'Becoming Dracula: Volume 2' charts Bela Lugosi's rise in the USA

 

Review by Doug Gibson

There's an interesting photo of an advertisement in "Becoming Dracula: Volume 2," BearManor Media, 2021 (Amazon link). It's a 1928 ad for Listerine mouthwash, published in Photoplay magazine. On the right, inconspicuous, is definitely Bela Lugosi, already known as a Broadway, and feature film actor. Lugosi must have been paid for the subtle modeling act. Authors Gary D. Rhodes and Bill Kaffenberger wonder if there are other, still-yet-to-be-discovered ads with Lugosi of that era. I'd wager yes.

The photo underscores two essential truths about Bela Lugosi's three-plus decades in America. He was both -- by all rational assessments -- a successful actor, and a man nearly always in need of money. Even when he had achieved successful working-actor status in America, he made regular forays into the U.S. Hungarian stage scene, often taking the role of director or headlining for a night. These gigs were partially motivated by money, the authors surmise. 

"Becoming Dracula 2" is, like its predecessor, "Becoming Dracula: Volume One, the Early Years of Bela Lugosi," a marvelous mixture of dedicated research and enjoyable style. Through old media sources, many very obscure (long-gone U.S. Hungarian newspapers) and I'm sure not easy to track down, the authors chart Lugosi's slow but steady emergence as a respected stage and screen actor through the 1920s and early 1930s (up to "Dracula" film).

Bela may have arrived in America penniless, but he already had a reputation as an actor in Europe, and quickly found work in various Hungarian stage groups. The Hungarian presence in the United States was large enough to support acting troupes, and Hungarian U.S. newspapers were around to cover it all. Hungarian works, such as "The Tragedy of Man," were featured.

It wasn't long before Bela's skill made him an attractive option for English-speaking theaters. One of his more significant early plays was "The Red Poppy," which featured a popular star of the era, Estelle Winwood. Lugosi's scenes with Winwood were noted by critics.

Bela appeared on the stage with co-stars who would also achieve huge success, including Leslie Howard and Fredric March. One of his Broadway plays, "Arabesque," in which his character shared passionate scenes with actress Hortense Alden, shocked audiences. (See Lugosi and Alden below). 

Besides staying busy on the stage, the authors detail Lugosi's resumption of a movie career in the 1920s. His earlier films, from mid-size producers, include "Silent Command," "The Midnight Girl," "The Rejected Woman,'" and "Daughters Who Pay." Watching these films reveal an actor with strong screen presence, one who attracts the camera's attention, whether playing a hero or villain. 

Playing "Dracula" on Broadway led to Bela getting that defining film role. The journey to filming "Dracula" is interesting. Rhodes and Kaffenberger provide a detailed log of events, including Bela accompanying the play to the West Coast and its continued success there. A host of actors were considered. Lugosi gradually became a Los Angeles-based actor, a move that would last the rest of his life. The authors detail Bela's persistent efforts to retain his coveted role for the film, including shrewd marketing efforts. He made sure he was playing Count Dracula for a brief stint in Oakland as final casting was being set. 

Lugosi also parleyed his stage success with more films, including a contract with Fox for a few pre-Dracula films. He also had a major role, although inexplicably billed seventh, in "The Thirteenth Chair." It was for MGM, and directed by Tod Browning, who would helm "Dracula."

Despite being busy as an actor between the play, "Dracula," and the film version, Bela was still feeling financial pinches. The authors include correspondence from the actor where he expresses displeasure with his finances and career. Lugosi would find ways to make money providing Hungarian dialogue for U.S. films. He also appeared in short films, some of which are likely lost. He may have had some roles where his scenes were deleted.

The authors capably detail much of Lugosi's personal life, including two failed marriages and his well-known affair with screen star Clara Bow. One marriage, with an heiress named Beatrice Weeks, provides insight into the actor's mind. He was likely prone to impulsive decisions. He also had a traditional, for the time, Hungarian male perspective of marriage, with the man working and the woman serving. This led to a quick divorce with the independent Weeks, who was apparently also prone to impulsive acts.

"Becoming Dracula: Volume 2" is a joy for genre purists; as Volume 1 was. Volume 2 respects the first volume by starting with, Chapter 21. We revel in the minutia that Rhodes and Kaffenberger have painstakingly logged; the footnotes are dessert. There's 10,000 facts to learn that I have not included in this review. 

