Alfred Hitchcock Presents: Man from the South

With the success of Wonka, Roald Dahl’s kid’s books are selling like crazy, but for cool readers, his macabre stories are where it is at. Alfred Hitchcock was a fan. He “presented” six of Dahl’s stories on his famous anthology show. This one was later remade by the 1980s Alfred Hitchcock Presents reboot and the Dahl anthology series Tales of the Unexpected, but the first was the best. Fittingly, “Man from the South” screens tomorrow as a part of “Good Evening,” a program of Hitchcock’s TV work at UCLA.

When the young “Gambler” meets the young “Woman” in a casino café, sparks immediately fly, even though they are each recovering from a hard luck night. That is why he is initially annoyed when the mysterious Carlos invites himself to their table. However, his interest perks up when the rich weirdo offers him an unusual bet. If the Gambler can light his zippo ten times straight without fail, he wins Carlos’s convertible. However, if he misses just once, Carlos chops off the Gambler’s little finger.

This is a familiar story, because Tarantino spoofed it in his segment of the anthology film Four Rooms, the only good “room.” Yet, the original Hitch Presents production is still surprisingly tense, because Norman Lloyd’s direction is so tight and focused. (Lloyd, the prolific character actor, also co-starred in Hitchcock’s Saboteur and Spellbound, and later produced a dozen episodes of Tales of the Unexpected, but not the “Man from the South” remake.)

Of course, the legendary cast is another big reason why this is absolutely classic television, starting with Peter Lorre’s massively creepy performance as Carlos. He looks like a man who really wants another finger. He took his share of corny gigs late in his career, but this is the vintage Lorre we know from M, Mad Love, and, of course, the Hitchcock films Secret Agent and The Man Who Knew Too Much.

Route 66: Lizard’s Leg and Owlet’s Wing

If only it had Basil Rathbone too. Still, anything that boasts the last on-camera appearances of Boris Karloff in his Frankenstein Monster makeup and Lon Chaney Jr. in his Wolf-Man makeup should definitely be of interest for horror fans. Plus, they also had Peter Lorre along for the ride. However, he gets offended that people find him scary without makeup in one of the extended gags running throughout the “Lizard’s Leg and Owlet’s Wing” episode of Route 66, which airs today as part of Decade TV’s weekend binge.

For the time being, our two suspicious drifters, Tod Stiles and Buz Murdock have accepted convention coordinator positions at a Chicago airport hotel. However, there is tension between them, because Murdock refuses to share his access to the convention of administrative assistants he was assigned to. Since this is 1962, there are all pretty single women.

Instead, Stiles finds himself facilitating a business meeting for three strange looking gentlemen in the film industry. They look like Boris Karloff, Peter Lorre, and Lon Chaney, Jr., because they are, but they are traveling incognito. The three horror legends hope to form a new production company, but Karloff think they must adapt to the times, whereas Lorre and Chaney believe the old monsters will still work.

Since Stiles is starting to appreciate Lorre’s weird charm, he agrees to help him and Chaney scare the wits out of the “secretaries” to prove their point to Karloff and get back at Murdock. Chaos ensues, but there is one heartbroken woman they just can’t scare. Fortunately, Karloff is there to give her grandfatherly solace.

Admittedly, the secretarial convention storyline is painfully dated, but that’s on Route 66, not Karloff, Lorre, or Chaney. On the other hand, the episode will delight horror fans, because of the way it capitalizes on the iconic actors’ personas. Karloff is kindly and genteel, evoking the spirit of his legendary cartoon voiceovers. Lorre is sophisticated, continental, and eccentric, whereas Chaney is a likable lug, who is devoted to his grandson Ron (who also appeared as himself).

TCM Fest (Home Ed.): Mad Love

This is one sinister case of muscle memory. Much to his surprise, a recovering concert pianist suddenly finds he has a knack for throwing knives after the hands of a murderer are grafted onto his crushed arms. However, it is the deranged doctor who is the real danger to society. That stands to reason, since he was played by Peter Lorre making his American film debut in Karl Freund’s Mad Love, which airs as part of the TCM Classic Film Festival 2020 Home Edition, brought to you by the CCP, the WHO, and the viral outbreak they denied existed until it was too late.

