was it for Payton's career. She stayed beautiful for the rest of the 50s, living a bohemian life, marrying a much younger man and living in poverty in Mexico. In LA, she was Vampira's neighbor in a roach-infested apartment complex. She may have plied a trade as a high-priced hooker in Chicago. She lost custody of her young son, John Lee Payton, and only saw him once more.

In the late 1950s, Payton, slimmed down, made a final attempt to get back in pictures. It was a failure. The only star who tried to help her was Raymond Burr, whom she had helped get a role in "Bride of the Gorilla." Burr wanted her to guest on his TV show "Perry Mason," but the producers said no. At that point, Barbara Payton slipped out of respectable society and drowned in the filth of the streets.

Except for a pathetic, exploitative, mostly fictional "autobiography" "I Am Not Ashamed," published in 1963, and the recollections of bit movies actor John Rayborn, who lived with Payton in the mid-1960s, there's not much insight into what caused Payton to choose a life of degradation. She had family in southern California, her parents and her brother's family as well. She would make occasional stops at her parents' home in San Diego but return to the streets, where she could earn money for booze by prostituting.

Her body finally gave out, and she was discovered early one morning -- next to a drug store/market -- unconscious. After several weeks in a hospital, she was sent to her parents' home. Not long afterwards, she died there in May 1967.

Payton likely suffered mental illness, exacerbated by her alcoholism and periodic drug abuse. Much of her intellect -- she had been an intelligent woman, a talented actress, and a superb cook -- was likely destroyed by her addictions. O'Dowd theorizes that Payton hated herself and believed that her fall was appropriate, that she had lived a wicked life.

The seeds of Payton's problems may have began early. Her family was dysfunctional. Both her parents, Lee and Mabel Redfield, were severe alcoholics. Barbara suffered from a lack of warmth from her father, who acted as if she disgusted him. Some wonder if Barbara was abused by her father. There's strong evidence that Barbara was statutorily raped by a middle-aged man in her teens. She also eloped as a teenager with a friend. It was quickly annulled. It's possible that these crises engendered deep self-loathing in the actress.

If Payton had been born a generation or two later, she might have received help. Instead, the gossip magazines, forerunner of cheap reality shows, exploited her. The top gossip columnists, Louella Parsons, Hedda Hopper and others, savaged Payton with glee, often ignoring the male celebrities she coupled with. The 1960s was not a great time for celebrities' redemption.

O'Dowd's biography is superb, even if I criticize him for throwing in even the kitchen sinks of the sordid details. According to the Bear Manor Media website (here) it will become a movie. If it has a capable director and a strong star, it could be Oscar material. The story is that compelling, and tragic.

What happened to Payton happens all the time to hundreds of thousands of others every decade. But her story is unique. She was a Hollywood star, and she was so very beautiful. Find one of her films of the early 1950s and you'll see. Cult film fans might enjoy Bride of the Gorilla. The hell this beauty descended into was far worse than a quick overdose death or even a violent end. Those would have been merciful compared to the last several years of her life.

Edgar Ulmer's 'Detour' remains a fascinating film

By Doug Gibson

I watched Edgar Ulmer's 1945 Producers Releasing Corporation film Detour. I've seen it often but it never fails to provide a punch-in-the-gut tribute to great film noir. What director Edgar Ulmer was able to capture on a shoestring budget with PRC is better than 99 percent of the major studios' efforts. Detour, by the way, would be a great double feature with Gun Crazy.

The casting of the two leads helps make the film so successful. Tom Neal, as Al Roberts, luckless pianist whose life is destroyed crossing the country to hook up with his girlfriend, is a good-lucking luckless anti-Humphrey Bogart. His fatality, fear and hesitance makes him, for most of the film, an easy foil to abuse for Vera, played by Ann Savage -- what an appropriate name!. Savage's performance is even more critical to the film than Neal's. She is pure hostility and real anger. Observing her, one can imagine Vera as being able to chew barbed wire to a cud and spit it out as masticated metal.