But the ease of reading and good-natured occasional observations from the authors also make this a wise choice for the casual reader. It provides a primer for how actors moved through the stage and film worlds 90-plus years ago. I think both "Becoming Dracula" volumes would be valuable texts for film classes. I'd love to see this writing style used for other famous actors, say Boris Karloff. The poring over of obscure, mostly forgotten publications -- a healthy percentage only saved with crumbling print -- guarantees that new scholarship is logged.

Becoming Dracula: Volume 1 excellent scholarship from authors Rhodes and Kaffenberger

 

Review by Doug Gibson

"Becoming Dracula: The Early Years of Bela Lugosi: Volume 1," (BearManor Media, 2021) is an absolutely superb targeted biography of Lugosi's first 38 years, from the son of a baker-turned-banker in Lugos, Hungary (now part of Romania) to late 1920, when the already acclaimed Budapest/Berlin thespian arrived penniless in New Orleans, La. 

Authors Gary Rhodes and Bill Kaffenberger have collaborated before on Lugosi books. They pored over well-over-century-old documents to unearth many new facts on Lugosi's early life and career, and they clarified and corrected information -- not completely accurate -- due to fanciful press interviews. Also corrected is some long-used incorrect information, including where Lugosi performed as Jesus Christ. He did not debut in The Passion in Debrecen, Hungary, but in Budapest in 1912.

Readers accustomed to thinking of the former Bela Blasko as only a creature of the night will enjoy the authors' account of Bela's steady rise through the Hungarian acting community. He started very small, gained stature in the provinces, playing a wide variety of roles. He did not get the call the first time he auditioned to perform in Budapest. But he gained great provincial acclaim as a talented, very handsome actor in cities such as Debrecen, and Szeged. After 1912, he became a frequent Budapest actor, with a very large fan base.

He performed in so many play adaptations. Here's just a few: Trilby, Romeo and Juliet, Anna Karenina, The Tragedy of Man, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Taming of the Shrew, Richard III, and, of course The Passion. He even eventually played -- in a film -- a "vampire," but it was not the undead type. It was the mortal, devious seducer type.

As the authors note, he did not always play the lead, or even a supporting role. Hungary's thespian community was one where actors played multiple types of roles, even extras. The authors hypothesize that some of Bela's roles may have been as obscure as a face in a crowd. But he did play many major roles, and the scores of newspaper articles gathered by the authors underscore his popularity and notoriety. He was at times criticized for overacting, or over-emoting.

The authors describe a pre-World War I Budapest that must have been thrilling for those within and interested in the arts and politics. The cafes of the city were places for passionate discussions of the arts and politics. Reading Rhodes and Kaffenberger makes me yearn to go back in time just to traverse the Budapest of that era, enter a cafe, and listen to a verbose and very opinionated Lugosi hold court on the arts and politics.

World War I stymied the arts for a while, and also tempered the fervor of many Hungarians who fought for Germany, including the officer Lugosi, who was wounded. According to the authors, he convinced doctors he was mentally unstable, and needed a discharge. Lugosi may have suffered from what we now know as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He did have lasting physical wounds. As the authors note, he had a lifelong empathy with veterans of war.

Lugosi resumed acting on the stage, and also moved to film acting, initially under the name Arisztid Olt. The authors merit respect for tracking down reviews and plots of many Lugosi Hungarian films. Only a fragment of one film exists today. 

Lugosi, long a matinee idol, also married for the first time, to Ilona Szmik, the daughter of a bank attorney. 

Lugosi became politically radicalized after the war. He supported communist government leaders. He was a communist. When one leader was pushed out by a more extreme communist government led by Bela Kun -- who was a puppet of Russia's Lenin -- Lugosi unwisely embraced Kun. He became a labor leader for the new government, in an era of increasing political violence. 

While Lugosi appears to have eschewed violence, the inevitable overthrow of Kun by a rightest alternative, and inevitable reprisals, placed Lugosi in real danger. He and his wife fled to Vienna. Soon afterwards, Ilona's parents, opposed to Lugosi's politics, persuaded their daughter to leave Vienna, return to Budapest and divorce him. In what seems unfair, the divorce was granted on claims that Bela had deserted Ilona

Bela could not chance a return to Budapest. Based on a mistaken-identity warrant, he was charged with serious crimes. The actual perpetrator had a similar name and was also an actor. The warrant was not withdrawn until the mid 1920s, with Lugosi already in the United States. 

Lugosi relocated to Berlin, and re-invigorated his career. As the authors note, post-World War I Berlin was a "Babylon" of sorts, with a culture of promiscuity (Lugosi enjoyed his share of that) and a more permissive attitude among the arts. Although not always the star, Lugosi was very active, appearing in more than a dozen German films. One, heavily edited for U.S. release from 1920, survives under the title "Daughter of the Night." It can be viewed on YouTube and other streaming services.

