Tod Browning, the director of Freaks, was a longtime “friend of Stan Carlisle.” (David
J. Skal’s Dark Carnival chronicled his connections with carnival
sideshows in fascinating detail, but sadly it is only currently available in
audio). Browning had the perfect leading man to be an amputee circus attraction
in his frequent collaborator Lon Chaney (Sr.). Yet, ironically, this was one of
the rare silent films in which Chaney appears without elaborate makeup. Long
available in a moderately abbreviated cut, Browning’s fully restored The
Unknown screens again during this year’s edition of MoMA’s To Save and Project.
Perhaps the
only truly dated aspect of Browning’s film is the Romany (they say “Gypsy”)
ethnicity of the Spanish circus troupe owned by Antonio Zanzi. However, the
weird sexual issues feel years ahead of the film’s time. In this case, Zanzi’s
daughter Nanon has such an aversion to the male touch, she recoils at the sight
of mere arms. Somewhat logically, but misguidedly, she feels safe with Alonzo
the Armless, the circus’s knife-thrower, who performs with his dexterous feet.
Unbeknownst
to Nanon, Alonzo is a murderer, who has concealed his arms, to pass as an
innocent-appearing circus performer. However, Alonzo has fallen hard for her. He
will kill for her without hesitation, but he will also take more extreme
measures.
The
Unknown is not exactly a horror film, per se, but it definitely
explores the dark side of human nature, much like the original Nightmare Alley and del Toro’s inferior remake. All three films also share an affinity
for carnival geeks and human oddities. This would pear up nicely with the
Tyrone Power classic and completely overshadow its remake.
Perhaps
most importantly, it features a terrific performance from Chaney—arguably his
best, because it does not rely on any makeup or prosthetics (but, evidently,
some stunt feet were employed). You can definitely see his heart breaking and
rage boiling. He looks a bit like Karloff, rather appropriately.
You can see
it all much better in the restored print, because the previous cut (widely “available”
online) was based on a European print that had shaved little bits here and
there from the dramatic sequences, to shorten the running time. No scenes were
cut in their entirety, but the dramatic build-ups were often truncated.
In the 1920s Broadway was the place for horror. It looks a lot like
Scooby-Doo horror to us now, given its old dark houses and masked villains, but
it was what they had at the time. John Willard’s 1922 play was the Hamilton of
its era. Universal’s initial silent adaptation established their competitive
advantage for horror, but their subsequent soundie remake, The Cat Creeps,
is sadly considered lost. Even the familiar silent print consisted of the “B
takes” edited together for the international market, rather than the “A takes”
intended for the American release. (Early Hollywood was stunningly penny-wise,
pound-foolish.) Happily, the A-cut has been fully restored and screens at MoMA
as part of their annual To Save and Project film restoration series.
Old
miserly Cyrus West was first driven insane by his greedy relatives and then
driven to his grave by his paranoia. As part of his questionably sound last testament,
all his potential heirs are assembled in his creaky old mansion, on the
twentieth anniversary of his death, for the final reading of his will.
Only
a motley collection of nephews and nieces still survive, including flapperish
Annabelle West, the most distant relative. She also seems like the most decent,
so it makes sense to viewers that old West leaves his fortune to her. However,
there are a few stipulations. She must spend the night in the creepy house and
pass a sanity test, because the crazy old codger was pretty defensive on the
subject of mental health. Should she fail to uphold these terms, the estate
will pass to the alternate heir mentioned in the sealed envelop in the
possession of his trusted attorney, Roger Crosby.
Unfortunately,
Crosby is murdered before he can warn the heiress whom she should look out for.
Presumably, the murder was the escaped lunatic the guard from the asylum has
been searching for. However, West should probably only trust her distant cousin
Paul Jones. He is not a bad guy either and he clearly adores her, but he is
total coward. For context, Bob Hope played in the 1939 Paramount remake, giving
a performance that was not stylistically dissimilar from that of nebbish
Creighton Hale.
While
Hale’s Jones supplies somewhat shticky comic relief, Leni’s gorgeous, German
Expressionistic visuals are a joy to behold. Leni’s approach is largely
credited with shaping the aesthetic of the subsequent Universal monster movies—and
fairly so. His use of perspective is extraordinary. The vanishing point of the
mansion’s long, dark corridor is not unlike that of the split-rail fence in Invaders
from Mars.