Dr. Gogol loves diva actress Yvonne Orlac, but he is unaware she has already wed pianist Stephen Orlac, who has been away from Paris on an extended tour. Now that his return is imminent, she has announced her intention to retire from the stage. That prompts a lot of creepy behavior from Gogol, including buying her life-like statue from the city’s wax museum. Yet, suddenly he has the opportunity to be her hero when Orlac is the victim of a gruesome train derailment. Thanks to his brilliance, Gogol saves the day by (unbeknownst to them) transplanting the dexterous hands of an American killer freshly beheaded by the guillotine.

Of course, the rehab process is long and difficult, but Orlac is also rather unsettled by his hands’ apparent habit of tossing knives of their own accord, during moments of extreme stress. Gogol tries to be a decent chap about things, but his heartsickness eventually brings out the doctor’s dark side, spurring him to exploit his patients fragile state of mind.

Mad Love was produced by MGM rather than Universal, but it features three iconic actors of 1930s genre movies: Lorre (who needs no introduction), Colin Clive (who played Henry Frankenstein in the first two Frankenstein films), and Keye Luke (who had already started portraying Charlie Chan’s #1 son). Nevertheless, there is never any question this Lorre’s show from start to finish. He uses his entire M trick bag of bulging-eyed manic tics, but he still conveys Gogol’s acute pathos. Arguably, Gogol deserved better, but jealousy and obsession turned him into a monster.

Lost Years of German Cinema: The Lost One

Frankly, it is absolutely baffling how all those smart film programmers out there somehow almost never think to pair up the only film Peter Lorre directed with Fritz’s Lang’s classic M, featuring Lorre’s career-defining performance. They both dramatize the violent, corrupting influence of National Socialist ideology on German society, but Lang’s film was produced during Hitler’s rise to power, while Lorre’s film was made and set during the early post-war years. In any event, it is impossible to fully understand Peter Lorre until you see The Lost One, which fortunately screens in New York as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s current series, The Lost Years of German Cinema: 1949-1963.

Seriously, why is this film not revived every other month. Peter Lorre plays a murderer. Why is that so hard to market? Of course, there is rather more to it than that. Based on a historical incident, Lorre’s character is masquerading as Dr. Karl Neumeister, the kindly doctor caring for new arrivals at a displaced persons’ camp. However, a few years prior, he was Dr. Karl Rothe, a leading scientific researcher for the German war machine. His previous life comes rushing back to him when comes face-to-face with his former Gestapo minder, Hösch, who has assumed the identity of Nowak, a medical technician.

At the time of Rothe’s fateful meeting with one Col. Winkler, observant Germans could tell the war had turned against the Reich, but hardliners still controlled say-to-day life with an iron hand. Much to the doctor’s disappointment, Winkler informs him his fiancée Inge Hermann is suspected of smuggling his classified research documents to the Allies through her father in Sweden. Consumed by a feeling of betrayal, Rothe murders Fraulein Hermann that very night, but Hösch and Winkler very conveniently arrive to cover it up. In the process, we start to question how complicit Hermann really was or whether it was all part of Hösch’s plan to control Rothe. Regardless, when Rothe suffers no consequences for his action, the compulsion to kill, particularly women, will return to him on several subsequent occasions.

This really is a lot like the inverse-opposite of M. The two films would also make an intriguing triptych with von Sternberg’s Crime and Punishment, starring Lorre as Raskolnikov. It was a bit of a disappointment to Lorre at the time, but it looks pretty good with the passage of eighty-some years. Arguably, it is the sort of film that suffers from speculation of what it could have been and therefore does not get credit for what it is. Taken together as a trio, they make quite a statement on guilt, compulsion, and otherness,

Regardless, Lost One is an excellent film in its own right. It was probably the first and maybe last time Lorre played a psycho-killer with the sort of subtlety a role like Rothe deserves. As a director (and co-screenwriter), he also clearly picked up plenty from Lang, Alfred Hitchcock, John Huston, and all the other journeymen film noir and horror directors he worked with. It is all kinds of dark and moody, but it puts us squarely Rothe’s disturbed headspace.