Why Lugosi abruptly left for the United States, without much funds, is open to debate. Perhaps he was still worried about being arrested? The authors suggest maybe a love affair went bad. More likely, they opine, is Lugosi was depressed after Ilona filed for divorce in June of 2020. 

I look forward to Part 2 of the book, slated for summer release. It's another must-have book from Rhodes and Kaffenberger. Due to the very large amount of new information unearthed through old-fashioned, shoe-leather reporting and research, I list it, along with "Vampire Over London: Bela Lugosi in Britain: Second Edition," by Frank Dello Stritto and Andi Brooks, as the two best targeted biographical works on Lugosi.

'Lamebrains and Lunatics' an excellent guide to silent film comedy

Review by Doug Gibson

“Lame Brains & Lunatics: The Good, the Bad, and the Forgotten of Silent Comedy“ (BearManor Media), by Steve Massa is a very comprehensive account of the "forgotten" stars of silent comedy 90 and 100 years ago. There's less of Chaplin, Keaton and Lloyd and more of Billie Ritchie, Fay Tincher, Alice Howell and Max Linder.

To be honest, I will soon have a review of this book published in the Standard-Examiner newspaper, of which I am the features and entertainment editor. But I want to give readers a glimpse of the book as well as solid recommendation that they dip into their savings and purchase it from Bear Manor, either the dead tree edition or the inexpensive Kindle edition.

The book, which includes a comprehensive index of the silent comedy era and an excellent index, which is a luxury we sometimes don't see in genre book, covers silent comedy in two ears. Its early years, which started in the years after 1910, and the later period of the 20s. There are some poignant tales of silent stars who died early, including Ritchie, a model for Charles Chaplin, who lingered on and died after being attacked by ostriches. There's the tragic life of French superstore Max Lindor, who eventually, with his wife, committed suicide several years after dealing with the horrors of World War I.

There's the obscurity-to-stardom tales of Alice Howell, who was just toiling in pictures to help her family, and chubby toddler Joe Cobb, who visited Roach studios on a vacation with his parents and gained a starring role in the Our Gang series. Massa also explains how the low-key comedy talents of Harry Langdon inspired Stan Laurel to create the memorable Laurel half with Hardy as a teammate. It was a rough business, silent comedy, with lots of stars and studios crowding for market share. From star to has been in a year or two was not uncommon.

I could go on but let's wait for the review. In the meantime, "Lamebrains and Lunatics" is solid addition to the scholarship of silent cinema. Although it's depressing to think that the vast majority of these early comedians' work is gone, lost forever, Massa is optimistic that still more films of this era, as well as information of the performers, is waiting to be discovered.

An interview with James L. Neibaur, author of The Silent Films of Harry Langdon: 1923-1928

At the newspaper I work for, The Standard-Examiner, I have posted a review of two books, "The Silent Films of Harry Langdon: 1923-28," by James L. Neibaur, and "Chaplin's Vintage Year: The History of the Mutual Chaplin Specials," by Michael J. Hayde. The review can be read here at StandardNET. It will be published in print on March 16, 2014.

Here is an interview with James L. Neibaur, author of the Langdon book, from Scarecrow Press (link here), who was kind enough to answer these questions.

1) How did Harry Langdon go from a silent comedian eager to take direction from Mack Sennett and content to slowly develop his comic persona to one who felt strong enough to make out-of-the mainstream films such as Three's a Crowd and The Chaser? 

Neibaur: When Harry Langdon was new to movies he accepted the scripts and direction and did what he could with them based on his years of experience on stage.  When he made Pluck of the Irish, he found that director Harry Edwards would ask for his input and ideas, so Langdon used the elements of his established character more discernibly in this film.  That character was even further honed in subsequent movies.


2) What elements of Harry Langdon's edgy vision are in Tramp, Tramp, Tramp and The Strong Man?

Neibaur:  In Tramp Tramp Tramp , once he is convinced to enter the foot race that is the body of the film, his absolute focus on the task despite all obstacles there are surreal coincidences that compound to ultimately turn out in Harry's favor.  Perhaps the edgiest scene is when his rival convinces him to consume enough drugs and alcohol to kill him.  On the surface this is merely a setup to the next scene where a groggy Harry must be awakened the following morning to compete in the race.  But the idea of this child-man innocently and trustingly swallowing what amounts to a potentially fatal overdose is a good example of Langdon's edgy approach to his character.  A lesser comedian could not have pulled such a scene off as effectively.