Yet there is a vulnerability to Vera. Observe the scene where she oh so subtly tries to seduce Neal's Al. It's a subtle moment of vulnerability from an ice woman. When Neal, in whiny fashion, appropriately rejects her overture, anger results so quickly that the initial hurt is barely observed.

The ending of Detour will always be debated. Did Al turn himself into the cop he abruptly meets? Did the cop arrest him, or is the cop just approaching what looks like a beaten down drunk? Or is the whole saga of Al's Detour a fantasy of a deeply disturbed man?

I am reading a biography of Barbara Payton, and it's sad that both Neal, and Payton, ruined their lives through violence and substance abuse. Neal eventually went to prison for manslaughter, long after he had split with the volatile Payton and died not long after he was released. A sad end to a once-promising actor whose dysfunctions and mercurial temperament badly damaged his career.

'The Brute Man' marked a pathetic end to Universal's golden age of horror

By Doug Gibson

I love the 15 golden years of Universal Studio horror films, starting with Dracula and adding Frankenstein, Igor, The Wolf Man, two Mummies, various Invisible humans and assorted mad scientists, creatures and tortured professionals (think Inner Sanctum). But the final film of the genre, "The Brute Man," stinks. 

Rondo Hatton was a truly tragic figure. Universal's last "monster," he was "The Creeper," except he didn't creep. He more or less staggered. He suffered from acromegaly, which disfigured his face and badly affected his health. In fact, he died of a heart attack a couple of months after "The Brute Man" wrapped at Universal. It was eventually sold to Producers Releasing Company, not due to quality; Universal, in the midst of a merger, was shedding its B-film productions. 

"The Brute Man" involves a series of murders committed by "The Creeper," an ugly, tall figure who apparently can slither through the city and kill at will. The police, doing nothing, are badgered by the mayor to catch the Creeper. Meanwhile, in a risible plot development, the Creeper orders groceries to his shack by the waterfront and then kills the delivery boy when he gets too curious. 

Finally, the police gather that The Creeper is an embittered former college football star who was disfigured in a lab accident. He's getting revenge on his ex-college pals whom he blames for his predicament. One of the ex-pals is wealthy Clifford Scott, played by Tom Neal. Now, Neal is usually an interesting actor to watch; anyone who has seen "Detour" or "Bowery at Midnight" can see he has some screen presence. But not in this film. Befitting the boring story and drab direction from Jean Yarbrough, Neal is a bore sans charisma who is killed by The Creeper.

Meanwhile, in what film historian Tom Weaver has correctly tagged as a grotesque homage/parody to the superb "Bride of Frankenstein," the Creeper becomes infatuated with a beautiful blind piano instructor, played by minor starlet Jane Adams, (best known for being a hunchback nurse killed by mad doctor Onslow Stevens in "House of Dracula.") Despite the Creeper's declarations that he's wanted by the cops, Adams invites him to visit her as often as he can. Also, for a little while, the Creeper is unaware she's blind ...

Eventually, The Creepe" kills a pawnbroker and gives the blind woman, named Helen Paige, diamonds to pay for an operation to restore her sight. Naturally, when she tries to redeem them, the police inform her they are stolen. (This is as boring to write as it was to watch).

Eventually, the languid cops use Helen, having her publicly confess-- via the press -- that she knows who The Creeper is. (Why they wouldn't keep it secret and wait for another Creeper visit, when he wouldn't be angry and ready to kill, is beyond me.) Anyway, the Creeper learns that Helen "turned" on him and hurries to her apartment to kill her. There, he's intercepted by the police and captured. End of story.

"The Brute Man" runs under an hour. It's strikingly underscores how Universal's chiller Bs deteriorated in the last couple of years, with Spider Woman and The Creeper. Everyone attacks Rondo Hatton for his poor performance, and it is bad. He whines rather than talks and his attacks are poorly staged. But has anyone considered that poor Rondo Hatton was in the final months of his life. He was dying! I'm sure he could use the money in the final few years of his life but the use of him as The Creeper is creepy and exploitative.