Lorre is terrific in the lead, but he gives his supporting cast plenty of time and space to shine. Karl John’s villainous portrayal of Hösch ought to be remembered as iconic—and maybe it will be in a few years. Renate Mannhardt’s Inge Hermann could be considered many things, but a stereotypical victim is definitely not one of them. Eva Ingeborg Scholz and Lotte Rausch also make quite an impression and forge vastly different chemistry with Lorre, as a fellow boarder and a victim he meets during an air raid.

Lost One must have great significance in Lorre’s life and career, since Stephen D. Youngkin used it as the title of his Lorre biography. It is not exactly a lost film, but it has been unfairly scarce. In fact, some cineastes might just get angry at their local repertory film programs when they finally see how compelling it truly is. Very highly recommended, The Lost One screens this Wednesday (11/22) and Thursday (11/23) in New York, at the Walter Reade.

John Huston’s Restored and Uncensored Beat the Devil

It has been the African continent’s great misfortune to be blessed with extensive mineral wealth. Since the end of colonialism, the natural resource economy has been ripe for dictatorial exploitation. During the prior colonial days, it lured plenty of unsavory fortune-hunters. Billy Dannreuther’s associates are about as desperate and unscrupulous as it gets. They intend to grab a stretch of uranium-rich land in British East Africa, but they are their own worst enemies throughout John Huston’s Beat the Devil, which screens as it has almost never been seen—fully restored and uncensored, starting this Friday at Film Forum.

Dannreuther was once rich and extravagant, but now he is just extravagant. He has high hopes of regaining his fortune through the uranium scheme, but to do so, he must work with the dodgy quartet of rogues led by the rotund Peterson. His associates, former National socialist Julius O’Hara and Ravello (named just like the town) have been cooling their heels for a while, but Maj. Jack Ross has just arrived, after presumably murdering a suspicious bureaucrat in the London Colonial office.

The co-conspirators are anxious for the skipper of their tramp steamer to somber up, so they can be on their way, except of course Dannreuther. He always enjoyed the charms of Ravello (the Amalfi town), especially when in the company of Gwendolen Chelm. The Chelms are a distinctive couple. He is a snobby Englishman’s Englishman, while she is a complete mythomaniac. She is also a young, attractive blonde, so Dannreuther would like to seduce her, but she is too interested in him as well for that to be necessary.

Since Harry Chelm and the Anglophile Italian bombshell Maria Dannreuther also get into the extramarital act, it is not hard to see why the Production Code nannies demanded two of three minutes of strategic trimming. Frankly, it is almost a miracle there was anything left. Although there is certainly no sex or nudity in Beat the Devil, it is crystal clear what kind of monkey business is going on behind closed doors.

With that healthy lustiness restored, the film does not quite seem as larky as its reputation suggests. Reportedly, it was scripted by Huston and Truman Capote on-the-fly, day-by-day, almost as a series of dares or screenwriting Madlibs. Granted, the ensemble’s tongues definitely find their way into their cheeks, but there is still some terrific film noir business going on. Clearly, Huston and cinematographer Oswald Morris were inspired by the Amalfi settings, utilizing some dazzling crane shots that fully exploit the cinematic backdrops.

Humphrey Bogart could play a picaresque anti-hero like Dannreuther in his sleep—in fact, he may have, but still flashes the old charm in his scenes with Jennifer Jones’ Ms. Chelm. As one would expect, Peter Lorre, Robert Morley, and Ivor Barnard (recognizable from The 39 Steps) make up a deliciously seedy rogues gallery of Dannreuther’s would-be accomplices. Comparatively speaking, Gina Lollobrigida’s Maria Dannreuther counts as the grounded commonsensical one in this farcical caper, but she still adds plenty of allure and elegance. Yet, the most surprising work comes from British character actor Edward Underdown, who makes Harry Chelm quite the wildcard of the film.