In The Strong Man, there  are many instances where Harry focuses on one thing despite surrounding dangers.  In the battle scenes toward the beginning of the movie, Langdon is shown concentrating on a bothersome "cootie" so completely, he ignores the fact that enemy gunfire is whizzing about him.  When does realize he is under attack, he confidently pulls out a slingshot and fires back at them, never understanding the futility of such an action.  He is ensconced in his own surreal world where a child's toy from a child-man is an effective counter-action to bullets in the midst of a war. 


3) Critics of Harry Langdon have referred to Three's A Crowd as a pale attempt to imitate Chaplin's The Kid. I personally disagree but what is your response to those critics?

Neibaur: It is interesting that these "critics" do not also believe that City Lights is a pale attempt to imitate The Strong Man.  I am sure Langdon was influenced by Chaplin's success with blending comedy and drama for greater depth, but Langdon's approach was far less romantic and far more edgy and surreal. 

4) Do you think that elements of Harry Langdon's personal life. The end of his marriage, his battles with Frank Capra, influenced his desire to make darker, edgier films that he must have known would lose money?

Neibaur: I don't think so.  From my perspective it would appear that Langdon's vision simply clashed with Capra's.  Langdon was more interested in surrealism and Capra more interested in folksy sentiment.  As Langdon enjoyed greater success and was allowed more creative freedom, he wanted to explore these ideas.  Capra was put off by them, but Arthur Ripley appears to have encouraged them.  I don't think he believed these would lose money, however. I think he felt there was an audience for his more radical and original ideas.  There was, but not within the massive throngs of the mainstream.

5) How many years of training and other experience did it take for Harry Langdon to perfect his unique form of silent comedy that relied on long pauses, gradual realization, and scenes that took longer to get a punchline across? Did he learn it in vaudeville or was it learned with Sennett?

Neibaur: I believe the character was already there, and Langdon honed it as he started making more films and was allowed increasingly greater creative input.  The idea that he was a simple minded guy who was guided through every movement by others, and he had essentially no creative will or input of his own, is a long held story that is completely false.

EXTRA QUESTION: If you have time. How does Long Pants serve as a bridge between Langdon's Capraesque films and the later silent ones? And I'm haunted by Harry's expression at the end of Long Pants. What do you think his character is saying?

Neibaur: Capra wanted to continue with the more sentimental approach that had occurred in The Strong Man, while Ripley enjoyed exploring more offbeat ideas.  Langdon's vision was more similar to Ripley's.  He wanted to place his childlike screen character is more offbeat situations (like being court ordered to assume the female role of the household in THE CHASER, or attempting to murder his fiancee in LONG PANTS).   More interested in art than artifice, Langdon followed his creative vision without regard to box office success.  I don't think his character at the end of LONG PANTS is saying anything, actually, I think it is just a simple expression of remaining mired in a surreal world that would continue in the same way as his life went on.

A Christmas Treat -- the 1910 Silent version of A Christmas Carol

Rumor has it that there are more than 200 filmed variations of Charles Dickens' classic "A Christmas Carol." This may be the earliest one, at least surviving. It's the Thomas Alva Edison's 1910 film version of "A Christmas Carol," starring Marc McDermott as Ebenezer Scrooge. Take a break, enjoy it, it's less than 11 minutes long, and later watch a better version starring Alastair Sim or George C. Scott, etc. But enjoy this curio.
-- Doug Gibson

Teddy at the Throttle is classic early slapstick romance

By Doug Gibson

This month (September 2012) Turner Classic Movies is showing early silent Mack Sennett/Keystone Company comedy shorts. They are a treasure to view and my favorite so far is 1917’s “Teddy at the Throttle.” I don’t know if by that date a damsel in distress, a feckless boyfriend, a dastardly villain, the scheming vamp, a heroic dog – and a girl tied to the railroad tracks – had become clichés already.

Certainly, “Teddy at the Throttle” does not take itself seriously. It’s a great comedy, with lots of slapstick that includes slips in the mud and a very fat man taking up two seats on a train. But it’s a must-see film for fans of the silent era. Fortunately, TCM has the full 27-minute version. (YouTube has a couple of shorter versions, a 24-plus minute-version without music and a 22-minute version one that focuses more on the orchestra than the film (see above).