Ironically, Hatton's grotesque visage has become very iconic. The now defunct Cult Movies magazine used it on its cover for years and the Monster Kid Classic Board, or whatever it's called, has annual "Rondo" awards for excellence in the genre. I supposed the iconic status of Hatton justifies using his face today, and I don't doubt the good will or sincerity of the fans today. But it still seems like one more bit of exploitation toward a man who suffered from a truly tragic disease that caused him great pain during his life. If any screen visage should honor excellence in the genre, it should be Lon Chaney's Phantom of the Opera. Watch "The Brute Man" below, via MST3K.

Some thoughts about Edgar Ulmer's "Detour"

By Doug Gibson

I watched Edgar Ulmer's 1945 Producers Releasing Corporation film Detour a couple of days. I've seen it often but it never fails to provide a punch-in-the-gut tribute to great film noir. What director Edgar Ulmer was able to capture on a shoestring budget with PRC is better than 99 percent of the major studios' efforts. Detour, by the way, would be a great double feature with Gun Crazy.

The casting of the two leads helps make the film so successful. Tom Neal, as Al Roberts, luckless pianist whose life is destroyed crossing the country to hook up with his girlfriend, is a good-lucking luckless anti-Humphrey Bogart. His fatality, fear and hesitance makes him, for most of the film, an easy foil to abuse for Vera, played by Ann Savage -- what an appropriate name!. Savage's performance is even more critical to the film than Neal's. She is pure hostility and real anger. Observing her, one can imagine Vera as being able to chew barbed wire to a cud and spit it out as masticated metal.

Yet there is a vulnerability to Vera. Observe the scene where she oh so subtly tries to seduce Neal's Al. It's a subtle moment of vulnerability from an ice woman. When Neal, in whiny fashion, appropriately rejects her overture, anger results so quickly that the initial hurt is barely observed.

The ending of Detour will always be debated. Did Al turn himself into the cop he abruptly meets? Did the cop arrest him, or is the cop just approaching what looks like a beaten down drunk? Or is the whole saga of Al's Detour a fantasy of a deeply disturbed man?

Thinking about Bowery at Midnight

By Doug Gibson

I saw Bowery at Midnight again, this time courtesy of Turner Classic Movies. It's an example of the Monogram Studios C-film magic Bela Lugosi was putting out in the early 40s.

The 1942 61-minute film is a classic cheapie. Lugosi dominates the film in a dual role. He's a kindly NYC Bowery shelter operator and college professor. At night he's a sociopathic criminal mastermind who kills on a whim. In the basement of his soup kitchen/shelter he runs his operations. A deranged drug-addicted doctor revives most of his victims and keeps them hidden below one of the "graves."

Lugosi's assistant, played by 40s starlet Wanda McKay, eventually snoops on him. Her boyfriend, a student in Lugosi's character's class, snoops too much and gets shot. A baby-faced killer (Tom Neal) is recruited by Lugosi but eventually become too much for the evil doctor to handle.

You can't make this stuff up. It's a wonderful, almost magical film in its low-budget wackiness. Its low budget can't possible meet its expectations, but it somehow more than pleases, with its grimy, bowery settings, Monogram staple music and, of course, Lugosi.

My review on Plan 9 Crunch's Review of the Day site is here:
http://p9crotd.blogspot.com/2008/09/review-bowery-at-midnight.html

I'd like to add some notes: The director, Wallace Fox, was a dependable C-movie director of the time. Co-star Tom Neal made the film noir masterpiece Detour. He was a star in the 50s before flaming out and later going to prison for manslaughter. Starlet McKay was in a few Lugosi Monogram films. Her road to Hollywood was paved via winning beauty pageants. Michael Copner, ex-editor of Cult Movies Magazine, lists Bowery at Midnight as his favorite film.

Like any cult film, Bowery certainly improves upon repeat viewing. I tag it with The Ape Man as my favorite of Lugosi's Monogram films of the early 40s.