It is just great fun to see legends like Bogart, Lorre, and Morley hamming it up and savoring the film’s skulduggery. However, the fully restored version offers a happy opportunity to revisit what many call the original camp classic. It might have been played for laughs, but Huston executed the caper with tremendous style. Many, many scenes have a tremendous sense of composition (and they were shot by camera operator Freddie Francis, who would go on to direct several classic Hammer Horror films). Very highly recommended, the fully restored Beat the Devil opens this Friday (2/17) at Film Forum.

Crime and Punishment, the 80th Anniversary Edition

Raskolnikov is often translated to mean “schism” or “dissent,” which made Dostoevsky’s celebrated anti-hero a fitting role for Peter Lorre to take on soon after he emigrated from National Socialist Germany. While Lorre had an affinity for the existential literary source novel, the part would also foreshadow the psychopaths and villains that would become his stock-and-trade. Mill Creek Entertainment celebrates the eightieth anniversary of Josef von Sternberg’s Crime and Punishment with a special DVD reissue, on-sale today.

It was eighty years ago when Crime and Punishment first released in theaters, but you probably thought it wasn’t a day over seventy-five. At least eighty is a reasonably round number. Frankly, any excuse to watch a Peter Lorre film is valid and this is a rather interesting one his fans may not be so familiar with.

Roderick (as he is here known) Raskolnikov is indeed a brilliant intellectual, with Nietzschean ideas about crime and morality. He is too perversely proud to accept help from his college friend Dmitri, opting to murder a parasitic pawnbroker instead. In a departure from the novel, he will not be interrupted in the act by the loathsome woman’s sister, but he still loses his superhuman cool, rushing off without most of the crone’s money.

Much to his surprise, Raskolnikov’s guilty conscience immediately troubles him. It only gets worse when an innocent man is arrested for the crime. Nevertheless, he instinctively shifts into defensive mode when the intrepid Inspector Porfiry calls for him, again and again. Ostensibly, the copper seeks Raskolnikov’s consultation as a brash young criminology theorist, but it is clear he suspects the poor garret-dweller. Raskolnikov becomes increasingly isolated and alienated, yet the fallen but still devout Sonya persistently offers him spiritual comfort during some of his darkest hours.

All things considered, the 1935 Crime and Punishment is surprisingly faithful to Dostoevsky, including the various subplots involving Raskolnikov’s sister Antonya. Still, Sternberg reportedly never liked the film due to distinctly un-Russian flavor, references to Siberia notwithstanding. However, the film’s ambiguous setting gives it a timeless universality that was arguably ahead of its time. Lucien Ballard’s black-and-white cinematography is also quite striking at times, especially for its use of shadows and reflections.

Regardless, everyone knows the reason to see C&P is to watch Lorre do his thing. Of course, at the time nobody knew how many twitchy villains he would play. In retrospect, C&P looks like something of a fork-in-the-road film, where his future Joel Cairos and Corman Poe madmen branch off from his Brechtian collaborations. He also happens to be terrific as the increasingly agitated Raskolnikov, particularly in his nifty cat-and-mouse scenes with the under-appreciated Edward Arnold. As Porifry, Arnold looks like Broderick Crawford, but acts like Colombo. The haunting Romanian Tala Birell further contributes to the film’s continental flavor as the exquisitely tragic Antonya.

It is hard to envision the 1930s studio system truly plumbing the existential depths of a tortured Nineteenth Century Russian crypto-anarchist, but thanks to Lorre’s bold performance, Sternberg’s adaptation makes a pretty good go of it. Lorre fans will enjoy it for all the reasons they relish his classic films co-starring opposite Sydney Greenstreet. Affectionately recommended for classic film buffs, Crime and Punishment is now available on DVD as part of Mill Creek Entertainment’s Anniversary series.