The Blackbird (1926)

Director: Tod Browning

Cast: Lon Chaney, Owen Moore, Renée Adorée, Doris Lloyd

Have I Seen it Before: Never.

Did I Like It: Two things are immediately striking me as fundamentally wrongheaded about the film*.

First, its plot is far too convoluted, so much so that I think the material would still produce headaches in… well, me… if it were produced as a talkie. There’s the handicapped saint, his no-account criminal of a brother (Chaney, in both roles), and then another criminal running around. It seems like they all love the same French girl, and the police are singularly unable to tell any of the three of them apart, until the plot basically resolves itself.

More importantly, however, is my deep belief that Chaney was fundamentally miscast in the role, or his abilities were fundamentally underused. This man with a thousand faces really has one face here, but we are supposed to believe that Chaney simply contorting his lim is tapping into some kind of grand cinematic magic…

When it isn’t. There isn’t two roles. I feel okay spoiling a 100-year-old film, but the dual role is a ruse, and the whole affair—if you’ll let me go back to complaining about the plot—ends with Chaney’s character having prettended to be crippled so much that he is now actually afflicted, and so severely, that he will die within minutes.

All I’m saying is that if Chaney could have been at least the man of two faces, I might have been able to sit in the theater and marvel how they pulled off such a feat in the early days of cinema. The film couldn’t offer even that much.

*I’m still enough of a neophyte at film criticism, that I feel gunshy dismissing a film I didn’t quite enjoy, simply because it was made by talent I have enjoyed elsewhere (Browning, Chaney). Both of them are long since dead, so I can’t imagine my dim enthusiasm will somehow discourage them from doing better next time.

Dracula (1931) (English-Language Version)

Director: Tod Browning (the poor man’s James Whale, but we’ll get to that)

Cast: Bela Lugosi, Helen Chandler, David Manners*, Edward Van Sloane

Have I Seen it Before: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Did I Like It: I just said, “Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

Look, I love the classic Universal Monster movies. Bride of Frankenstein (1935) is one of my all-time favorite movies. I could watch Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948)** on a loop forever. I even kind of liked The Mummy (2017) because—for all of its faults—it was trying to recapture the original shared universe that these films initially inhabited.

However, not all of the Universal classics—even A-list ones made before they were relegated to the neglected b-side of the Laemmle production empire—are created equal. So, in that spirit, here’s a confession about this granddaddy of all vampire films.

It’s frightfully dull.

Like, it should be a controlled substance, because it’s chemically indistinct from an aggressive, possibly habit-forming sleeping pill. I’ve watched this movie probably a dozen times over the course of my life, and not once have I avoided feeling drowsy by the last half hour. It works like a charm, every time.

Even on this viewing, amped up with a little more caffeine than I perhaps should have consumed, by the time the lady in white starts offering some local children chocolate, I can feel my eyes starting to grow heavy. I persevered through sheer dint of will power, but it was a struggle.

Now “coma-inducing” doesn’t feel like high praise for a film, and on it’s face that is probably correct. On the cutting edge of talking pictures, cinema really hadn’t figured out how to do anything more advanced than a filmed performance of a stage play at this point. Indeed, the film is rather a slavish adaptation of the stage play by Hamilton Deane and John L Balderston, rather than the original novel by Bram Stoker. Every time I see a bat hanging by a string, or an awkwardly blocked scene, I can’t help but think of a stage production that could have used a little bit more time. Also, it should be mentioned, Tod Browning may not have been up to the task of adapting the film. The Spanish-language version of the film—produced using many of the same resources and at the same time as this film—is actually far more striking in its artistic flourishes. To imagine what James Whale could have done with this material. Oy.

But, also, it’s flaws can become kind of endearing. That it lulls me into such deep comfort, that my mind and body thinks its time to sleep may be a virtue. It’s probably not the virtue that the filmmakers would have hoped for, but to be the cinematic equivalent of a warm blanket is at least something.

And then, I can’t help but wonder if the film—and, by extension, Dracula himself—have managed to gain a thorough thrall on me… What have I done while I thought I was sleeping during this movie? Oh, Master… I’ve been loyal. Please don’t kill me!

Ahem.

* Has there ever been a more contract-player-leading-man name than David Manners? Honestly, if you had to guess which b-level milquetoast would eventually become the President of the United States, I wouldn’t have gone with Reagan; this guy would be my pick. Doesn’t matter if Manners is Canadian.

** The only other movie in which Lugosi played the role Count Dracula (and not some vaguely Dracula-ish figure). Now you know, and knowing is half the battle.