The plot is simple and well-suited for a one-reel comedy farce.  The young lovely is “Gloria Dawn,” played by Gloria Swanson, who is engaged to “Bobbie Knight,” a rather simple-minded by good-hearted man, played by Bobby Vernon. Gloria is an orphan, and her finances are being handled by “Henry Black,” “her rascally guardian,” played by Wallace Beery. Black, of course, is stealing Gloria’s money. He enlists his vampy sister, played by May Emory, who easily turns the head of simple-minded Bobby. At that point,

Black moves in on a repulsed Gloria, hoping to marry her for her cash, get rid of her, and split the loot with his sister. There’s an uncaring aunt who hangs around, lots and lots of extras and of course, there’s “Teddy,” a faithful dog who turns out to be a big hero.

The film, directed by Clarence G. Badger, is fast-paced, manic comedy at its best. The two stars, Swanson and Beery went on to much bigger status, and they are fantastic. Swanson is so vulnerable that you want to reach into the screen and take her away from the villainous Beery, who has no qualms about tying her to the railroad tracks and gleefully anticipating her horrendous death. Ah, but Teddy won’t let that happen.

Besides YouTube and TCM, you can buy Teddy at the Throttle as part of a Kino Collection DVD. It’s worth the cash.

The forgotten Wizard of Oz

By Doug Gibson

Ever heard of Larry Semon? That's all right. Few have. He was a silent movie comic. His physical comedy and sad sack face made him very popular in one-reelers, but his character had a tough time creating pathos with viewers. He needed to be seen in small doses.

Semon had ambition, though, and in the mid 1920s he worked with the son of the late L. Frank Baum, to bring Baum's Wizard of Oz series to the big screen. The 1925 film (versions range from 72 to 81 minutes) is a curio. A huge flop at the box office -- it more or less ruined Semon's career -- it is nevertheless fascinating. It's a so-bad-it's-interesting ego trip from a star who desperately needed a director other than himself. Still, there are moments -- particularly at the beginning of the film -- that feature talented slapstick comedy. Yet, in this film are Semon, of course, big fat slapstick veteran Frank Alexander, a very young Oliver Hardy and Semon's very pretty wife, Dorothy Dwan.

Here's the film in a few paragraphs: We start in Oz, where Prince Kynd (Bryant Washburn) and the citizens are upset with corrupt leaders, including Prime Minister Kruel. The bad leaders consult the Wizard, a con man, who suggests they bring the lost Princess Dorothy back. We cut now to Kansas, where the womanly Dorothy (Dwan) lives with Aunt Em, (Mary Carr) a limp dishrag of a woman, and Uncle Henry (Alexander) a big, fat domestic abuser. He literally punches anyone he meets.

Competing for Dorothy's love are farmhands Semon and Hardy. There is a black farmhand named Snowball. Be advised the film is very racist and the character, played by actor Spencer Bell, is billed as "G. Howe Black." (Later in the film, Semon's character lets loose with a tasteless racist jab at Bell's character) Ths racism was unfortunately the norm for those times.

The film meanders on coherently while the characters are in Kansas. It's cliche-ridden, but there are talented, physical slapstick gags with Semon, Hardy and Alexander. There's a funny bit with bees, and another with a swing. But once the main characters are blown to Oz in a shack it loses all sense. The first nonsensical twist is having Aunt Em -- who is in the wind-guided shack -- disappear when they arrive. It gets worse: Semon turns into the Scarecrow, Hardy the Tin Man and Bell the cowardly lion, but they really aren't these characters. They are disguises. Alexander briefly turns into a good guy, then reverts to being a bad guy. Incomprehensibly, Hardy's Tin Man turns bad too.

Finally, Dwan's Dorothy more or less disappears from the film, becomes betrothed to Prince Kynd, and wants to see Semon's Scarecrow done away with, too! In fact, the film degenerates into a series of bad slapstick gags designed to showcase Semon trying to outwit the Oz folk who want to capture him. The Wizard (Charles Murray) is still hanging around. By then it's really no longer Baum's Wizard of Oz. It's just an overlong, badly paced Semon slapstick show.

As I mentioned, the film bombed. Semon's career was almost ruined. He puttered around in films for a few more years, then died young. Many believe stress over his bankruptcy contributed to his death. For a long time this film was considered obscure and very hard to find. Lately, though it has popped up on DVD, either as an extra to the 1939 The Wizard of Oz, or as the feature attraction in a DVD of silent versions of Baum's Oz tales (there are several as far back as 1910). It has also been shown recently on Turner Classic Movies.

I will say one good thing about the silent Wizard of Oz. Semon's Scarecrow very much resembles in looks and mannerisms of Ray Bolger's much-lauded Scarecrow in the later classic. It seems clear that Bolger did borrow from Semon's portrayal and also managed to bring the empathy to the character that Semon could not achieve. Cult movies fans should note that many of Semon's silent shorts can be purchased today via brick-and-mortar and online stores.